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“Prepare yourself, Eala.” He wields his Ireland book like a magician’s silks. “We’re heading into one of the most haunted places on Earth.” He swirls around me. “Ectoplasmic presences await you on the castle staircase.”
Colleen commandeers his book as we cross the threshold into Charleville Forest and reads. “…in the midst of the most ancient primordial oak woods.” She peers over the top. “Beware. This is the haunting ground of Ireland’s druids.” Lowering the book, she smiles. “Right up your alley, La.”
The wood is a tangle of trees, underbrush, and lacey clumps of white flowers. The canopy of leaves overhead is so thick, sunlight only passes through in green droplets. Next to the path, a fallen trunk is coated with velvety moss and festooned with runs of ivy sprouting between split wood grain.
I walk backward and flip my scarf at them. “If you start singing Ghostbusters again, I will disown you both. We’re not out clubbing on Halloween.”
My threat eggs Charlie on. He busts out twitchy shoulders to a solo of Monster Mash. Colleen adds her shimmy to his choreography.
I shake my head. “Confirmation that the two of you should form a Halloween classics cover band.”
Jeremy’s voice cuts through their distraction. I move closer to enjoy the traveling lecture. His passion on the subject of castles brings its own brand of magic.
“When the current owners first came to Charleville Castle, it was engulfed in a tangle of brambles and briars. Think Sleeping Beauty’s Castle pre-princely kiss.”
As we round the bend, a neo-Gothic beauty with towers and crenellations reveals itself. The sight of the grand edifice makes it easy to buy into a fairy tale. This place isn’t beat up like Blarney Castle. Thick stone walls wear a scumble of grays sprinkled with peppery flecks. The castle’s two mismatched towers rise into a powder blue sky. The pair are fashioned like chess pieces, one the queen and the other her king. A knight in full armor chasing a dragon would fit right in here.
The dreamy quality of Jeremy Olk’s voice drifts like mist over the group as the great glass windows above Charleville Castle’s front entrance sparkle in the sun. On either side of the door are what appear to be crosses cut into the stone itself.
Daisy Kelly’s voice intrudes on my wonder. She hangs all over Sion, babbling. “That show with psychics and paranormal investigators who swear Charleville is infested with spirits. Absurd of course.”
The smile sitting on his face as he indulges her ranting congeals breakfast into a lump at the bottom of my stomach. I turn away, agitated at myself for letting their prattle bother me.
The sun disappears behind a cloud, sending morning into faux twilight. The gauzy feel of shifting reality settles around me. Figures lose their edges, melting into shapeless gray smudges. There’s a muffled roar from the stone lion next to the path. Up ahead, slate-colored fog seeps from between the hewn rocks of the castle as I stumble into the familiar haze of a dream flash. The fortress shifts from the home of princesses to the domain of original Grimm’s fairy tales with eye gouging and horse heads nailed over doorways. Only one figure maintains its definition in my altered world—Sion.
Breezes scratch their way through the surrounding oaks, moaning, “Pierce. Tear. Rip.” The crosses beside the castle door reveal themselves to be arrow loops as a feathered shaft zips through the murk toward Sion’s skull. Around him, bursts of firelight the size of my thumb incinerate the arrow before it catches him.
Clouds pass by the sun, stealing my dream flash with them. Charleville Castle resumes its romantic visage. A calico cat rubs against my leg, and I bite my lip to chase away the dark edges of my living dream.
An arrow to Sion’s head?
I scoff. Harsh punishment from my subconscious for the crime of being a smart ass and going full flirt with Daisy. I’m waxing way too overdramatic about this stray dog tagging along on our trip after one story and his alluring voice. Who needs a local “expert” anyway when we have the eloquence of Jeremy Olk? I hang back to let Sion and Daisy get ahead of me, allotting exactly two minutes to get over myself.
The whine of a saw is so out of place, it’s almost comical. A couple of guys carry armloads of boards around the far corner of the castle. If not for the tool belts, I’d mistake them as part of our group.
Jeremy’s hand on my shoulder startles me. I flush, hoping he doesn’t notice. I’d like that hand to slide down my arm until our fingers twine.
He slashes the air with his free arm, brandishing an invisible sword. “I’d love to have been the knight who vanquished legions of thorns to bring this castle back into the light.”
I’m not the only one here with a fertile imagination. Oh, the things a pair of active imaginations might concoct after a night at the pub. What am I thinking? Hooking up with Jeremy on the trip isn’t professional. Maybe when we’re in Kennard Park, and I’m the department’s newest tenure-track professor…Even if, fortune forbid, I’m still an adjunct, professorial romance is my turn on.
Jeremy nods to the far right of the castle where sawhorses are set up next to a couple of pickup trucks. “Those folks are a team of volunteers working on restoration.” His gaze climbs the castle wall. “How marvelous to use your hands and bring the past to life.”
His reverie is interrupted by a woman with a clipboard calling our names near the entrance. With a wink, he’s off to connect with our hostess, Samantha. I follow and introduce myself to the woman dressed in a black cotton shift with green and gold Celtic knots embroidered around the neckline.
“Professors, your group is very welcome to Charleville Castle,” she says with a sweep of her arm, inviting us in.
Jeremy and I cross the threshold. I wonder if his friends call him Jerry or Jer. The rest of our party follows us, a line of baby ducks waddling after their mother.
The moment I step into the castle, a wave of freezing air hits me. Sion and the students shuffle past me, unaffected by the drop in temperature. It feels as if I’ve been turned inside out and dipped in a tub of ice. I shiver, teeth chattering. The sensation of invisible eyes watching me from dark corners makes the chill even worse. I wrap the scarf tighter around my neck and shove both hands in the pockets of my navy pea coat. Zero relief. It’s so cold, I’m surprised puffs of my breath aren’t hanging in the air.
“La, are you okay?” Colleen crooks an arm around my elbow. “You’re shaking.”
Sion whips around to stare. His gaze hovers between my chin and neck. Why won’t the ass look me in the eye? It’s getting creepy.
I lean into Colleen’s warmth. “Aren’t you freezing?”
She narrows her eyes. “It’s warmer in here than outside.”
