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Sion startles me so badly; I grab my heart to keep it from bursting through my jacket. His approaching footsteps had been as silent as dust motes floating in the shaft of light cutting in from the window.
Instead of finishing his reprimand for my less than graceful exit at the height of his solo, Sion Loho stands dumbstruck, gaping open-mouthed at the doll in my hand. When I follow his stare to see what’s flipping him out, my knees give way, and I drop hard onto the bottom step.
In my hand, a jagged circle of broken porcelain is all that’s left of the doll’s face.
Chapter 7
The Faerie Ring
Colleen tugs so hard on my sleeve as we trudge up the grassy hillside, I nearly lose my footing. “What did it feel like when the ghost girl walked through you?”
Charlie jumps in. “Was her voice like…oooooo lady help me find my doll?”
“You’re supposed to be a scholar, Charlie.” Curse, Sion Loho. I’m sure he’s blurted his ridiculous ghost story to every person on the tour. The ass is supposed to be our local expert not the resident bullshitter. “I did not see the ghost of Little Harriett. It was a kid causing her parents grief.”
“Is this the girl you saw?” Charlie shoves 365 Things to Know About Ireland in my face to show me a portrait of Little Harriet. Smacking the book away doesn’t deter him as he reads. “At a midsummer party in 1861, Harriett, youngest daughter of the third Earl of Charleville, fell from the top of a stairway to her death. This added a heartbreaking link to the chain of untimely deaths in the Howard-Bury family. Is Charleville Castle cursed? Decide for yourself.”
Charlie’s sporting the brown tweed flat cap Colleen begged him to buy in Rowan Bend. The stiff brim shades his eyebrows. I have an urge to toss him a couple of coppers for a newspaper hot off the press.
Colleen taps Little Harriet’s picture. “Today, she haunts the castle with her new friend, Eala.”
Exasperated, I power past them up the steep hill on the way to the campsite. Truthfully, I’m hiding a bone-deep fright. The photo confirms the girl I saw in her frilly frock and ringlets at Charleville Castle could play Little Harriett in the movie.
I attempt to train wisps of hair out of my eyes as I follow a line of fence posts made from skinny tree trunks. Rusting strands of barbed wire loop from the top of one off-kilter post to the next. A stone’s throw away, loosely woven sheets of metal fencing separate rolling fields into sections. A determined cow or sheep would not consider the flimsy excuse for a fence alongside me as a challenge, but it certainly adds character to the landscape.
I nearly turn an ankle misjudging one clot of the wild grasses that spread across spongy ground. Off to my right, a battered silver pickup bounces along a lane parallel to the fence. Our travel backpacks get a free ride to the campsite. I don’t mind the hike. The air is crisp with the perfect amount of moisture to make my skin happy.
Colleen catches up, dancing backward in front of me. “Professor Jeremy says we’re having a Beltane bonfire tonight.”
“Beltane’s four days away.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “We’re pre-celebrating since we’ll be in Dublin on the actual night.”
Charlie grabs Colleen’s hand. “Hey Flutter, let’s call fire spirits to yon Faerie hill.” They hurry up the last bit of slope.
Together, the two are such a charm generator, I expect matching sparkle trails to burst from their asses.
A pair of women grad students from the Midwest catch up to me. “Professor O’Dwyer, were you purposefully looking for the ghost of Little Harriett or did she find you?” asks the one with a messy bun in a puffer jacket.
“Please, call me Eala, and I’d rather answer your questions about the Daoine Sidhe and their blood magic than a ridiculous ghost rumor.”
The two look chastened. “Sorry to bother you,” says the one who questioned me.
Apparently, my tone comes off as less than friendly. “No, it’s fine. I’m a jet-lagged grump.”
Messy bun manages a forced smile. “Yeah, long day. See you at the bonfire.”
I attempt a breezy, happy face. “It should be fun.”
They pick up speed to pass me. So much for my stab at scoring a new friend every hour. I’ll make nice with that pair later to salvage a decent eval from them at tour’s end.
As I reach the crest of the rise, a circle of megalithic stones looms before the fading sun like crooked black teeth. Some slabs are as tall and wide as a door. Others are thinner, leaning at wonky angles. Stubby boulders round out Charlie’s yon Faerie hill.
My feet root in soft ground. The current of students heading for the hilltop breaks around me as I stare at the circle. Máthair had great reverence for standing stones and any other remnant of druid mystery. I twist the ring on my finger and face my second stone circle in two days.
“They’re a sham.”
I jump at Sion’s voice behind me. Does he get off on making me flinch?
