“Does it ever not rain here?” frowned Rory looking at Sean and Conor.
“It’s just a summer shower lad. It’s not like you’ll shrink if you get wet,” he smirked.
They entered the small village’s only pub and nodded at the bartender, taking their seats near the fire. Wes, Liffey, Fitz, and JT had gone north, closer to the castle ruin to visit two other small villages.
Here in this space, so familiar to Conor and Sean, Chief, Rory, Joseph, Marc, and Dom sat with the two men.
“Mornin’ Conor, Sean,” said the bartender. “Are ‘ya drinkin’ coffee this early or shall we start with whiskey?”
“I believe I need to warm me old bones,” said Conor in a thick Irish accent. “Coffee for me.” He turned to stare at the others and they all nodded.
“Coffee for all,” nodded the bartender.
“He’s a good man,” said Sean as he walked away. “He might be able to answer some questions for us. This pubhas been in his family for nearly two-hundred years. His own brother disappeared when he was just seventeen. Everyone believed that he ran away but Jordie always said he was taken by something evil.”
“Were they together when it happened?” asked Chief.
“I don’t think so. We’ll ask.”
The warmth of the pub was comforting and inviting. The kind of warmth that could lull a man to take a short nap, even while sitting straight up. The old, wide-plank floors were expertly carved and put together, leaving no cracks to allow the wind to come through. The worn tables and chairs looked nearly as old as the building itself. But the bar was stocked and the service seemed perfect.
“This is like being in a movie,” smirked Joseph. “Like something that John Wayne or Victor Laughlin would come walking through at any moment.”
“I love that movie,” grinned Sean. “It is lovely. You Yanks often think new is better. The Irish tend to believe the old is just fine. Plus we’re tight with our money.” The others chuckled, nodding at him as the coffee was set on the table.
“Anything else?” asked the older man.
“Do you have time for a sit, Jordie? We’d like to ask some questions of you if you have time,” said Conor.
“Anything for you, Conor,” he said pulling up a wooden chair. “Besides, it’s not like I’m overrun this mornin’.”
“Well, the weather can do that,” said Marc. Jordie looked at him and then laughed.
“Lad, this is Ireland. The weather will never stop a man from havin’ a pint. Now, what can I do for you?”
“Can you tell us about your brother, Jordie?” asked Sean in a low, respectful voice.
“Me brother? Sean, that’s been nigh on fifty years.”
“We know,” nodded Conor. “A woman, an American woman was recently found in an old well in Castle O’Shan along with hundreds of others.”
Jordie’s face paled and he sat back looking terrified. Conor reached for the man’s arm giving it a squeeze.
“Jordie?”
“I’m alright,” he said taking a breath. “I wish I’d poured whiskey for meself.” He wondered to himself if it was possible that his brothers body was among those found. Then he quickly let it leave his thoughts. He couldn’t become consumed with it again. Not again.
“I’ll get it,” said Rory.
The man watched as Rory stood and went behind the bar. He didn’t carry a glass back, he carried the bottle. When he sat down, Jordie heard the creaking of the old chair. He took the time to truly glance at each of the men around the table.
“You’re not just visitors from America. You’re hunters. Special hunters,” he said calmly.
“Some have called us that,” said Joseph. “Please. We’re out of our element here. Can you tell us what happened with your brother.”
“I begged him not to go near it. I told him what our Gran had said. Stay away from the fairy mounds. Don’t anger the selkies. Don’t speak ill of the dead. And damn sure don’t go on the O’Shan property. But Brian wouldn’t listen. He said I was bein’ a baby.
“We were at the edge of the old O’Shan property line. I wasn’t going to cross it. I knew the stories of missing people, I’d heard it a million times. But Brian, he was always pushing the limits. He told me to stay with the bikes. I watched him walk away and-and then it was like he disappeared.
