‘Good,’ Remi said, darting around to scoop Bells into a brief hug.
Nicole took a seat as Biróg cut thick slices of what she’d called barmbrack: a dark, savoury-looking loaf with raisins, sultanas, and currants. It steamed like coils of an ancient Celtic spell and swarmed the room with a delicious spiced, yet sweet scent. Biróg added pats of butter to each and set a few more teacups down.
‘Milk, no sugar?’ Biróg asked.
Nicole blinked. ‘Er – yes. Thank you.’
‘Wouldn’t be a Hearthea if I didn’t know my guests, now would I?’ she tutted.
Nicole’s lips inched up slightly as Biróg rushed out again and she marvelled at how two creatures with the same abilities could embody them so differently.
Nicole met Lawna’s gaze and warmth filled her at the tentative relationship they’d built over those years in Estwood; the occasional hug Nicole cherished. She hadn’t trusted strangers for so long, but once, when Bells was about six, she had climbed into Lawna’s lap at a brunch and fallen asleep.
Lawna had looked at Ronan to check it was fine, but Nicole, still young herself, had been so paranoid to have her sister out of their father’s arms that she’d sat next to Lawna the whole time, her fingers wrapped around Bells’ ankle. She’d slowly begun to relax throughout the meal and even let her head rest tentatively against Lawna’s arm, toned but so silky and warm. Remi had been fascinated with Bells, stroking her cheek and offering Nicole a strawberry from her plate.
Nicole had felt this deep, shuddering relaxation at the thought that they had, despite every other time they’d run,foundsomewhere. Foundpeoplethey could be safe with.
For a while at least.
It choked her up now, so she disguised the feeling by taking a sip of tea.
‘Kyan,’ Remi said, as she accepted a cup from Biróg, then did a double take at the dark violin on the wall. ‘You play?’
‘Oh, no. My cousins were the musicians, not me.’
Nicole’s ears perked up at the speck of information.
‘You’re welcome to use it. Biróg keeps everything in perfect condition. The place is as much hers as it is mine.’
The little Hearthea made a prim noise and Nicole smiled.
‘So tell us,’ Bells said, leaning on the table, ‘what did you find?’
Remi stood at the head of the table, Lawna taking a seat against the wall behind her, between the fireplace and the door in a protective position.
‘You’re going to love this,’ Remi said, pulling out a file from a sleek, tan bag. ‘So, while you’ve been looking for the three “goddess-blessed” items – one down, two to go. Well done, team.’ She winked at Bells who promptly flushed dark pink and Nicole glanced to where her father had propped up the portrait of their mother – now even more precious than they’d realised.
‘I’ve been researching your mum’s clue about the Siren’s Instrument,’ Remi continued. ‘And I think I know what it is. I was hoping someone at the Speakeasy would be able to help me get close enough to confirm.’
Remi let the file spill open onto the table with a flourish, revealing images of paintings, notes, and pieces of sheet music.
‘There are Sirens all over the world who have myths about sacred instruments thanks to the differing cultures and mythologies,’ she began, illustrating her words by pushing forward paintings of different Sirens throughout time and their instruments: relief sculptures of Egyptians, the Lyres of Ur from Mesopotamia, and what looked to be a highly decorated gold conch shell from India.
‘But,’ Remi continued, ‘the clues keep coming back to Ireland. Particularly one Irish instrument called “Ooh-hnya”, is that how you say it?’ She shot a checking look at Kyan, pointing to the word at the top of a page.
He nodded.
Callum’s eyes glittered with intrigue as he took another sip of tea.
‘Well, Úaithne was supposed to be the harp of the Irish god, the Dagda,’ Remi said.
‘No paintings of that one?’ Nicole mused, looking for an illustration.
‘Interestingly, no,’ Remi said. ‘Which has been part of the mystery. I’ve had to cobble together what it might have looked like from the old myths and stories. Some say it was made of oak, but that could be because the Dagda was also the God of Druids, and oak was the tree of the Druids.’
Kyan had crossed his arms, silhouetted by light from the window. Did he think the same as her – that the recurrence of the Druid here couldn’t be a coincidence?
‘Some translations say it was made with the “oak of two meadows” but another means something more like “murmur” and “sweet apple tree”.’
