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They turned when they heard Nelson swear. “What?” Nox asked, receiving a hard look from Nelson.
“There’s a Brian MacCrory on this list.”
Nox echoed Nelson’s startled swear and covered his mouth. “He knew Elsa. But what was he doing this far north?” He pondered out loud while Nelson wrote Brian MacCrory’s name on a card in large letters and taped it to the board.
“Maybe he was tracking,” Nelson said wryly.
Nox shook his head at the board, then glanced at Merlin. “You said in your text that you found something interesting. Good luck topping that,” he said while Merlin heaped rice onto a plate.
“I think I might be able to!” He added a generous amount of diced chicken, vegetables, and sauce and handed it to Nox. “I called around and did some deep diving into the history of the Appalachians and I know why you found that poor child in New Castle.” He made sure he had their attention as he prepared Nelson’s plate.
“And?” Nox rolled his free hand to hurry Merlin along.
“I have a feeling Margaret Murray is laughing in her grave. I found two mentions of a group, mostly Irish and Scotsmen, in the woods outside of New Castle who worshiped an older god and could heal. And in one mention they were also described as a family with women who tended to mothers and men who worshiped a god in the woods. A god with antlers.” He handed Nelson his plate. “The name associated with that family was MacCrory,” he added, then caught the plate when Nelson dropped it.
Nelson’s eyes were wide and burned when they met Nox’s. “MacCrory.”
“You kind of called that one, didn’t you?” Nox said gently, but Nelson’s nostrils flared as he took several strides toward the door. “It’s too late, Nelson. It’ll be almost midnight when you get there and they won’t be in a hurry to talk to you this time,” Nox predicted and Nelson forced out a hard breath.
“I have to go back tomorrow.”
Nox offered him a sheepish look. “Split up? I have class in the morning,” he said, feeling terrible as Nelson’s head hung and he trudged back to the desk and pushed the plate away.
“I’m not hungry anymore. What time do you get out?”
“I can have Tony take over my last period and we can be on the road by noon,” Nox said and waited for Nelson’s resigned nod to trade his plate for his phone and text Tony, giving him a heads up. Nox flashed Merlin a hopeful look. “Have you discovered anything that might shed light on this Uaithne situation?”
Nelson shivered and held onto the edge of the desk. “Anything would be good. This…harp thing is…an inconvenience,” he said shakily. He cleared his throat and stole a glance at Nox.
Merlin’s perfectly sweet, round head rocked from side to side. “I might have found more if Nox wasn’t the only person to have written anything contrary to the popular interpretation in the last twelve hundred years or so.”
“Tell me it doesn’t make sense!” Nox clutched at the air dramatically, gathering all their wonder and awareness so it was focused on him. He turned in the middle of the room as he touched the eye in the middle of the sacred geometry tattooed on his chest. “Was it a magick harp that played pretty music?” He whispered as he strummed with his other hand, creating a delicate peel of notes. Nelson gasped softly as he stepped closer, hanging on Nox’s words. “Or, what if Uaithne was his most beloved advisor and protector?”
“Like a warder,” Merlin answered with a delighted sigh. “I love it when you do that.”
Nox shushed him, not wanting to break the spell just yet. “There are Roman texts that describe the higher ranking druids as having ‘generals’ who acted as advisors and bodyguards. Later Anglo-Saxon legends described them as a sacred order of knights whose symbol was a…?”
Nelson swallowed loudly. “A harp. It still doesn’t explain why he thinks I’m the harp.”
Merlin clapped and used an elbow to shove Nox aside. “Let me take this one! I can’t enchant like you can but I’ve done all this research.”
“Please,” Nox said, sliding back to the sofa and his dinner. He picked up his plate, lowered, and stretched his legs. “I love your research and your Kung Pao chicken.” He gathered a large bite with his chopsticks and hoisted it into his mouth.
“Thank you, my lad,” Merlin said with a bow. “You must first understand the significance of the harp.” He turned one of the chalkboards around so he had a blank space to work and snatched a piece of chalk off the ledge. His arm swept above his head in a swift arc as a grand, triangular harp took shape in the center of the board. “It is literally the symbol of Ireland! The Celtic affinity for the harp can be traced back to Iron Age lyres as early as 300 BC, long before it was associated with the last High King of Ireland, Brian Boru, and then adopted by nearly every other king of the British Isles. Brian Boru took that symbol from a god, in the same fashion Constantine took the Christian cross to give himself legitimacy and unite his people under one banner and religious cult.” He wrote an equals sign and a cross, then wrote the number 300 and circled it. “Long before the baby Jesus, the harp symbolized strength, unity, and independence for the Celtic nations of Northwest Europe. Harp players were a protected class under early Brehon Law and were revered by kings and had high status in court. It was also the instrument and the voice of angels who stood in the Lord’s presence in the Bible.”
“Fine. I understand why harps are a big deal. But why did I have to be a harp? What’s my purpose?” Nelson asked in frustration. “I don’t care about how scary or significant this harp thing is, why and what do I do to make it stop. I can’t work if I’m tied to Nox like this.”
A delighted smile filled Merlin’s face and his eyes twinkled. “I am reminded of a line by Ireland’s beloved James Joyce… ‘But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.’”
Red rushed up Nelson’s neck to his cheeks, making him swear and cover his face. That sounded more like Nelson’s dreams—if Nox had to guess—than strength, unity, and independence.
Nelson scrubbed his face with his hands. “There’s nothing exciting about a wet dream and that has nothing to do with the case.”
That got a chortle out of Merlin. “In most cases, I’d say you were right, Agent Nelson. I’d be inclined to think that your subconscious was merely regurgitating what it had collected throughout the day and that your reproductive hormones had added a little sensual razzle-dazzle.”
“Razzle-dazzle?” Nelson cut him a hard look so Merlin understood that it was far more than that.
“But your razzle-dazzle is very peculiar, isn’t it?” Merlin said distantly. “It’s ancient and full of secrets you shouldn’t know.”
