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  Quiet as the night, she rolled from Bres’ arms as he slept. She blew him a kiss and made ready to finally, utterly and completely, say her last goodbye to Dylan. But could she save her sweet Paul? She had no idea. But she knew she had to try.

  Chapter 24

  Day 6, Nighttime - Siobhan

  Shivering in the night air, Siobhan stood before Dylan’s grave, clutching the Carmina Gadelica in one hand, and a flashlight in the other. The rain had thankfully relented, lending a cool stillness to the darkness. The moist earth gave beneath her feet. A full moon played hide and seek among the clouds, eerily illuminating the graveyard.

  She thought of her marriage to Dylan and all that it represented. He was her first true love. She met him in secondary school when he wooed her away from that asshole, Marc Byrne. They split up when she went to university in Dublin to study business management, and he stayed in Ballynagaul to work his parents’ farm, alongside his father. When she returned from uni, she ran into him at the Laughing Rat pub. They’d rekindled as fast as a wildfire, moving in together after a few dates.

  A local butcher hired her right away, to balance his accounts.

  Dylan kept working his father’s land. It put food on the table and helped pay the bills. In his heart, though, he was always eager to find his own way.

  When they’d purchased their home in Ballynagual—the one she now knew had belonged to the O’Neill family, a thought that boiled the contents of her stomach—it had been his dream to till the land into lush gardens and raise sheep. They’d never gotten around to the sheep, thankfully, or she’d be left with a bunch of grass grazers to deal with. And truthfully, Dylan was a restless man, always longing for the next best thing. He wanted to start a bed-and-breakfast. Then, he thought to become a travel agent a good idea. After that, he’d pursued fishing for a very short time. A landman through and through, his stomach lurched when he stood on a boat in the sea’s rocking waves.

  When he proposed, she knew her life to be complete. Father Ward had married them in the church. It had been a wonderful day, full of sunshine and promise. All their friends turned out to wish them well.

  And then, the arrival of Paul had been the start of what she hoped would be the loving family experience of a lifetime. She was happy to raise the baby while Dylan continued his search for satisfaction.

  But Ailis and that wretched Dearg-Due destroyed the dream of a happy life together.

  Her blood began to steam. I don’t think I can do this. She whirled around and stalked away.

  From a nearby tree, a crow cawed some sort of crow-curse at her as she trekked away from her responsibility.

  She turned her head in the direction of the bird. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be betrayed.”

  The crow made a rattling noise in its throat.

  Siobhan stilled. Not that she understood crow-speak, but maybe the bird was trying to tell her something.

  Cillian’s compassionate words loomed in her mind. Hadn’t he gone through the same thing? And hadn’t he found true love again by releasing all that grief and anger? You can do this, Siobhan. You have to do it. Do it for Paul, if no one else. She pictured Bres, sleeping deeply in her bed. The love they’d shared earlier…that was worth living for, too.

  “All right. You win,” Siobhan told the crow. Sighing, she pivoted and tromped back to finish things with Dylan.

  She imagined a bonfire burning brightly behind the grave, the way Cillian had advised. Next, she pictured bundling all her resentments and flinging them into the fire. After that, if she let her heart soften a smidge, Dylan’s attraction to Ailis seemed like folly—nothing but a way to calm his restless spirit.

  She crouched before his grave, picturing happy times. She knew he loved her and Paul. He’d been a good dad. Then, she pictured his horrid death. He must have been terrified at the end, as a supernatural being tore the life from his throat. A shudder ripped through her. Still clutching the book, she rested the flashlight on the ground and reached out to trace the words on his tombstone. At the time of his death, she hadn’t a clue what to put on the gravestone of the man she hoped to live with until she died. She’d alternated between numbness and anger. Sorrow and bewilderment. She’d really wanted to inscribe, Snatched from life’s jaws by a bitch, after betraying his true love. Then, she amended it to Sullied by a bitch and ravaged by a demon. He died at the age of thirty-one, leaving her a twenty-eight-year-old widow. And all she could think to say was Dylan Riordan. Relinquished life too soon.

  Letting out a long breath, she kneeled on the grass, and opened the Carmina Gadelica, resting it on her legs. The full moon danced through and beneath the clouds. She positioned the flashlight so she could see, and then began to read aloud.

  “SINCE Thou Christ it was who didst buy the soul—

  At the time of yielding the life,

  At the time of pouring the sweat,

  At the time of offering the clay,

  At the time of shedding the blood,

  At the time of balancing the beam,

  At the time of severing the breath,

  At the time of delivering the judgment,

  Be its peace upon Thine own ingathering;

  Jesus Christ Son of gentle Mary,

  Be its peace upon Thine own ingathering,

  O Jesus! Upon Thine own ingathering.

  And may Michael white kindly,

  High King of the holy angels,

  Take possession of the beloved soul,

  And shield it home to the Three of surpassing love,

  Oh! to the Three of surpassing love.”

  She didn’t know what the words meant, any more than what the colorful Celtic symbols on the page represented. And, honestly, when had she last stepped foot inside a church? Still, by the time she finished, tears streamed down her cheeks, and a profound sense of bittersweet peace radiated from her heart. She swore Dylan sighed with relief from wherever his spirit resided.

  She said a final goodbye to Dylan, her first love, her husband, her betrayer, and the father of her child.

  Next, she rose and turned to face Ailis’ grave. Her short-lived peace died in a thorny bloom of bitterness. She took a few steps toward the grave, her legs heavy. The sticks that once spelled WHORE lay scattered. The gravestone still lay broken. I never really liked Ailis, ever. I mostly felt sorry for her. She fucked nearly every man in town if the rumors could be trusted. I’m sure she destroyed more marriages than mine.

  With trembling hands, she leafed through the Carmina Gadelica, searching for a passage that seemed more fitting. Her attention caught on the Soul Plaint.

  She uttered the words in Gaelic this time. “Saor mi bho olc, Saor mi bho lochd, Caomhain mo chorp, Naomhaich mi nochd…”

  She begged for evil to be banned, and for her own self to be saved from evil, saved from harm. As she spoke, she began to pace. The bonfire she’d imagined seemed real. She swore she could even feel the heat scorching her arms.

  A strong wind began to howl, whipping her hair into knots.

  She clutched the sacred text, ceasing her recitation. Thoughts of Ailis swirled around her head. A sense of betrayal, sharp and biting, grew as if she’d only found out about the affair a few seconds ago. Come on, stop this. Get back to the reading. She tried to take long, deep breaths. She tried to pitch her thoughts into her imaginary fire. She couldn’t hold back her rage. “You bitch! You fucking bitch! You destroyed my marriage. I hate you!” Her words grew louder, as she shouted over the wind. Her shouts turned to screams as the toxic emotions she’d carried toward Ailis sought expression. While staggering along the damp grass, her footfalls making wet, squishing sounds, she gestured with her arms, punching the sky with her flashlight.

  Something flickered before her. She squinted, trying to make out the fluttering shape which floated no more than two meters before her. Nothing could have possibly prepared her for what she saw before her. Glimmers of the ghostly demon woman she’d seen before flashed on and off like a f
reakish strobe-light movie.

  “Oh, my God,” Siobhan screamed. “It’s the banshee!” Her breath came in quick, gulping gasps.

  The banshee let out a high-pitched laugh. It ripped through Siobhan’s heart.

  As the banshee laughed, Siobhan’s ears began to ring. She screamed. An eerie lament, as old as time, shivered through her. It crawled from her throat in one long, horrible wail. Another wail, longer than the first, followed. Soon both she and the banshee filled the air with endless songs of grief and longing.

  Streetlights surrounding the graveyard shattered, plunging her into utter darkness. She clung to her lone beam with its paltry beam.

  When her laments had ended, Siobhan stumbled around Ailis’ grave plot, clutching her head. I’m losing my mind. This is the end for me.

  The demon’s face loomed before her, mouth open wide, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth. Long strands of hair, billowing about her face, shimmered like wildfire. A silvery shroud of a cape fluttered around her thin frame, partially concealing a crimson dress. Her horrible, blotchy face, with red-veined eyes and swollen eyelids, embodied all the ugliness Siobhan felt inside.

  Shivers cascaded through Siobhan’s limbs. She’d never been this terrified—not even when she found Dylan’s body. Gooseflesh peppered her skin. Her teeth began a bone-cracking chatter.

  The wraith swirled around her, moaning her laments. She slithered through Siobhan, singing a horrifying song of endless death and sorrow. Each time the banshee passed through her body, Siobhan’s skeleton became ice-cold. Her hands shook like flags whipping in the wind. She dropped the flashlight and the sacred text, and pressed her hands to her ears, fearing her eardrums might burst and bleed. As the mourning cries increased, it became harder and harder to focus on anything, let alone forgiveness.

  She fell to her knees. “Bres! Someone. Anyone. Help me!”

  She curled over her thighs, grabbing her head. She writhed in the cold, wet grass.

  The banshee rocketed down her spine, leaving a frosted trail of searing pain.

  “Stop!” Siobhan cried, unable to hear herself speak over the screeching wails. “Ailis. I forgive you,” she sobbed. “I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you.” Her snot and tears mixed with the mud beneath her face. “Oh, dear God, forgive me for holding onto so much rage and grief. Please,” she begged. “Please take away this pain.” She knew, in a few minutes, she would go mad. Her thoughts were a jumble. Any second now, her mind would shatter. She’d be forced to live among the insane. “Please,” she whispered.

  A torrent of grief pushed through her heart. She knew, if she knew anything at all, one last person was begging for forgiveness—her.

  “I forgive myself,” she wept. “I forgive everyone, even me.”

  As she huddled, sobbing, the winds ceased. The moon pushed through the clouds. The shrieking laments stopped.

  The ringing vanished.

  She lifted her head.

  Illuminated by an unearthly glow, the two pieces of Ailis’ gravestone drew together, as if by magic. The cracked edges melded. The heavy stone floated in the air and righted itself at the base of where it once stood.

  The pages of the Carmina Gadelica fluttered, flipping from page to page by invisible fingers. And then, they stilled, the book parted in two.

  The flashlight lay a meter away, positioned so its beam illuminated the pages.

  Everything was quiet, so quiet. Siobhan brought her hands together in a clap. Nothing. She clapped harder. She couldn’t hear the smacking sound. In fact, she couldn’t hear a single thing.

  She crawled on her hands toward the sacred text and knelt before the manuscript. Head bowed, she glanced down at the passage before her.

  “A Prayer for Grace,” she said, unable to hear her words. She skimmed the phrase, her eyes welling with tears when she read, Each day and night give us Thy peace. Each day and night give us Thy peace.

  A profound sense of serenity rocked her soul. She had found her peace.

  Movement caught her eye. In the moonlight, she made out a figure. Bres.

  Bres ran toward her. His mouth moved as if he were shouting, but she couldn’t hear it.

  She stared at him, blinking rapidly.

  He closed the distance. When he reached Siobhan, he pulled her to her feet and embraced her.

  She wrapped her arms around him, taking pleasure in the safety of his arms. I was just assaulted by a Banshee. A Banshee!

  A rumbling vibration emanated from his collarbones and neck, no doubt from his vocalizations. The warmth of him, enfolding her, drawing her close, soothed her, like sweet salve to a blistering burn.

  He eased her away from him. His loving eyes searched her face, concern etched on his forehead and the corners of his mouth. His lips moved with speech.

  She shook her head.

  “I can’t hear a thing,” she said, feeling the vibration of speaking.

  “You can’t?” he mouthed.

  “Completely deaf.” It was so weird to not hear herself talking. “But utterly at peace. I forgave Dylan. I forgave Ailis. And in the end, I forgave myself.”

  Bres’ eyes moistened. “Oh, sweetheart. I thought I lost you for good.”

  Or that’s what she thought he said. She focused intently on his mouth, trying to figure out his words. She pointed to her ears. “Nothing.”

  He shook his head and pulled her close again.

  Her phone vibrated in her jacket. She eased away from Bres, shoved her hand in her pocket, and retrieved it. A text message from Lassi blinked on the screen. She quickly tapped the messages icon. My baby. He could be dead. With her heart stuttering in her chest, she read, Paul’s awake! He’s getting better at a miraculous pace! Followed by three hearts, a cheerleader, and firework icons. Siobhan cried out in joy. She held the phone screen up to Bres.

  He scanned it, his eyes brimming over with tears.

  His love for Paul was as evident as his love for her. She’d been such a fool to ignore the reality of his care for her and her child.

  “I love you,” she said, hoping she didn’t shout it out.

  His face grew radiant, eyes bright and wide. He pointed to his heart and then to hers, as he said, “And I’m in love with you.”

  Or, that’s what it looked like he said.

  He reached for her, lowering his mouth for a kiss.

  As their lips melted, she finally knew, without a doubt, that Paul would be all right, that she loved Bres and he loved her, and that all had been forgiven. Even her.

  Chapter 25

  Day 6, Nighttime - Lassi

  Lassi’s heart overflowed as she fed Paul vanilla ice cream covered with colorful rainbow sprinkles. The lights of the room were dimmed to “nighttime at the hospital” mode, meaning not enough darkness to fall asleep and not enough light to perform a thorough exam.

  Paul sat up in his hospital bed, his eyes bright, his cheeks rosy pink, a miracle if ever one existed. The IV had been removed. The respirator sat in the corner, out of use. And Paul, very much alive and cheerful, grinned at Lassi.

  “Mama says no scream at nite-nite.” He lisped, turning his S’s into adorable th sounds and his R’s into W’s.

  “No screaming or no ice cream?” Lassi said, scooping the last of the frozen treat onto the spoon.

  “Auntie Lassi,” Paul said with a giggle. “No ice-cream.”

  She smiled. “Well, tonight is a special occasion. We were worried about you.” More like terrified. “But you’re well again.” She held the spoon up to his sweet lips.

  He opened and closed his mouth, making cartoon monster sounds.

  She fed him the creamy dessert.

  “Mmm,” he said, swallowing. “Mmm. You’re my favorite.”

  “And you’re my favorite,” she said with a straight face, tapping him on the nose with the end of the spoon. Inside, she thrilled at the new and astonishingly deep way she loved Paul.

  He squealed and threw himself back on the bed as if sharing the sentiment.r />
  She placed the spoon and the container of ice cream on the counter and proceeded to tickle his sides.

  Paul shrieked with hysterical laughter.

  Lassi stopped the tickle attack, aware she and Paul might be keeping patients awake, even though she’d closed the door.

  She put her fingers to her lips. “Shhh. Let’s use our nighttime voices.”

  “All right,” Paul whisper-lisped. “We don’t want to scare mice. That’s what mama says.”

  Behind her, the door burst open.

  Bres, Siobhan, and Cillian bustled in with a flurry of joyful cries and greetings.

  “Here’s our family, Paul,” Lassi said, without thinking. She glanced at Cillian, certain he’d be cringing.

  He avoided eye contact.

  Paul climbed to his feet and jumped up and down. “Mama! Unca Ward. And daddy.”

  Bres came to a sudden stop. “He’s never called me that,” he said to Siobhan. “Not even by mistake. The miracles are coming fast and hard.”

  His words emerged with so much tenderness Lassi burst into happy tears. Her eyebrows lifted, as she wondered what happened between Bres and Siobhan.

  Bres turned toward Siobhan. His eyes shone with a look of such love, and devotion Lassi’s heart ached. She longed to share looks like that with Cillian.

  Then, Bres pulled a notepad from his pocket and wrote something down. He held it up to Siobhan.

  Her eyes overflowed with tears as a smile split her face.

  “They are.” She turned, stepped toward Paul, and scooped him up in her arms. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she said, a little too loud.

  Paul buried his face in her neck. “Mama. I missed you.”

  Siobhan didn’t reply.

  “Mama! I missed you!” Paul cried.

  Bres tapped Siobhan’s shoulder.

  When she turned around, he mouthed, “He missed you.”

  Lassi cocked her head, quizzically eying both Bres and Siobhan.