Free When Irish Eyes Are Haunting: A Krewe of Hunters Novella by Heather Graham Page B

fool. Worse. She’d had evil thoughts about a man of the cloth.
    “I’m fine, Father Flannery.”
    She stepped out into what remained of the light. The crimsons, pale streaks of gold, and mauves were leaving the heavens. Darkness would come in earnest soon.
    “What are you doing there, child?” he asked, now perplexed himself.
    “I’m not at all sure,” she told him. “I left the hospital and just—I felt drawn to stop. Perhaps to say a prayer. You’ve heard, I assume, that Brendan was rushed to the hospital this afternoon?”
    “Yes, of course, sorry business, and I am sorry, so sorry!” Father Flannery said. “That’s why I worried so much. This is strange. Poor Collum—and now Brendan. I saw you here, and I must confess, and our good Father above himself knows why, but…I feared for you.”
    “I’m not a Karney,” she said.
    He frowned, looking at her. “No, of course not. I don’t know. You’re at the castle…you are, in a way, family. But—you think that the family is in danger, the way that you spoke as you did?”
    “Yes, Father, I do,” she said.
    He shook his head. “There’s no reason, lass. None with a wee lick of sense. Too many heirs.”
    “Not so many. Collum, Brendan, Seamus—Kelly. And then Michael and Aidan,” she said.
    “And the Republic of Ireland,” he reminded her.
    “I think that what’s happened is too much to take as coincidence,” Devin said.
    “Ah, lass, don’t go round saying that now!” he warned her.
    “You think that would put me in danger? So you think that someone is causing these attacks, too—and not a banshee!” Devin said.
    He seemed distressed. “One—poor Collum—a heart attack. Two? Aye, girl, I question what should not happen. Thing is now, dear lass, it’s growing late. And graveyards at night…well, they’re dark, for one. You need to be getting on back to the castle. Among the living,” he added softly.
    “As you say, Father, as you say.”
    “Let me walk with you to the road.”
    He did so, bringing her back to where she had parked her car to the western side of St. Patrick’s of the Village.
    “Are you ever afraid of the graveyard, Father?” she asked him.
    “No,” he told her. “I am at peace with the Father above. If he were to say it was my time, then I would pray that He’d welcome me with open arms.”
    “Father, I believe that I’m at peace and that I’d be welcomed, too. But that doesn’t mean that I’d particularly like to go right now,” Devin told him. She studied him.
    Was he unafraid because he knew something?
    And knew that he wouldn’t be touched?
    She tried to dismiss the thought. She’d already aggravated herself once by being suspicious of a priest.
    She’d grown up knowing that the world was filled with beliefs. She tried to respect all of them. But she knew, too, that ideals and beliefs were one thing—that while tenets and beliefs might be filled with good things, they were also upheld by men. And men, as the world knew, were easy prey to temptation.
    “Do you know anything, Father?” she asked him bluntly.
    He paused, staring at her.
    “I only know that the wind blows hard out of the north at times, that this is a wild coastline, and that…that men can be pure evil. I believe that there is a cry that may well be the tears of a banshee. And I know that there are shadows in time and life and that shadows often harbor evil. That’s what I know. I pray for all at the castle. I pray that if there is a truth, you will find it,” he told her.
    She believed him.
    “Thank you, Father,” she said.
    She stepped into the driver’s seat and headed the rest of the way toward the castle, looking up at the sky.
    St. Patrick’s Day was coming.
    A day for feast and celebration.
    She swore she would not let it be a day when the banshee was called upon to work.
    Deirdre.
    A fitting name…
    Devin didn’t wonder if she had imagined the woman in the shadows. She wasn’t afraid. She was grateful.
    There