Haunting Me (An Angel Falls Book 3) Read online

  She looks away. I see the mask of years of despair and sacrifice under the façade of her calm acceptance.

  “I don’t want to hurt them any more than I already have.”

  “I don’t know what the best answer is, but it never hurts to move into the Summerland with healthy thoughts and a clear heart. I’m willing do the legwork and let you know what I find out. Or, we can go on and pretend we never had this talk.”

  She pushes her chair back and finds her feet. “I’m going to the washroom. You go on and rest. And Nathaniel,” She looks down at me at the table. “Liam and Kathleen lived somewhere between Castlerock and Portrush. I hope you find the son-of-a-gun. Tell him I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

  I close my eyes for an extra-long blink. “Thank you, Vivi.” Then I think of something vital. “Did he ever tell you his last name?”

  She starts off toward her bedroom. “Well, yes. No. I stand corrected. His wife was the one who told me. It’s O’Flannagain.”

  “And what about your daughter? Can I look for her?”

  She hesitates, but tells me her daughter’s full name and her ex-husband’s. I commit everything to memory.

  “Now go on. You’re fading away before my eyes. It’s ghastly.” She takes a step back from me looking startled, but I think she’s acting.

  And she’s also right. I can’t hold my physical presence together any longer. I feel thinner and weak.

  “I expect a full recounting when you get back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say. I surprise both of us and give her a quick and gentle hug. “If you need me immediately, say Nathaniel Evans out loud, and I will come as soon as I can. All right?”

  “Yes, yes,” she says and shoos me away with one hand.

  “Take care, Vivi. I’ll see you very soon.” With that, I disappear from the room and take the necessary rest needed to recharge.

  Chapter Eleven: Short-Lived Expectations

  Nathaniel

  Arriving in Ireland wasn’t what I expected. Neither was the dart that zipped past me and stuck in the tree trunk on my right. I get the distinct impression the dart missed me on purpose. Cautiously, I walk backward until I’m in the narrow lane on the other side of the stacked stone wall. The sign by the gate reads Rowan Cottage. It’s a modest home built from the stones of the land. Ivy grows over a large section of the traditional-looking cottage and a slate roof tops it like a crisp stone hat. It’s as neat and tidy as the walled pastures on the surrounding hills. The garden, albeit sparse, looks well kept. It’s obviously inhabited, and by someone who owns a crossbow.

  My intent is to find Liam O’Flannagain, the fallen angel, as quickly as possible and try to have my questions answered. The main question being, how do I accomplish falling from grace and return to my old life? How can I have a normal life with Juliana? After my rest, I focused on his name and this is where I appeared. Vivi described him for me, but she had not seen the man for almost forty-five years. Is he inside? Did he shoot at me? What if I find Liam O’Flannagain and it’s not the person I’m looking for? Could my search go on forever?

  I stroll down the country road far enough to be out of sight of the cottage and relinquish my physical body. Then I turn around and go back. If I can have a look around first, before approaching him, to make sure I have the correct location, this may be a better plan of action. Vivi’s opinion of the man, for she knew him as a man and not as an angel, left me with the impression of someone who will give it to you straight, not that he’ll try to shoot you when you walk into his front yard. Although she did call him a shit, and a high priest, so who knows what I may be confronting.

  As I re-enter the gate, I’m enveloped with an uncomfortable sensation. It can only be described as an invisible sandstorm. It’s extremely irritating and mildly disorienting. I had a similar experience one other time when I was near Chris Abeyta at Castle Hill. I take a few steps closer to the cottage to see if the discomfort increases. It does. I can see okay, but I want to blink furiously and shake off the feeling of my skin being attacked by a sandblaster.

  So, with my body, I’m being shot at. I don’t think I could actually be killed, but I’m leery because of what the warlock, Travis, was able to do to me. Without a body, I can’t approach at all. What is going on here? My mind races as I try to come up with a logical explanation.

  I back out onto the road and pull my body together once again. I no longer care if I’m being watched. Something screwy is happening and I have to get to the bottom of it. A direct approach seems like the fastest way to getting answers so I move toward the cottage with my hands raised in surrender. If I had a white flag I would wave it, but I’m realizing too late how unprepared I am.

  “Hello,” I call. “I apologize for the intrusion. I’m looking for Mr. O’Flannagain.” I don’t say his entire name aloud. It’s a courtesy among us not to give each other’s full names. We can be called if someone knows our name so we don’t give it out frivolously. But I did say his last name and if the fallen angel is inside, he likely knows I know his first name because first names are common knowledge, and the last name is the part not usually given. It was a surprise Vivi knew it.

  I sense the movement before I see it, and another short metal-tipped dart sinks into the ground two inches from my foot. I sharpen my focus on the direction from which it came. Behind the ivy, I suspect there’s an open window, but I can’t see anyone lurking inside.

  I sprint toward the cottage before I think too much about what I’m doing. As I near the end of the house with the ivy growing up to the roof, I hear movement. I don’t want to be shot, but I want to know if I’ve found Liam. “I need a word with you, O’Flannagain!”

  The shifting sounds from inside fade and I hear a slam that makes me start for the back of the house. I chance running past the ivy to the other side of the cottage. A blaze of white hair atop a large male figure disappears around the side of a barn. Behind the outbuildings are a mass of trees and shrubs and nothing else. I run faster than any human can and into the wall of greenery. I push through some branches listening for movement, or any sound at all, but don’t hear him. I pause before venturing farther. Did he disappear into the barn? I didn’t think so, but where is he? Then I sense him. Was it a snap of a twig or his clothing catching a shrub? I take a hesitant step in the direction and hear a faint crack.

  “Liam!” I call out. “I only want a word. I swear I mean no harm.”

  “Get the fack off my land.”

  “Can I speak with you for a minute?” I peer into the dense forest and see no one.

  “You think me plonkers, do ye? I said leave me be.”

  I spot a dark cavity behind some overgrown vines and branches. I move toward it, sensing he’s close by. “A few minutes of your time is all I’m asking for.” I’m about to give up and leave. This is turning out to be a mistake. Should I have listened to Marcus after all?

  “Last warning, shite for brains.”

  Glancing all around, I still can’t spot him. There’s a cave behind the lush vines and tall grass. Brushing the plant life aside, I lean forward for a better look. The opening in the stone is narrow, just large enough to walk inside with my shoulders brushing the damp stone on either side. A shaft of sunlight brightens the entrance and allows me to see that the cave widens immediately once inside.

  “Come on, Liam? Would it hurt to speak to me?” I ask. I can’t tell where his voice is coming from. Is he inside the cave? I don’t think so, but there’s something alluring about this place. I lean to the side as I hold back the greenery, allowing in more daylight. I see the impossible. A girl is sitting on the floor of the cave, hugging her knees to her chest and with head down. Without seeing her face, she looks exactly like Juliana. Thin torso, long legs, and shining black hair. Even her clothes could be Juliana’s. Dark purple shirt, black pants, and canvas Chuck Taylor’s. I step inside, unable to believe my eyes.

  With soft steps and an even softer voice I say, “Hey, there.”

>   How? Who is she? The girl doesn’t look up or even move. I move deeper into the dark space, convinced and in denial simultaneously. The light inside the cave is swallowed by the earth. My shadow falls across the girl, making it more difficult to see. Reaching out to brush her shoulder, she disappears like a mirage fading into the landscape. I’m left stupefied and staring at a small pool of water on the cold stone floor. Quickly, I back up and try to leave this cursed place. It’s too late. I’ve made a terrible error in judgment. The opening is as hard as the surrounding rock. I cannot pass. Letting go of my physical body in the next instant, I try to leave the cave again and have the same results.

  Outside the cave entrance an old man, craggy-faced, and hard in the eyes, watches me.

  “What is this?” I ask Liam calmly.

  “Sharp as a beach ball, this one is. I gave ye warning to away and pull yer wire. Should’ve unplugged yer ear holes.”

  “Let me out of here and I’ll leave you be.” I’m still trying for calm, even though as the seconds tick by, my agitation grows.

  “Ye’ve heard of a fairy lock?”

  His accent is strong and I have to listen closely. I cross my arms over my chest and watch him carefully. He appears old, but nowhere near the eighty-year-old I imagined. He’s at least my height and his shoulders are broad. His crop of unruly hair may have been red once, but it’s now faded and the white is taking over. His blue eyes are pinched at the corners as he concentrates on me. The blue color is so pale as to be nearly silver.

  “No, Sir.”

  “Well, now ye’re in one, arse weed.”

  The look on his face says it all. Satisfaction mixed with impatient contempt.

  “How do I get out of a fairy lock?” I bite the air with my words as I realize how ridiculous my situation has suddenly become.

  “Ye don’t. Visitors aren’t welcome at Rowan Cottage.” He steps back, half disappearing into the forest behind him. His nostrils flare slightly as he takes a mighty breath of the lush air and without another word, he turns and vanishes.

  ∞

  Juliana

  In light of Jared’s new illness, and all I’ve been going through in the last few hours, I’d say I’m doing rather well. Except I’m moving like someone without a head. Maybe a head with working brains is overrated. In the last few minutes, I’ve called my mother at work, to be informed her shift was over and she has already left, and called my grandma Charlotte. She didn’t answer. Now I’m making tea for Jared and trying to stay reassured there are no demons inside the house.

  Star had taken one look at Jared, or should I say, one sniff of the vomit in the bathroom, gagged silently and put her hand over her nose and mouth. She mumbled something that sounded like, “It’s been real. Catch up with you later.” She put her shoes on and left.

  “Marcus, are you sure they’re gone?” I ask again.

  “Positive,” he says as he watches me scoop out the ingredients for Jared’s decoction.

  Without my mom or grandma, I have to start treating Jared by myself. Making herbal medicines for colds and the flu isn’t new to me. My grandma has been taking care of me this way since I was born and training me almost as long. But, I have to say that treating someone who I know is about to die puts a whole new level of pressure on how well it works. I really want my mom and grandma here. Where are they? Time is of the essence. The sooner Jared starts the herbal medicine, the better his chances for recovery.

  “Girl,” Marcus says exasperatedly. “How’d you manage to have such nasties come visit you?”

  I look heavenward for patience. Marcus’s question makes it sound as if I invited the creepy demon-things into my room. “No idea,” I say as I try to stay focused on the task at hand.

  I crush the cinnamon stick with my mortar and pestle and add it to the pot of hot water already steeping the licorice roots and peppermint leaves. I have tinctures to boost Jared’s immune system and I’m going to insist he start sweating out his fever in a ginger bath. As I wait for the tea to finish, Marcus continues.

  “Don’t know, huh? Harmony may have some thoughts. I can ask her.”

  “Great. You should do that,” I say with false enthusiasm. Then maybe he’ll get out of here and let me medicate my brother uninterrupted.

  “They were similar to the nasties from Travis’s devil pit, but I’m not convinced they were exactly the same. You sure you haven’t been foolin’ around with the unholy arts?” He looks at me expectantly.

  “Of course not,” I say. “You’re here all the time. Wouldn’t you have noticed if I was up to something like that?”

  “You’ve a point. Something’s gotten into your house though,” he says contemplatively. “The herbs you used was some smart thinkin’. They have an awful stench, but not nearly strong enough to keep their like away.”

  “Oh?” I say, wondering if he is referring to the spray, or the sachets, or both. “What should I have been using?”

  Before he answers, I hear a car pull up in front of the house.

  Confused, tired, and frustrated, I let out a heavy relieved breath that someone is here to help. From the front window, I see my mom’s Subaru parked next to my car. She’s a phenomenal nurse. It’s not just because she’s my mom either. I’ve watched her work at the hospital. Patients feel her grounded, calm, and tender nature, and it helps them relax and get better.

  I open the door for her as she comes up the steps to the porch.

  “You’re up early,” she says.

  Somehow, between getting the holy mother scared out of me and watching over Jared, the sun had come up. The morning light is still the dark gray of predawn, but don’t spooky things hide during the day? I don’t know, but it sounds good. Let’s go with that. Welcome sunshine.

  A chill raises gooseflesh on my arms. I rub my hands over my skin. It’s only the cool morning air this time and nothing more, but I catch myself looking over my shoulder. There’s nothing standing behind me except Marcus.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Mom asks as she comes into the house and puts her purse down and kicks off her shoes.

  “Jared’s really sick.”

  “When did it start?”

  “In the middle of the night. I’m making medicine for him right now.”

  “Good. I’ll go check on him,” she says and immediately heads up the stairs.

  Back in the kitchen, I glance at the clock — not that it’s actually working — and wonder how long I have let my decoction steep. Like I said, moving around without a head. The herbs I used for this blend won’t lose their medicinal qualities by steeping an extra few minutes, but it’s a good thing I’m not making a more complicated recipe. I would have ruined it. I strain off some of the spicy sweet tea into a mug and pour the rest into a large jar. Before I bring him the medicinal tea, I add the special Manuka honey. It’s something Grandma thinks is a miracle in and of itself and Jared will like the extra sweetness.

  As I enter his room, Mom comes out.

  “He can sip the tea, but no herbal extracts until he has some food. They may upset his stomach worse than it is already.”

  “Oh, right,” I say, not having thought of that. I was about to dose him with everything I have. His stomach would have been knotted and cramped.

  “Run a ginger bath. His fever needs to break. I’m going to start cooking some soup,” she says and heads down the stairs.

  When I walk in, I see Marcus sitting in Jared’s desk chair looking like an underwhelmed spectator. Mom had already roused Jared, so he’s somewhat conscious when I give him the tea.

  “Try to drink this. It should help your stomach. Then you’re taking a bath.”

  Jared pushes himself up with a groan and takes the mug. He swallows once, hands it back, and lies down again.

  “No bath,” he says into his pillow.

  “It’s not negotiable.”

  “I can’t move,” he moans.

  “You have to,” I say, and leave to go run the water.

 
With repeated threats, from both my mother and I, of dragging him off the bed by his hair and stripping his clothes off for him, we finally manage to get Jared to hobble into the bathroom unassisted and get into the bathtub full of steeping powdered ginger. The ginger will make him sweat, which should bring down his fever. Unsure of what to do with myself next, I pace the hallway wringing my hands and unable to go into my own bedroom and rest.

  “Are you prepared, Jules? He’s not recoverin’ from this one,” Marcus says from the doorway to Jared’s room.

  “Why would you say that to me?” I say in a low harsh whisper. Mom is in the kitchen, and it wouldn’t be in my best interest to have her hear me talking to myself.

  “I know it’s not easy. Death may be the hardest part of living. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Marcus,” I start to say something unbelievably rude, then stop myself and decide to switch tracks. “Will you find out what was inside my room? You said Harmony may know. I don’t think I can live here anymore if this continues.”

  “For you, Jules, of course. You know I’m here for you, and your mother, as well as your brother.”

  “If that’s true, why won’t you go away and not come back? That would help us.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, young one. There’s no stopping creation and destruction. I help balance the loss and give comfort where’s it’s needed. Jared is going to need me.”

  “You scared me to death with Nathaniel. How is that supposed to help me feel more comfortable?”

  “Don’t be comparin’ two different situations now,” he says and gives me a slightly disappointed look.

  I press my lips together to hold my silence. Marcus is scary. He wasn’t before, but after I saw him attack Nathaniel, I can’t shake my fear of him. “Nathaniel and I are friends. It has nothing to do with Jared,” I say.

  “It’s become apparent to me Nathaniel can’t separate work from play.”