Chapter 13
Griffin walked with Brigid to the center of the garden surrounded by rosebushes. The bistro table was covered with a white lace tablecloth and a centerpiece of spring flowers. The wine steward poured two glasses of dry white wine, and Griffin pulled a padded wicker chairfor Brigid to sit.
She smiled up at him, and her eyes twinkled happily.
A flush of pride swelled his chest at how well this accidental meeting had turned out. This mysterious woman in front of him was not only attracted to him, she could also be connected to his precious Brigid.
“Let’s toast this lucky day,” he said, raising his wine glass. “We’ve been bound by fate and ourwishes to help each other.”
“Yes, to luck and to love.” She clinked her glass with his and took a sip. “This wine is heavenly.”
“We have an extensive cellar,” he said. “You’ll be surprised what’s underground.”
Her nose twitched, and she giggled. “The entrance to the Otherworld is usually underground. Nothing surprises me.”
Pierce appeared at Griffin’s side. He bentclose to his ear and said, “Sorry to interrupt, Master Griffin, but you have an important phone call on the landline in your grandfather’s study.”
“Can you ask them to leave a message?” Griffin asked, his gaze still fixed on the happy-go-lucky woman who sprang into his life so unexpectedly.
“No, you must take the call,” Pierce said. “It’s important.”
Brigid’s image seemedto dim when a cloud cast a shadow over her, and a tight blast of chill crept between his shoulder blades. The air behind her swished. Faint, feathery wings darkened her shoulders.
“Who is it from?” Griffin snapped, breaking the vision of the dark fairy queen. For a moment, it was as if he’d seen Brigid in another time on a windswept plain, dressed in widow’s weeds with a black veil overher face and blackened vines woven into her dark-red hair.
“Your grandfather needs you now.” Pierce whipped around and marched toward the castle’s garden entrance.
“I have to take a call,” he explained to Brigid who resumed her bright and radiant complexion. What he’d seen earlier must have been an illusion cast by the fairy magic Brigid detected on the castle grounds. How come he’dnever noticed it before?
“It’s okay, go ahead,” she said, flashing him a sweet smile. “I’ll just sit here and enjoy the weather and wine.”
His heart rate ratcheting up, he hurried after Pierce. Since his memory was still spotty, he struggled to figure out who could be calling him. It was either his doctors or the investigators. He’d been ignoring the doctors because they were pessimists,telling him things would only get worse if he didn’t follow their regimen of drugs and treatments.
Grandfather was waiting for him in the darkened study along with two men, one with gray hair, a bushy white mustache, and horn-rimmed glasses and a younger bloke whose bright-blue eyes shifted from side to side. He leaned forward, with his weight on his toes, like a prizefighter about to deliverthe knockout punch.
“Griffin, you know Myles and Mack Brady,” Grandfather said. “They are the guardians for the Quill of Niamh, and they have some very interesting information about that young lady you’re squiring around.”
“You mean Brigid O’Brien?” Griffin shook the visitors’ hands.
“That the name she’s given you?” Mack, the younger Brady, snorted, rolling his eyes. “Shehas you eating out of her hands. You didn’t really think she’d beyourBrigid.”
“Be nice, Mack,” his grandfather said. “Need I remind you of your unfortunate dalliance with the weeping lady at the well?”
“You mean witch.” Mack’s brows drew down, and he snarled.
“Tell me about this Brigid,” Griffin said. “What is her true name?”
The older Brady, Myles, cleared his throatand slapped a stack of photographs in Griffin’s hand. They were grainy images taken by a security camera and showed a woman dressed like a black bird above the waist, a skirt trimmed with flaccid cabbage and lettuce leaves, and long, green lace-up boots.
Her clothes were weird, but that wasn’t what had his jaw dropping. It was her face and hair. In one of the images, she’d turned towardthe camera to take her bag from the baggage claim carousel.
It was his Brigid.
“She was at the airport,” Griffin observed. “Did I meet her?”
“We spoke to the flight attendant,” Mack said. “She was your seatmate. You spoke to her and bought her a drink. On the descent into Dublin, she spilled a drink on you and had to use the airsickness bag.”
“Did she do anything else?”Pulses of prickles popped up and down on his scalp, and his heart fell to his gut. “Did she take something from me?”
