Chapter 3
Clare’s first homecoming stop was the Blarney Bear, her favorite diner in Dublin. She called her two best friends, Maeve Malone and Sorcha O’Shea, and they were there when she arrived. It was already getting close to noon, but Clare needed a Full Irish breakfast afterstarving on the airplane.
Maeve and Sorcha jumped up from the booth and skittered to her side, giggling and squealing, drawing gawks from the men lounging at the bar.
Tall, blond, leggy, and bosomy, Maeve wore her queen of the forest huntress garb. With a quiver of hawk-feathered arrows, a yew-wood bow under her arm, and a mantle of skins hung from her shoulders, she resembled aViking princess.
The dark-haired, dark-eyed Sorcha was an exotic mixture of unknown origin. Her Irish mother left her few clues, leading her to believe she had a spot of Chinese, a smidgen of Barbary pirate, and a splash of Persian sultan. Slim, with her long, black hair wrapped around her head in multiple braids, Sorcha’s legs were encased in reptilian leather boots. Multi-colored glittershimmered on her body-hugging, iridescent sea-serpent bodysuit, mesmerizing every male eye in her vicinity.
By comparison, Clare in her bedraggled black-feathered Morrigan costume looked positively normal—an auburn-haired, pale-skinned, green-eyed, average-sized Irish lass. Her crown of black twigs had been broken in the turbulence, and she’d thrown out her wilted lettuce leaves beforegoing through customs. Not to be outdone by their attention-attracting welcome, Clare spread her ostrich wings and let them flutter as she jumped up and down to hug her two besties.
“How was America?” Maeve asked after Clare folded her wings and slid into the booth. “Did you score a movie deal?”
“Who’s going to play the fairy boyfriend?” Sorcha asked. “Will we get to meet the actors?”
“Yes, yes, tell us.” Maeve’s bright-blue eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Did you get lucky? Did all of your affirmations and intentions come true?”
“Let me order first.” Clare waved off their questions. Things hadn’t exactly gone her way in America, especially since she’d gotten fleeced. But she’d already thrown away her losses and swatted off all negative energy with a single “bad,bad, begone” incantation. Nothing would disturb her newfound good luck of running into Griffin Gallagher and his blessed Heart of Brigid.
“Well, well?” Both Sorcha and Maeve bounced in their seats after Clare gave her order to the waitress who set the default pot of tea on the table.
Aware of their impatience, Clare took her time pouring her tea. The aroma was strong and bold, andit prepped her mind for the announcement of her good news—make that awesome news.
Two sets of eyes watched her expectantly, because after all, Clare was their inspiration and guru—the one who made things happen by believing in them.
“Mmmm…” she hummed after taking a long, bittersweet sip and set down her mug. “I have an investor who’s going to fund an entire mini-series. It’s goingto be a blast working with him.”
“Is he hot?” Maeve asked. “I’d like for him to do a little investing with me.”
“I want to know which actors you’ve lined up,” the more practical Sorcha demanded. “Can’t wait to meet them.”
“Can you get parts for us, too?” Maeve added her petition. “Kissing parts, absolutely.”
“We’d better get the costume-making contract.” Sorcha wasbeing her bossy self again.
“I want to kiss all the superheroes in the entire mini-series.” Maeve made a smooching sound. “Which series? Is it the fairies ate my boyfriend one?”
Sorcha and Maeve were Clare’s first backers, and Clare felt like she was in a business meeting instead of having a late breakfast with her besties. They definitely had skin in Clare’s writing and movie business.
Maeve was her editor, and Sorcha dealt with research and fact-checking. After the three of them left the orphanage at Bronagh Abbey where they grew up, they’d headed for Dublin. Clare worked as a barmaid in the Temple Bar District. Maeve became a librarian for the Old Library of Trinity College where the famous Book of Kells was kept. Sorcha, ever the academic, took college classes and workedpart-time researching the archaeological finds at the National Museum of Ireland.
Both of them had followed her journey in America through frequent updates and social media, although Clare had gotten cagey near the end when her main investor, a man she’d gotten too close to, had absconded with all the money she’d raised.
Clare simply stirred cream into her tea and held the cup toher nose, inhaling to calm her nerves. She wasn’t exactly lying. Oh no, she wasn’t. But at the same time, she couldn’t disappoint them and let them know her entire trip to America was a failure.
Scratch it. Failure was not in Clare’s vocabulary. She was a positive thinker, and whatever she believed hard enough would come true. It had always been this way, and she would not allow anyoneto drag her down with negative energy.
Yep, that was what had gone wrong—not that anything was wrong with the publicity she’d gotten with all the parties and social media interviews she’d given. She’d simply learned a lesson not to trust anyone who would raise money in her name and take off with her crowdfunding account.
This time, she would approach it differently. After all, shehad a fabled fairy heart in her possession.
Slowly and with much flourish, she unlaced her vest and pushed aside the feathered cape which covered her shoulders. She flipped her hair back and slid a finger underneath the braided leather thong around her neck.
“It’s going to be a brand-new series,” she said as she lifted the amulet from between her breasts. “Behold, the Heart of Brigid,also known as the Heart of Éireann.”
The dull, crystalline rock lay in the palm of her hand, heavy with what felt like a pulse. It was warm from her body heat and seemed to glow under the pendant light hanging over their booth.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Sorcha gasped, reaching out to touch the precious curiosity. “It’s not a real petrified heart, is it?”
