HauntingBeauty







Chapter Twenty-seven


AFTER she’d finished washing the breakfast dishes, Danni showered and got ready for the day. Colleen had added to her wardrobe, and now there was a soft pair of jeans and a cream cable knit sweater among her choices. She pulled them out. As she did, she saw a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt at the bottom of the drawer. She paused, stumbling over their familiarity while at the same time wondering how she could possibly recognize them when the clothes weren’t even hers. And then she remembered . . . she’d been wearing them in that first vision. It was the outfit she would die in . . . the one she’d be buried in with Sean—young Sean.
“Not if I don’t have it on,” she whispered defiantly.
But along with the defiance came the reality that she was running out of time and was no closer to knowing how destiny conspired to put her in that grave with a fourteen-year-old version of the man she’d fallen in love with.
Brooding, frustrated with her inability to connect the dots, she watched as the first ray of sun crested the horizon, heralding the dawn of another day. It turned the sky dusky and pink then gilded red, golden, and finally blue. Blue like Brigid’s eyes. Blue, like Danni’s heart.
She’d been told to report to the MacGrath house by seven. It was just six thirty as she left the cottage, but she didn’t want to be late again and risk Bronagh’s wrath. Besides, what else did she have to do?
She replayed the morning as she went. First Colleen, telling her she could do whatever she set her mind to doing. Then the vision . . . the vision she’d called . . . but hadn’t changed. Sean’s mother was still dead, his father still, in a tragic way, responsible. She hadn’t prevented it, no matter how much she wished she could have. What good did it do to dredge up something so painful if it could only be relived? It wasn’t a gift she had. It was a curse.
She entered the kitchen through the back door as she’d been instructed the day before. Heavenly smells wafted in the moist, hot air of the enormous kitchen. She was early, but Bronagh was already bustling in from the dining room with an empty pan and a harried expression. “Ah, there you are now. Early as well. And good it is. I’ve pies in the oven and a potato casserole yet to make.”
“It smells wonderful in here,” Danni said, smiling.
Bronagh beamed at the compliment. “’Tis the twins’ birthday, you know, and wouldn’t they love to have all their favorites today?”

Of course they would, Danni thought, her heart aching at the love she saw in Bronagh’s face, in the care she took to make their birthday special.
Clearing her throat, Danni asked, “What do you want me to do today?”
“Can you follow a recipe on your own? And don’t be telling me you can if you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Good,” Bronagh said with a nod. “Here are the steps. Pay attention to the order, for it matters. You’ll need to halve the ingredients as well.” Bronagh’s brows descended in a scowl. “You know how to do that, too?”
Danni nodded and took the handwritten recipe card from Bronagh’s hand, trying to look more confident than she felt.
“Fine. I’ve shopping and errands to run with Mrs. MacGrath. The pie will need to come out of the oven when the timer goes off. You’ll do that for me?”
Danni nodded. “Of course. It smells wonderful.”
Bronagh smiled and the expression crinkled her eyes and changed her face completely. “It’s a peach cobbler, one of Betty Crocker’s own,” she said proudly. “The children love it. And wait until they see the cake I’ve ordered from the bakery. ’Tis a wonder Mary Elizabeth O’Malley is with batter and frosting.”
Bronagh gave her pie one last look, checked the timer, and left Danni to her task. There were no less than thirty ingredients listed on the card and nearly as many steps in the preparation. She propped it up where she could see it and began gathering what she’d need. As she worked, the kitchen door opened and the twins came in.
“Good morning to you, Mrs. Ballagh,” they both said politely as they leaned against the counter to watch her.
“What’s that you’re making?” Dáirinn asked.
“Well, I hope it’s not a mess.”
“Looks like it could be,” Rory told her, eyeing the items she’d set out. “Though it does smell good in here.”
“Bronagh’s got a pie in the oven.”
“Oh,” they said in unison with sage nods.
Danni stared at the two, wondering how she’d ever forgotten she had a brother. Wondering where he would be after tonight. When she returned to her own time, would he be lost to her again? A fierce clenching inside her cried out against the idea of it.

You can do whatever it is you set your mind to . . . .

“You two are up early,” Danni said.
“Mummy brought us breakfast in bed,” Rory told her. “She made us pancakes with Mickey Mouse ears.”
“One day we’ll go to Disneyland,” Dáirinn added. “Have you ever been to Disneyland, Mrs. Ballagh?”
Danni had gone with Yvonne and her children many years ago. It had been at once the most amazing and disappointing day of her life—a glaring showcase of all she’d missed contrasting with all Yvonne offered. She’d been sixteen, almost seventeen, but she’d ridden every ride, eaten every candy, ice cream, and chocolate-covered banana offered. And cried herself to sleep that night, her stomach aching and her heart hollow and hopeful.
“As a matter of fact, I have been to Disneyland. You’ll have an awesome time.”
Pleased, they both smiled. “Mummy has something fun planned for later. A surprise, but we must stay out of the way until then,” Rory said. “It’s very hard when everywhere is in the way.”
“Are we in your way now?” Dáirinn asked.
“No. I’d like the company.”
Dáirinn smiled, and Danni’s heart beat painfully in her chest. It was like being split wide, staring at her own face but seeing an expression that had never been there before. Contentment. Security. Self-assurance. All of these things she’d had at five, but lost along the way to the woman she was now. She’d been loved once. Cherished. And she’d had a companion, a brother. A twin.
She looked up and caught Dáirinn staring at her with a peculiar glitter in her eyes. It was wariness and something else, something that made Danni still as she returned the look. The child shifted, glancing over her shoulder at the open door. Silently she slipped from her stool and shut it.
“Why’d you do that?” Rory asked.
Dáirinn slid back on her stool without answering. Still watching Danni, she took her brother’s hand and held it. The gesture was not random, nor was it insignificant. If she hadn’t known it instinctively, Danni would have guessed it by the solemn expression the twins wore now.
She felt suddenly diminished in the shadow of their union. She was shrinking as the world around her enlarged until she was only a speck about to be blown away. Expressions flitted over Rory’s face, and she realized with a plunging awareness that the twins were communicating. Somehow, in some complex and unfathomable manner, Dáirinn was downloading whatever it was she knew. In a moment, it was over, and now both sets of eyes watched her with that peculiar knowing.
Disturbed, Danni cleared her throat and scooped flour from a canister, trying to hide her uneasiness. But she was chilled by what she’d seen. Shaken by the calm composure with which the children watched her. She wondered how Sean had felt when he’d looked at her this morning—had he experienced the same hair-raising disquiet?
Taking deep breaths, she stirred the ingredients in her bowl.
“Is it the Book you’re here for?” Rory asked softly.
Danni’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I told you, she doesn’t know why she’s here,” Dáirinn scolded.
“Is that true?” Rory said.
Numb, Danni nodded and shrugged at the same time. At this point, she didn’t trust anything she might think she knew.
“Did Dáirinn bring you here, then?” Rory turned in his seat and faced his sister. “Did you?”
Danni was holding her breath, waiting for the answer. But Dáirinn only stared calmly back.
“How would Dáirinn bring me?” Danni asked, though she was afraid of the answer. The idea was too complicated, too bizarre to contemplate.
“You’ve seen the Book, haven’t you?” Dáirinn said. “I can tell that you have. It’s frightening, isn’t it?”
“You’ve seen it, too?”
Dáirinn nodded. “I don’t understand why you want it, though. It’s not good.”
“Do you know where it is?”
The siblings exchanged another silent conversation before answering. Danni watched them, holding the measuring cup filled with flour in her hand. What she felt went beyond shock. Beyond fear. Deep inside an ancient instinct to flee rose up. She had to get out of here.
Finally, Rory spoke. “The Book moves,” he said.

Moves? Danni cleared her throat and set down the measuring cup. Trying to appear relaxed but failing—dismally failing—she said, “What does that mean, it moves? You are talking about the Book of Fennore?”
“It was here,” Rory said. “But then it went away, and we don’t know where it went to.”
“Was it stolen?”
They both shook their heads.
“How can you be sure?” Danni asked.
“I feel it,” Rory said simply. “It talks to me sometimes.”
Dáirinn made a small, jerking motion at his words. She didn’t like that he’d said it aloud.
“I won’t tell,” Danni said.
“I know it,” Dáirinn snapped. “Why else would we be telling you anything? But I know what the Book can do, and it isna right to talk of it.”
Danni’s chest was tight and her throat burned. “You know what it can do?”
“She means what it does to people,” Rory said softly.
“It drives them mad,” she finished.
“But . . . ” Danni chose her words carefully, not sure what it was she wanted to say. “I thought it brought power.”
“Aye. It can. It does. But that’s not all that comes through when the door is opened.”
Danni swallowed hard. What else? What else came through?
“Are you hoping to see its magic?” Rory asked.
“I’ve seen magic,” Dáirinn said importantly. “Many times. One night I flew from my bedroom to the docks, and I saw my cousin get tangled in the nets. He was pulled under and no one knew. I told me Mum and she told Uncle Patrick and he set to watching my cousin. And do you know when my uncle was below deck who should get tangled in the nets and go under but my cousin? My uncle wouldn’t have known if Mum had not told him, but he did know and so he pulled up the net, and there was my cousin nearly drowned.”
“So you saved his life?” Danni said, searching herself for the memory. But if it was there, it eluded her.
“Aye. And one Sunday at church I heard Father Lawlor tell of how he’d been robbed the night before by a poor soul who thought Jesus had forsaken him. Father said he would have helped the man because sure enough Jesus had brought him to the church to be the worker they needed. If the man had only come with open hands and heart, he would have been fed and loved. So I flew to the night before and I told the poor man not to steal, because Jesus loved him. And to come in the morning and Father Lawlor would give him a job where Jesus could watch over all he did.”
Danni stared at the child, stared into her own face, hearing the sweet voice, the sincerity in her tone. And feeling the echo of memory deep, deep inside. She could picture that night at the church, walking through the doors without opening them first. Finding the beggar ransacking the sacred altar. He’d been terrified to see her, a child in a white gown with silky curls and gray eyes. He’d thought her an angel with a heavenly message.
It had been a vision, and yet he’d seen her. Spoken with her. She had turned back time and changed the outcome. She’d changed the outcome . . .
“She can’t really fly,” Rory confided. “She just thinks she can.”
“And you can’t really talk to the horses,” Dáirinn snapped back.
“You’re jealous,” he quipped. To Danni, he said, “It’s not just horses I understand.”
“No?” she said, thinking she needed to sit down. She needed to sit down quickly.
“Mum told you not to tell,” Dáirinn said.
“She told you not to tell either,” Rory shot back. “And you blathered your story, didn’t you?”
Dáirinn scowled and crossed her arms. Danni stared at Rory, watching him make his decision about whether he would say more. But she’d already remembered what Rory could do. He understood. He understood not just people, but animals, too. All kinds, from birds to beasts. Not like a language, but a comprehension. As if their wants and needs became pictures in his head. And it didn’t stop there.
“Once there was a man who came to our door,” Dáirinn began.
“It’s my story, I’ll tell it,” Rory interrupted.
Dáirinn clamped her mouth shut and sat back with a huff.
“He was a tourist,” Rory picked up where Dáirinn had stopped. “And he didn’t speak English or Gaelic or any other language I’d heard.”
“But Rory knew what he was saying. Sure and he could tell Daddy what it was and—”
“I said I would tell,” Rory said crossly.
“G’wan, then.”
“And I could speak what my Daddy said back to the man. It was Russian, I learned later. I could speak Russian.”
“He can’t do it now, though,” Dáirinn said, a little smugly. “Only then.”
Rory shrugged, shooting a dirty look at his sister.
“Tell us what you are going to do?” Dáirinn asked next.
“What I am going to do?” Danni said.
“Well, you’re not here to make pasties are you?”
Danni looked down at her hands. “Casserole,” she said.
The twins snickered, watching her with expectant eyes. Danni knew what they wanted, but how could she answer their question? Did she really know why she was here? Was there an actual reason? Or was it an accident that had tumbled her through time? Colleen had seen it coming. Dáirinn looked as if she’d anticipated her arrival. What did that mean?

You can do whatever it is you put your mind to . . . .

She thought of Sean and her heart ached. Here, now, he was so real. Solid, achingly beautiful.
“I’m here to save someone,” she said softly.
“You’ve the right of it,” Dáirinn said, as if she’d already known the answer. “But the Book is gone, if using it was your hope. ’Tis a blessing, though. Do you understand?”
“No.”
Rory said, “If it is a life you want saved, the Book can make it so. If it’s a treasure you’re wanting, it can give that, too. Whatever dream you may have, the Book brings the power to grant it.”
“But it cannot be used in such a way,” Dáirinn said. “It does not give without taking, and the greater the gift, the higher the price.”
“It will take a piece of your soul,” Rory said softly. “Take it like a coin from your purse. You might not even notice that it’s gone until one day you need that coin and you no longer have it.”
A piece of her soul. Would it be a worthy trade for Sean’s life? For those of her mother, her brother . . . herself? Would the piece she gave today—from her grown self—affect the young one sitting in front of her now?
“Aye, it’s a puzzle, isn’t it?” Rory said. “You may not miss the piece you’ve given up, but someone else might.”
“What do you mean by that?” Danni said.
“Well, a heart you’ve lost cannot break,” Dáirinn answered. “But what would your one true love feel if the part he most loved of you was gone?”
“She read that,” Rory said.
“I didn’t.”
“In a fairy tale.”
Dáirinn opened her mouth in hot denial but Danni interrupted. “How did you get so smart? You seem much older than five.”
Both pairs of eyes swiveled to her face. “Do you think the world is made up of only what you see?” Dáirinn asked instead of answering.
Danni shook her head.
“Neither do we.”
The statement felt heavy in the air between them, and Danni didn’t know how to respond to it. She sensed the simple declaration should answer her query, but it only left her with more questions, more confusion. Since she’d awakened yesterday morning, she’d been trying to find out why they’d been brought here. Now she sensed she was close to the truth. These two children knew—not only why she was here, but what would happen next.
Colleen’s harsh, pained voice whispered in her head. Even then you could have stopped it.
Danni stared into Dáirinn’s eyes, believing it now. Dáirinn might be able to change the course of fate, but she was afraid—afraid of the cost. Afraid of the Book. Danni was afraid, too, but she would risk it. If it meant holding back the tide bent on washing her life away, she would risk everything.
She needed help though, and perhaps she could find it here, with the two of them.
“There’s something . . .” Danni began, but she stopped, trying to decide how or even what to say.
Suddenly Dáirinn leaned forward and held out her hand. Danni looked at it, so small and innocent there in front of her, but she hesitated, knowing that touching Dáirinn—touching herself—could open a door she didn’t know how to close. Dáirinn raised her eyes in mute challenge.
Before she could change her mind, Danni clasped Dáirinn’s hand in her own and then Rory put his over both of theirs. For a moment, nothing happened, and then Danni felt a humming, a low vibration that trembled through her fingers, up her arm to the heart of her. She wanted to shy away from it, to pull her arm back and break the connection, but she didn’t. She was done with running away and denying what she didn’t want to face.
In her mind an image formed. Frowning, she realized it was Sean’s brother and she was seeing him on the floor of the kitchen, lying in a pool of blood beside his mother. Dead. She frowned, not able to comprehend why she would be seeing this. Sean’s brother hadn’t been on the floor, hadn’t died. Why . . .
Before she could ask why she’d seen something that hadn’t happened, the kitchen door swung open. And Cathán MacGrath walked in.



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