An Immortal Descent

“You have the same blood. It stands to reason you’d be in her confidence. Perhaps even a friend.” In truth, I didn’t think the wretch capable of such a relationship.

 

The girl spat on the floor. “Deri’s no friend o’ mine. We met by chance two months ago on the voyage from Ireland. She stayed with me and Calhoun a few days in Bristol before going to London, and it was then I saw her blood be tainted with evil.”

 

I raised a brow at this. “Of course it is. One could hardly expect otherwise when her mother is a witch and her father descended from Cailleach.”

 

“You’ve got it wrong,” the girl said, shaking her head in protest. “It’s not what she got from Cailleach that’s bad.”

 

Oh, for heaven’s sake! The girl was delusional if she thought the goddess of death and disease any better than a witch. “Six of one, half dozen of another,” I said with clear disdain. “There’s no difference between the two.”

 

The girl stared at me for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “You know nothing about good and evil, Eanin.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “I’m not a little bird.”

 

Her mouth pulled to a smirk. “What should I call you so?”

 

“My name is Selah.”

 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Selah. I be Ailish O’ Bearra.” She darted a look at my bare hands. “No offense, but I’ll not be shaking with you.”

 

I snorted a laugh. Then quickly covered my mouth in surprise. Mortal enemies didn’t sit around laughing over jests. They avoided each other’s company, and any measure of trust or familiarity was entirely off-limits. I’d unwittingly made that mistake on the Sea Witch, only to find myself stuffed in a spice sack.

 

“Whoa, there,” Calhoun yelled from the driver’s box.

 

The horses slowed to a trot. Ailish stiffened, her face filled with panic. “Put on those gloves, you. Time’s running out.”

 

Responding to the fear in her voice, I hurriedly pulled them on, the black velvet reaching to my elbows. “What am I supposed to do?”

 

The horses were walking now, and the caravan seemed to have dropped to a snail’s pace. Glancing out the window, I caught sight of the upper windows and roofs of the two-storied structures that lined the road.

 

“The village be bustling,” Ailish said, her eyes fixed on a much different sight. “And the folks don’t seem pleased to see us.”

 

Something hard hit the back of the caravan, a large stone by the sounds of it. I jumped as Ailish shot to her feet to slide the window panel into place. Then she crossed herself, mumbling the holy trilogy in turn.

 

I did the same for good measure.

 

She gave me a worried smile. “By God’s grace, we’ll survive the day unharmed.”

 

“It’s because of Mrs. Murphy, isn’t it?” I said, recalling the woman’s name from earlier.

 

Ailish pressed her lips to an angry line. “That it be. Last we visited Dunmore, Calhoun nearly killed her with a poisonous remedy. At the time, I didn’t know the whole reason for our hasty departure, only that Bertie stowed the caravan in his barn and smuggled us to Wexford, where we met up with Captain Lynch. We’ve been hiding in Bristol ever since.”

 

Good gracious! Did Calhoun have a death wish? “Why did he come back?”

 

Ailish gave me a piercing look. “He got wind o’ a miracle in Bristol, something that would allow him to return to Ireland without having to peep over his shoulder at every noise.”

 

A slow chill crept up my spine. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“He’d been plotting for two months how to get the caravan back without being arrested. Thanks to Deri, he knows you can heal every ailment in the village to clear his name.”

 

I gaped at her. “Well, he’s sadly mistaken if he thinks I’ll expose my identity to save his sorry backside.” I could just imagine it now—the charlatan and his alleged witch, swinging side-by-side in the sleepy village of Dunmore. Or did they still burn witches in Ireland? Whichever, Calhoun could die for all I cared, but he wouldn’t take me down with him.

 

“Don’t think you have much choice,” Ailish said. “And it won’t be just for today. Calhoun already be counting his gold from taking you around Ireland and then to the Continent.”

 

So that’s his plan. Hot blood suffused my neck and cheeks despite the close proximity to Ailish. “I’ll not be used by that man.”

 

Another stone hit the caravan. Ailish put a finger to her mouth as an angry murmur passed through the walls.

 

“What’s happening?” I whispered.

 

The murmur grew louder, broke into distinct voices. They spoke in Gaelic, and it took a moment for my mind to catch up.

 

“Set it afire!” a man cried above the din.

 

Several cheers sounded, and I nearly choked on my tongue.

 

“No, no,” another yelled. “I’ll not have it burned.”

 

A relieved breath rushed from me.

 

“What do you have in mind so?” a woman asked.

 

Kari Edgren's books