By the time she was nearly back—and in front of St. Patrick’s of the Village—she knew that she wanted to stop at the graveyard.
She parked just on the side of the church. The sun was waning and it would soon be dark, but there was still enough crimson and purple light for her to make her way through the tombstones and crosses, Victorian funerary art, mausoleums and sarcophagi to the Karney vault.
She was irritated that she’d forgotten to ask for a key and wondered what she’d accomplish by standing just outside the gate.
But even as she approached it, she heard something on the air. Something that made her stand still, the hair at her nape rising.
It was a cry, mournful and terrible. Soft—but something like that of a wolf that cried to the moon above.
It was…eerie.
And not like the sound she’d heard the night before.
She was frightened, yet she continued to the vault.
And she knew that the cry came from within.
She stood at the gates to the vault and forced herself to try to peer within. She gripped the iron bars to steady herself, but the gates pushed inward and she stumbled into the vault.
She felt it again.
The darkness. The strange darkness that was like raven’s wings, a shadow, yet there, palpable…
“Who is here?” she asked, hoping for her best special agent voice, praying that the fear that gripped her and the thunder of her heart couldn’t be sensed.
Perhaps it was the ghost of a Karney—long gone, or perhaps, more recently so.
She was startled to hear a soft, female voice, rich with an old country brogue, beautiful and lilting.
“You see me?” came a whisper.
No, she didn’t see anything.
“Talk to me, please. You’re in distress. Tell me how I can help you,” Devin said.
And then she saw.
A woman emerged like a shadow from the far reaches of the vault. She walked toward Devin as if she did have flowing black wings that moved her.
When Devin could see her at last, she inhaled sharply; her breath caught.
The being before her was stunningly beautiful, tall and lean, and her hair was one with the black cape about her and the long black gown that fell to the floor. Her face was fine, like that of a porcelain doll. She was pale as the snow, with red lips and deep, dark, haunting eyes.
“Let me help you,” Devin whispered. “Who are you?”
“Deirdre,” the image said.
“What can I do?”
The woman lifted a hand, as if reaching out to her.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t understand. I have been with the Karney family through time and now…now, something is happening. I’m not scheduled to be here, and yet I am drawn again and again and…there is evil afoot, as it was in the time of Declan.”
“Declan? Declan Karney? His wife was murdered by Barry Martin and all died in the chamber that day.”
“Death—as it is not supposed to be!” Deirdre said.
“You’re…a family member?”
“Aye, in a sense.”
“You’re…”
“I come in darkness, but to bring those I embrace to sweet light. I am the gentle change from mortal coil to what lies beyond,” Deirdre said.
“You’re a—banshee?” Devin asked. Her knees were going to give. She grasped for the iron bars of the gate, definitely not wanting to fall.
Pathetic! She had known the dead before—why not a banshee?
The woman smiled slightly as Devin said the words. “I am Deirdre, called to help man, and my family is the Karney family. I am saddened, deeply saddened, lass, for ’tis not me making the horrible sound ye’ve heard with the wind at night. And I am called when ’tis not the proper time, and I know not what to do.”
“Collum Karney did not die a natural death,” Devin said flatly.
“He was not yet to be taken; still, I was summoned, and too late, for he floundered in fear and I wept for him, I tried to embrace him and ease away his anguish and…he is now at peace,” she ended. “Then yet again, I am swept from the wind and the sea to the castle…I was there, there with you today, for it seemed that Brendan would join his good brother.”
“But he’s alive; he’s stable,” Devin said.
“Still, I know the need to hover—to stay,” Deirdre said.
“He remains in danger—or others are in danger?” Devin asked.
“I don’t know; I greet the dead. What men do before they are called, I cannot see. Sometimes, we are called when a battle rages. We see the fight. But now…I don’t know what is going on.”
“Did Collum Karney tell you anything?”
“Only that the Devil sent Barry Martin back to finish off the Karney clan,” Deirdre said.
“Barry Martin! A ghost returned to slay Collum?” she asked.
“I know only what he said,” Deirdre told her. She lowered her head, a picture of strange beauty. “A fine man, and taken too soon.” She looked up. “Someone comes,” she said softly.
Devin turned quickly. Someone was coming. She heard hurried footsteps coming close to the vault and saw a figure in the long, dark robes of the Church.
Father Flannery.
He seemed to be frowning, worried.