Stone Song: The Isle of Destiny Series Read online

  Fae.

  Clare’s heart had skipped a beat at that word. Of course, living in Ireland came with reams of myths and legends regarding the fae. It was as interwoven in their history as any other religious legends and stories. But she’d never been one to give the legends any weight or credence.

  And yet here she sat, pondering a silvery glow seen in an unknown stranger’s eyes, and trying desperately to tamp down her curiosity over the man whose arm had held her so tightly pressed to his body.

  Protecting her from the unknown.

  Chapter Six

  Blake.

  He’d haunted her dreams, this mysterious stranger – the protector of herself and the warrior of the unknown.

  Clare stumbled blurry eyed into her shower, letting the warm stream of water wash away the remnants of the dream that still tangled her thoughts. It would do little good to obsess over the unknown, Clare thought as she grabbed her favorite citrus-scented bath gel. She was a scientist, wasn’t she? When presented with a question she couldn’t answer – she researched it.

  Clare grumbled her way through her morning routine, picking out a pair of dark jeans, knee-high brown boots, and a heather green cowl neck sweater that made her eyes pop. As a concession to the weather, she spent some time drying her curls so her hair wouldn’t be sopping wet when she stepped outside.

  “Damn it, Bianca,” Clare hissed when she saw the note on the kitchen counter.

  All out of tea and coffee! Sorry, love. I’ll pick up extra today. Wanted to get out early to get some research done for you. Call Seamus to walk you to class if you must. Text me.

  No tea or coffee? Now Clare would be forced to enter the busy streets of Dublin far sooner than she was willing or wanting to have contact with other people.

  “Just brilliant. I’ll go to Bee & Bun,” Clare said out loud, not really all that upset about being forced to cozy up in her favorite coffee shop this morning.

  Thursdays were her easy day of the week. With just an afternoon shift at the crystal shop and no classes to teach, she typically used the extra time for researching or running errands around the city. Ever precise, Clare jotted a note in her day planner before slipping it into her knapsack next to her laptop.

  Research protectors and silver-eyed fae.

  It looked a little ridiculous, one line down from her note about contacting an institute in London regarding a study on seismic shifts she’d been meaning to read. Rolling her eyes at herself, Clare zipped the bag closed and threw it over her shoulders. Not needing to check the weather to know she’d need a coat and her cap, she tugged both on and stepped from her apartment, taking extra care to lock up and look around. There would be no popping in her headphones and listening to music on her stroll this morning. Even if she didn’t fully understand what had happened last night, she wasn’t stupid.

  It would be smart to keep her wits about her.

  Pushing the foyer door open, Clare poked her head out and looked both ways down the street. Aside from a mother pushing her pram down the street, it was empty. Which wasn’t unusual for nine in the morning on a Thursday. Seeing nothing that could be viewed as an immediate threat, Clare turned left and headed toward her favorite morning coffee spot.

  The sun struggled to peek through a blanket of heavy grey clouds, and a slight breeze kicked up her hair. As far as Clare was concerned, this was grand weather for a January morning. If she was lucky, she might even have to pull her sunglasses out of her bag.

  Clare hummed to herself so as to appear nonchalant, but she was on full alert as her eyes scanned every pedestrian she came across. By the time she’d reached Bee & Bun, Clare began to feel a little ridiculous. Not a single person had exhibited silver eyes or fairy wings or anything else that could remotely be construed as out of the ordinary. Aside from the homeless man on the corner holding up a torch and declaring that the end of the world was near.

  But that wasn’t really all that odd.

  Clare tugged her hat off her head as she stepped into Bee & Bun, the warm scents of vanilla and cinnamon enveloping her as she slid past crowded tables to the long glass displays toward the back of the restaurant.

  “Looking gorgeous as always,” said Cian, one half of the delightfully gay couple who owned the coffee shop, as Clare approached the counter.

  “Sure and it’s nice to hear that. I slept for shite, that’s for certain.” Clare smiled at him.

  “Still gorgeous,” Cian said, raising an eyebrow at her. “The usual?”

  “Espresso today. And scrambled eggs and toast. I missed dinner last night.”

  “I’ll just bring you a full Irish. I saved your table in back,” Cian said, gesturing to where the coffee shop curved to a small alcoved back room that boasted a quieter study area, a small couch, and a tiny gas fireplace. It was prime real estate in the coffee shop, but once Cian had realized that Clare tipped well and would come in almost every Thursday, he began saving it for her.

  “You’re a god among men.” Clare blew him a kiss as she breezed toward her spot.

  “Be sure to tell my better half that. He likes to think he’s the god,” Cian quipped, making Clare chuckle as she stopped at her table.

  Choosing the corner chair so her back was to the wall and she could look out, Clare let out a sigh of relief when Cian buzzed over with her espresso almost immediately.

  “Figured you’d want this straight out. I’ll bring water along in a bit.”

  “You’re the best.”

  Bee & Bun was one of those places that combined modern elegance and cozy charm. It had established itself as not your typical Irish place for tea – all the tables and chairs had sleek lines and monochromatic colors. This was immediately offset by the bright cushions on every chair and the smattering of abstract artwork across the walls. Clare sighed as she sunk into her cushiony seat, blowing first on her espresso before taking a small sip.

  Once the caffeine began to hum through her system, Clare fired up her laptop and opened a new document. Considering what to call it, she finally typed a headline.

  Fae Research.

  Deleting the title quickly, Clare typed in F&P Research instead. There, that was better. She sipped her espresso and considered where to start.

  “Protein for you,” Cian slid a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, perfectly toasted wheat bread, and a collection of jams onto her table. Clare grinned at him and dug into the food as she began to pull up Celtic mythology sites.

  “No, that’s certainly not it,” Clare grumbled as she began reading one legend. Checking the index, she gasped at the sheer number of stories cataloged on the site. Certainly there couldn’t be this many legends?

  No wonder Bianca was getting her masters in this stuff. One could spend years combing through all the information contained on this site alone.

  “Clare? Clare MacBride?”

  Clare jumped at her name and looked up from her laptop to see an old woman with pure white hair falling past her shoulders, snapping brown eyes, and a smile that made Clare instantly want to pour out all of her troubles.

  “Yes, that’s me. Can I be helping you?” Clare asked pleasantly, figuring the woman must have come into the crystal shop at some point. Judging from the stones that hung around her neck and the multitude of bangles that covered her arms, this woman was no stranger to crystals.

  “Ah, well, I believe I’m the one that’s to be helping you,” the woman said. She gestured the man at her side, who stepped closer and nodded once at Clare. “This is John, the love of my life.”

  Clare studied the couple for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the comment about love. It certainly was an odd way to introduce someone.

  “Have we met?” Clare finally asked, her nerves kicking up a bit. The man smiled kindly at her, his tweed vest and neatly pressed slacks giving him an air of aristocracy while his eyes shone with life and humor.

  “I’m sorry, I was just so excited to find you.” The woman gestured to the seats across from Clare. “May we sit
?”

  “I suppose?” Clare left the sentence as a question, so as to hint that she might not be all that thrilled at having company.

  “Need any tea?” Cian asked, popping by their table.

  “A pot would be good. And a hint of the Irish too,” the woman said, unwrapping a woven scarf in heathered greens, and tucking it over the back of her seat.

  Clare settled back after pushing her laptop closed, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Now, now, don’t give me that look. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.” The woman laughed.

  “Shall we start with your name?”

  “Ah, yes, my apologies. I’m Fiona O’Brien, and this delightful man is my love, John O’Brien.”

  Clare found herself warming to Fiona, as the woman was clearly besotted with her husband. A part of her hoped she’d experience that same type of love in her lifetime.

  “And I’m Clare MacBride, as you seem to be knowing already,” Clare said. She paused as Cian busied himself with setting a squat navy teapot in the center of the table and all the accoutrements in a neat little tray on the side.

  “Anything else?”

  “I think we’re good here,” Clare said and shot him a smile before turning her gaze back to Fiona. John had yet to offer anything to say, so it seemed that the woman was running the show.

  “Yes, I have to apologize for approaching you in this manner. But I’ve only recently learned that we are in a bit of a time crunch here, so I though it best to find you as quickly as possible,” Fiona said, turning the pot of tea a few times, but not pouring it. A good Irishwoman always lets the tea steep.

  “Well, now, you’ve found me. What can I do for you?” Clare asked again.

  “Yes, so it seems,” Fiona said, tilting her head and eyeing Clare. For a moment, Clare could have sworn that she felt a brush of energy – similar to the energy that pulsed from stones – wash over her.

  “What was that?” Clare demanded, and Fiona raised an eyebrow before a delighted smile split her face.

  “Ah, so you do have power then. You are the right one.”

  Clare glanced around and then leaned forward.

  “I’m not sure what you mean by power, but I’ll ask you to not speak loudly. I come here often.”

  “What do you know about your family?” Fiona countered, finally picking up the pot of tea and pouring a cup for herself and John. Clare still had espresso in her cup and she waved the offer of tea away.

  “They’re simple people, from Clifden. Are they in trouble?” Clare asked, worry beginning to seep through her.

  “No, none that I’m aware of. I suppose I should say – your ancestral history.”

  “None other than that the MacBrides are a proud Irish family descended from the likes of Grace O’Malley herself. Though we’ve lost much of her grandeur over the years, we’re still proud people,” Clare said, shrugging one shoulder.

  “Ah, yes, that makes us cousins of sorts.” Fiona smiled at her again and sipped her tea.

  “Is that right? Ah, I see why you’ve come to find me then. Doing some genealogy, are you? Well, I’ve not much to add to the story: I’m pursuing my doctorate in geology at Trinity College and have lived in Dublin for a while now.” Clare was no longer nervous. It wasn’t unheard of to have long-lost relatives seek out a family member across the island. The country wasn’t all that big, after all.

  “I find it interesting that you’re pursuing a degree in geology. Does that mean you know about the treasure then?”

  Okay, so maybe she wasn’t here to study family genealogy.

  “Excuse me? Treasure? I’m sure you’ve found the wrong person. If there were treasure to be found, I wouldn’t have had to apply for scholarships and work three jobs.” Clare laughed and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Treasure.” She shook her head and picked up her espresso for another drink.

  Fiona glanced at John before leveling a look across the table at Clare. It made her want to squirm – as though she were about to be scolded by a schoolteacher.

  “Why do you think it is that you can feel the power of stones?” Fiona asked point-blank, and Clare choked on her espresso. She coughed into her napkin, her eyes tearing up for a moment as she caught her breath and tried to gather herself. Who was this woman and how did she know Clare’s secret?

  “I’m a healer, myself. And I’ve got a wide range of my own abilities. Like picking thoughts from your mind when I feel like it,” Fiona said easily, smiling at Clare over her cup of tea.

  Clare glanced around the coffee shop before lowering her face toward the table.

  “Could you please keep your voice down? And someone must have told you this…this story about me.”

  Fiona just looked at Clare patiently.

  “I know it because I can read it on you. You also picked up on the brush of my power when I scanned your mind. You’re quite powerful. More so than you realize. Tell me, what do you know of Na Sirtheoir – the seekers?”

  “Na Sirtheoir? I’m not sure I’m following,” Clare said, shaking her head in confusion.

  But something had shifted inside of her, like a phoenix, stepping from its nest of ashes and standing to flap its brilliantly colored wings. Her stomach began to churn – in angst – in recognition as a spot at her hairline began to throb. Clare reached up and unconsciously rubbed the spot – an area beneath her hairline at the nape of her neck that she was wont to hold tension in. It wasn’t unusual for her to find herself rubbing that spot during a particularly difficult exam or after a stressful shift at the pub.

  “If not the Na Sirtheoir, what about the Na Cosantoir?

  It felt like the spot on Clare’s neck was beginning to sear. She wanted to cry out – whether in pain or joy, she couldn’t tell. Fiona’s words were tilting her world on its side.

  And yet, Clare had no idea why.

  “I’ve not heard of any of these things. What are you doing to me? Why do I feel this way?” Clare hissed across the table.

  Fiona reached out and grabbed Clare’s arm, her grip surprisingly strong as Clare tried to tug it away. In seconds, though, a cool balm seemed to seep through her, tamping down on the ball of energy that whirled like mad in her stomach. When Fiona released her, Clare pulled her arm back across the table and crossed it over her chest.

  “Thank you. For whatever that was,” she mumbled.

  “You’ve heard nothing of these two groups? Or the legend?” Fiona continued.

  “I… I really have no idea what to say to you. No, I haven’t.”

  “Clare, you’re marked. You’re Na Sirtheoir. The reason you can sense the power of stones is because it is your ultimate destiny to find the one stone. The most powerful of all stones: the Stone of Destiny, the first of the Four Treasures. It’s yours to find. Yours to protect. Yours to save from falling into the wrong hands.”

  It was as though the café had faded away in the background and there was nothing but Fiona – her eyes still kind, but her words forever changing the fabric of Clare’s destiny.

  Or at least the path she’d thought she’d set in motion for herself.

  “I don’t know what any of this means. I can’t… I can’t help you. With this. With any of this. I think you’re wrong. I’m not who you think I am,” Clare blurted out, suddenly needing to get away from them – from all of this.

  “You’ve a mark. You’re branded as one of the Na Sirtheoir. It’s under your hairline and it throbs when it’s trying to tell you something,” Fiona said steadily as Clare shook her head.

  “No, no I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. You’ll see. Once you go home and take the time to look. You’ll see. The thing is… you don’t have much time. Too much time has passed already. The stone must be found – and you’re the one charged with finding it.”

  Clare stood up suddenly, her thighs bumping the table and slopping the tea. She grabbed her laptop, not bothering to put it in its case, and snagged her knapsack and coat quickly.


  “I’ve told you already. I’m not who you think I am. Now I’ll kindly be asking you to leave me alone,” Clare hissed.

  “We’re staying at the Cherry Hill Hotel. We won’t leave until you talk to us,” Fiona said.

  Clare shook her head again. “No, I won’t see you. Please, you’re quite possibly a nutter. It’s best you seek help.” She pushed away from the table, not looking back, barely seeing Cian’s shocked face as she raced by him and chucked some euros on the counter.

  Fiona’s words floated after her, settling like a threat on her shoulders:

  “The fate of Ireland rests in your hands.”

  Chapter Seven

  The fire in Clare’s gut burned the entire way to the crystal shop. There was no way what this woman was saying was true – it was obvious she was just angling for a free cup of tea and a warm spot off the blustery street.

  Except she hadn’t looked homeless.

  And the intelligence in her eyes hadn’t read crazy to Clare.

  The truth of it was, what Fiona’d said had resonated with Clare on a subliminal level that she’d yet to completely understand. But hearing the words – the Na Sirtheoir – had felt the way a sword must feel when it slips into its sheath. There was a rightness to it – a realness – that was almost giving Clare a mild panic attack.

  She certainly wasn’t going to run immediately to the bathroom and check her hairline, that was for damn sure. If she did, she’d be giving this story – this madness – a level of credibility that was undeserved.

  “Hey Karen,” Clare called as she came through the door, nodding at the college-aged girl who worked the counter.

  “Ah, brilliant. You’re early. Mind if I take off? I’ve got a huge exam tomorrow,” Karen asked, pushing her glasses up her freckled nose.

  “Go ahead, I’ve no problem with that. I come in late often enough as it is,” Clare said, shooting Karen a breezy smile as she tucked her purse in a cubby and hung her coat on a hook.