Brady Meath shoved away from the desk in his small office in the public library and stood in front of the window facing Puritan Street. Pedestrians walked past and cars drove by. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom and buds beginning to open on the magnolia trees. The grass was finally turning a nice shade of green after a long winter. But the calming, familiar sights didn’t appease his restless mind or abate the itch under his skin.
As the town historian and head of the historical society, he had a busy week ahead. Budget plans had gone through for the Minister Bridge reconstruction, which meant he was required to go over the blueprints to ensure the architects had stayed true to original designs. Six Fates Courthouse was undergoing remodeling, so he’d have to pop by often to ensure the construction crew followed his instructions, down to every cornice piece and crown molding strip. And Galloway Lighthouse was in need of repairs. That meant sucking it up and visiting Fiona and Ceara to get their final approval on any plans. Which was more of a courtesy, but the Meaths and Galloways had to play nice. They were the founding families and had to work together. Or, at least, put up appearances.
With just over fifteen-thousand residents, the majority of Six Fates Island was a walking museum, and it was his job to keep it that way, even on days like today when he’d rather crawl back in bed. Slip into dreamland. Wrap the long, caramel-colored hair that smelled like rosemary and sin around his hand. Kiss his mystery woman’s full, lush mouth until she hummed in her throat. Watch those blue eyes cloud with a passion only he could pull from her.
Damn. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Either he was six beers short of a case or the Galloways were screwing with him. Probably the latter. Except the mystery woman had been coming to him in dreams since he was a boy, making it highly illogical Fiona or Ceara were the culprits.
Dating back three centuries, the Meaths had always known the Galloways were witches. Tourists flocked to the island for atmosphere and lore. The witchcraft element had been dummied down through the years until the general population believed the Galloways had simply been wronged for practicing Wicca at a time when Christianity was prominent. Hell, a good portion of Meaths believed that, as well.
Brady was usually grounded in fact, but even he had to admit there was a basis for truth among the myth. Galloways had some kind of magick in their blood. Chalk it up to superstition or coincidence, but three-hundred years had passed since the curse had supposedly been cast, and both families hadn’t had any luck in the love department. Marriages always ending in divorce. Premature deaths and illness. And that was just scratching the surface.
One eerie verity shoved through the timeline and planted itself forefront in his mind. Brady and his two brothers, Riley and Tristan, were the first generation in three centuries to have three males born. Three by three. He and his brothers all had green eyes. Upon when three sets of eyes of green are born...
Sighing, he ran his hand over his face. He had no idea what his mystery woman had to do with the curse. She probably wasn’t even real. It wasn’t possible. His whole life, he’d assumed that much.
Yet, things had been screwy lately. The frequency of her appearance. How he kept getting drawn to the replica passage hanging on his office wall of the supposed spell Celeste Galloway had cast. The way he’d been inadvertently bumping into Fiona and Ceara in town. And...how he’d woken up this morning in a dry bed, but sopping wet with rainwater.
Damn, but that made him want to put on a straightjacket.
A knock sounded at his door and he turned. His assistant, Jessica, stood in the entry, clipboard in hand. “What’s up?”
She adjusted her pink blouse and tucked a strand of short brown hair behind her ear. Both were signs she was nervous. “How are the blueprints for the bridge?”
Brady glanced at the rolls on his desk. “Haven’t looked yet. I’ll get to it.” She tapped the toe of a ballet flat and smoothed a pleat on her khaki pants. Yep, something was up. “What’s on your mind?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger, Mr. Meath.”
He sighed. “It’s Brady. You’ve worked for me for three years and we went to school together. It’s weird using the formality.” Typically, she didn’t, which made him even more suspicious.
She glanced over her shoulder and back to him. “Whew, she’s gone.” Jessica stepped deeper into his office. “The mayor was just here. She’s requesting a meeting at Tristan’s office. You and Riley both.”
Perfect. Just what he wanted. Right above a root canal without Novocain and below a lobotomy. “When?”
“In an hour.”
“Any idea what she wants with me and my brothers?”
She shrugged. “We peons aren’t kept in the loop.”
“Well, you’re not a peon, but be glad Mayor Bridgeport thinks you are.” He rolled his head to loosen his neck. “I’ll be there.” He needed to talk to his brothers, anyway. They’d both been gone this morning when he’d come down for breakfast.
With a nod, she stepped out, and he turned back to the window.
People bustled along the sidewalk, but to his left, Mara Galloway stood near a bench talking to someone obscured by a tree. He’d recognize Mara’s white hair anywhere. Her red skirt caught the breeze as her companion stepped forward and came into view.
Brady’s lungs collapsed. It couldn’t be.
Instead of pajamas, she—his mystery woman—wore a long yellow dress and a white sweater. Wavy blonde hair down to her waist. Slender frame. Pale, milky skin. Plump lips. Blue eyes...
“Holy shit.” The frenetic beat of his heart relocated ribs. A buzzing in his ears grew louder until a hive took up residence.
He shook his head. Present was the seductive aura of secrecy that forever encompassed her, along with the graceful mannerisms of someone comfortable in their own skin. She was both strikingly gorgeous and completely natural, and her perceptive eyes said she was not afraid to wield said power over a man.
He’d thunk his head against the pane if he weren’t positive he was awake. It wasn’t possible that she stood not twenty feet from his office. Because she didn’t actually exist.
The two women turned to leave, and panic clutched his windpipe. He tapped the glass. “No. No, no, no.” But they kept right on going.
Spinning, he wove around his desk and ran out. Cursing that his office was located in the back of the building, he rushed past his assistant and down the center aisle of books. Jessica called his name, but he kept going. “I’ll be right back.” The head librarian, Maeve, shushed him. Breezing by her desk, he whispered “sorry” and shoved through the exterior doors.
Vaulting down the steps, he made a hard left and came to an abrupt halt at the bench where he’d last seen her. He scanned the crowd in every direction, searching, searching. She wasn’t anywhere. Climbing on the bench, he got a higher vantage point, but he struck out there, too.
Gone, baby, gone.
“Damn it.”
Jessica stepped onto the sidewalk in front of him and glanced up. “What are you doing?”
He dropped his hands on his hips and caught his breath. “I have no idea.” He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated to no end. “I think I just saw a ghost.”
“Uh-huh.” She studied him. “The boo kind or the ex-girlfriend variety?”
Unsure how to answer, he hopped down and glanced one more time in the direction they’d gone. He absolutely had to talk to his brothers. “Lock up my office, would you? I’m going to head to the hotel early. I’ll look at the blueprints when I return.” And then he’d definitely be making a stop at the Galloway house.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Nothing a pint of ale and a smack upside his head wouldn’t fix. “Yep. Be back soon.”
Brady walked the block to Meath Hotel and strode through the expansive lobby. Rounding reception, he made his way down the employee hall to his brother’s office.
The space was twice the size of Brady’s, but significantly less cluttered. Business degrees and pictures of family dotted the dark green wallpaper and crystal decorated the shelves in the form of bowls, a clock, and shamrocks. Somehow, only Tristan could make such a thing manly.
Riley was relaxed in a chair, wearing his typical work attire of gray slacks and a polo, and Tristan stood behind his desk, glancing at a file. He closed the folder and sat, smoothing his blue tie. A black suit coat was tossed over the arm of the brown leather sofa and he had his white dress shirt rolled to the elbows. Both brothers made Brady feel underdressed in jeans and a navy tee, but he’d be visiting work sites today.
Tristan picked up the desk phone. “Send in a carafe of coffee, please.”
Brady grunted. “Got any whiskey?”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“This is turning into an alcohol-will-cure-everything kind of day.”
“Drink your coffee black, then.” Tristan glanced at his desk, moved some papers. “Any idea what Mayor Bridgeport wants?”
He ran the corporate end of Meath Hotel, since Brady and Riley had no interest. Riley worked as the tourism board director for the island. It wasn’t unusual for the three of them to get together regarding business since their work tended to trip over one another.
Brady took a seat next to Riley in front of the desk. “World domination?”
“I was thinking a plot to use mind control on children to bend them to her will.” Riley scratched the day old scruff on his jaw, the same black shade as the longish hair on his head. He kept it trimmed to his nape and it sported the hereditary Meath wave.
“Also a logical theory.” Brady nodded, wondering how the hell to go about starting the conversation he wanted to have before the mayor showed.
A concierge brought in a tray with coffee fixings and stepped out.
Tristan watched Brady, ignoring the delivery. He’d dipped into the deep end of the gene pool in their triplet trio with black hair and cool emerald eyes. Where as Brady had more of a mossy eye color and Riley a grayish-green, Tristan’s could penetrate and speak volumes without muttering a sound. And women fell at his feet. Not that he seemed to date. Ever.
Brady squirmed, which he assumed was Tristan’s intention with the assessing stare down. “What?”
“You tell me.” Tristan leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got something to say.” A statement, not a question.
“Yeah, fine.” Brady blew out a breath. “Hold reservation on cracking jokes or outright disbelief until I’m done.”
Riley grinned. “This should be interesting.”
“Just don’t talk at all.” Brady glared at him. “So, remember those dreams I’ve been having? The reoccurring one about the blonde?”
Tristan nodded. “You said two weeks ago they were escalating. You obviously have something to work out if they keep—”
“I saw her today. While I was awake.”
Riley whistled through his teeth. “Full-on hallucination. Nice. Insanity does run in our family.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Said every loony that ever lived.”
“I told you not to talk.” Brady looked from Riley to Tristan, the most level-headed of them all. “I was eight when I first saw her in a dream. It’s been happening a few times a year until twelve months ago. You know that. But the past thirty days, it’s occurred every night.”
Tristan frowned, concern wrinkling his brow. “Where did you see her today?”
“Outside my office window. She was talking to Mara Galloway.”
With a sigh, Tristan’s eyes narrowed. His jaw worked a grind. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Brady rubbed his eyes and refocused on his brother, debating whether to tell all. Screw it. “Last night, in the dream, her and I got caught in the rain. When I woke up, I was wet.”
Riley tipped his head back and laughed. “A little old for that, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t piss the bed, you jackass. My hair and pajamas were drenched, but the sheets were dry. And I smelled like rain.” He rubbed his neck. “She told me her name was Kaida.”
“Today?” Tristan grabbed a pad of paper. “Outside the library?”
“No, I didn’t talk to the actual her. In my dream, she said her name.”
Tristan’s gaze drifted off as if he were thinking. “I don’t recognize it, but it’s a big island with lots of tourists.” He looked at Riley. “Do you?”
“No. I don’t suppose your hallucination gave you a last name?”
Brady ground his molars. “Stop calling her that, and no, she didn’t.”
Tristan picked up his desk phone and punched a few numbers. “Check the guest list and all reservations for the first name Kaida.” He paused. “No, but go back two months and forward three. Thanks.” He hung up. “Front desk is looking into it.”
“Thank you.” Brady tipped his head back.
“Dreams are one thing, but reality is another.” Riley cleared his throat. “All teasing aside, are you sure it wasn’t just someone who looked like her?”
“I’m sure.” Brady had gotten too good a look. “I know how this all sounds. But you guys need to understand that it’s like I’ve known her my whole life.” There had been an instant bond that seemed to stretch space and time from their very first encounter. They knew nothing about one another, yet he would recognize her even if deaf or blind. She was that much a part of him. He chewed on his cheek. “I’m surprised you guys believe me.”
“Look.” Riley held his hands out in front of him. “You said she was talking to Mara, and I’ve been an acquaintance with Fiona and Ceara long enough to know weird shit happens around them.”
“And I trust you. This is obviously bugging you and you’re not the type to make up stories. You’re the history buff grounded in research, in fact.”
Brady sighed, a semblance of relief finally filling him. Where he was on cordial terms with the Galloways, Riley was friendly-ish, mostly with Ceara. Tristan avoided the family like the second coming of the bubonic plague. Yet they believed him based off nothing more than his word.
The three of them had a connection that went beyond sharing a womb as triplets. Their mother had split after giving birth and their father had died in a boating accident when they were eight. They’d been raised by an emotionally distant uncle who doled out money by way of advice, insults as guidance, and indifference as affection. Growing up, they’d generally had each other—three boys in a giant mansion, living in a town that spoke constantly of their ancestors.
It made for some lonely nights and isolating days.
“Knock, knock.” Mayor Bridgeport stood at the threshold of the office wearing a bright pink skirt suit that hurt Brady’s corneas. At four feet nothing, she shouldn’t be a force, yet her attitude made her a powerhouse. In her mid-fifties, she’d never been married, ran the ladies auxiliary, and hadn’t changed her chiffon bob hairstyle since he was in diapers.
Brady rose to move to the couch, offering his chair.
“Come on in, Mayor.” Tristan poured her a cup of coffee and passed it to her as she claimed the seat. “What can we do for you today?”
She made it a point to sip the coffee before setting it down on Tristan’s desk. “Well, as you know, next month is our big Founder’s Day celebration.”
Riley grunted. “I know. We planned the thing down to every last detail. Ad nauseum.”
“And the hotel is pretty booked, so you can expect a decent turnout.” Tristan tapped his fingers idly on the desk.
“Wonderful.” She straightened. “Since this is the three-hundredth year of our great town, I thought it was important on the anniversary to do something extra special. After all, you’re one of the founding families.”
Tristan closed his eyes as if seeking patience. “Yes. Our ancestors came here and established the island. They burned an alleged witch member of the other founding family, she put a hex on us, and we’ve hated each other ever since. Yada. Cut the preliminaries and get on with it. I’ve got business to attend to, Mayor.”
Riley and Brady sat quiet, watching the exchange like the pissing contest it was meant to be. He covered his mouth with his hand to hide a grin.
She sniffed. “Fine. I want the three of you to stand with the two Galloway sisters and accept the new plaque for the museum. Shake hands, play nice, show the world bygones are bygones. Perhaps even partake in the reenactments and wear costumes?”
“I’d rather gnaw off my dominant arm.”
She huffed.
“I wasn’t done. I’d rather gnaw off my dominant arm using dentures.” Tristan narrowed his eyes. “Both sides have put up a great front, as our history is a merged one. We’ve shown respect to their ways, and they’ve made it a point to absolve us. Three centuries makes for a lot of growth. I have nothing against the Galloways, but I’m not putting on a dog and pony show for your benefit.”
“But the reenactment—”
“Ah...” Riley offered a sorry-not-sorry smile. “The reenactment is disrespectful to the Galloways and, frankly, gory. This is a family thing. I vetoed it early on in the planning stages and you know it.”
The Mayor heaved a dramatic sigh. “Yes, but we did agree to have someone get all dressed up and recite the curse. I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to be a part of our celebration.”
Brady leaned forward in his seat. “We will gladly stand with the Galloways for the museum plaque ceremony and make an appearance around festivities.” He had to anyway, being the current historian on the preservation society. “But that’s a no-thank-you on costumes.”
Riley nodded.
Tristan rolled his eyes.
Brady waited for the Mayor to pout. She tended to steamroll people into submission with guilt trips and diversionary tactics, but she usually hit a wall where Tristan was concerned. This seemed like a happy medium.
The phone rang and Tristan snatched it up without shifting his eyes from Mayor Bridgeport. “Yes.” He frowned, then his face drained of color. “Are you sure? Yes, thank you.” Gaze on the desk, he rose. “I think we’re done here.”
Mayor Bridgeport stood, her spine stiff. “Thank you for your time. I’ll email Riley the itinerary.”
“Already have it. Tourism director, remember?”
“Yes, okay.” She strode to the door. “Bye-bye.”
Tristan plopped in his seat and scrubbed his hands over his face. “That was the front desk on the phone.” He looked at Brady. “Seems your dream woman checked in this morning. Under the name Kaida Galloway.”
“Well, hell.” Riley crossed his arms. “Guess we can cancel your reservation at the loony bin.”