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Tí Joe Watty’s was said to be one of the oldest and most traditional pubs on the island. Everyone in it turned toward Felicity and Cyn as they entered and made their way to Father Cleary, who was sitting at one of the tables near an open fire. Felicity found it a little unnerving that all eyes were focused on her. Even the band that was gearing up for the night glanced her way before they continued setting up. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. It wasn’t the chill; even though early summer was still cool enough to warrant a fire, she imagined once the band started playing and packed people in it would be plenty warm. Especially after everyone had a few pints. Maybe then they’d stop gossiping and staring at her.
“Aye, have a seat,” Father Cleary greeted them as they joined him at the table.
“I notice we seem to be the source of gossip,” Felicity said.
Father Cleary laughed. “Aye, the craic around town has been all about the journalist who’s come to write about the púca. We haven’t had a púca visit us since I was a wee lad.”
“Really? And what makes you think that it’s a púca?”
“Did you see the picture that I sent your boss?”
Felicity wanted to see where the priest was going with this, so she wasn’t about to tell him that the photo itself was inconclusive. She pulled the picture from her purse. In the photo was something that looked like a black stallion with glowing eyes, but the picture had been taken at night and whatever it was had been moving fast. Too fast to make out very much. Either it was blurry because of that, or maybe there was something layered over the image. It almost looked like lace. Like a veil. She couldn’t tell for certain. The only thing that stood out was in the background: a stone tower looming in the distance. There appeared to be a man with glowing eyes standing at the top of it, gazing through the lacy curtain that covered the entire picture. She’d insisted that it had to be an effect done with photo editing, but Nathan told her they couldn’t be sure.
“I did,” Felicity said.
“Then you can see why we believe it’s a púca. The only thing I don’t understand is why it’s causing so much trouble. When I was a lad the púca were always a blessing.”
A waitress brought menus over to the table. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Cyn, who’d been looking at the craft beer list while Felicity talked with the priest, ordered first. “I’ll take a Tom Crean Irish Lager.”
“Aye, same for me,” Father Cleary said.
“Just a water, please,” Felicity said.
The waitress left to get their drinks and Felicity returned her attention to the priest. Regardless of his vocation, she hadn’t decided whether or not she should trust him. But she needed to understand what he meant about the púca being a blessing. Everything she’d read last night about their folklore had led her to believe that they could be either a blessing or a bane.
“Father, what do you mean that they were a blessing?”
“Our island has always been bleak, and subsistence has not come easy. We’ve relied on the púca to bless the crops, and according to local legend our relationship with their race dates back to before Christianity was introduced to the island.”
“Hmmm...I see.”
Felicity found it hard to believe that a priest would believe some mythical race was responsible for the recent events on the island, especially when it sounded more like a pagan belief than the folklore she’d been reading. The waitress returned with their drinks and when Felicity looked past her, she saw a man sitting at the bar who caught her attention. He seemed to be watching her very intently. Heat rose to her cheeks. He had longish brown hair that curled over the collar of his shirt, and when she met his gaze the corner of his mouth rose in a sheepish half-grin, perhaps because he’d been caught staring at her. She found his smile a bit unnerving considering that most people would do the polite thing and look away, which was what she found herself doing instead. Surely the last thing she needed was to think about how attractive some fellow was, but boy was he good-looking. Chiselled cheekbones, angular chin, and a fire in his eyes that made her suddenly aware of a different kind of heat. Felicity turned her attention back to the priest, refusing to identify the warmth that had moved from her cheeks to her thighs.
Crap. Crap. No. Crap. You need to stop it. He’s far too beautiful to want someone like you.
Felicity was perfectly happy with the extra dose of awesomeness that was her curvy figure, but she wasn’t delusional. There were certain limitations. Dancing, skinny jeans, and guys that looked like sex gods were a just a few of them. She sipped her water and pushed the unexpected desire that a single look had awakened back where it belonged—on the long mental list of things she could never have. If just looking at him could make her heart leap into her throat and desire shoot to her pelvic region, then it was better she focus on the priest and think holy thoughts.
“You really believe that, Father?” Felicity asked.
“Whether I believe it or not that’s the history of our land and I can’t argue with the evidence. But don’t take my word for it,” he said as he motioned to a woman sitting over by the bar.
The woman approached the table, and Father Cleary introduced her. “This is Jenna Hall. She’s an American photographer and artist who’s been staying on the island. And she’s the one who saw the púca first-hand.”
Jenna sat at the table. “It’s true. I didn’t want to believe it, but I was going for my morning walk when I saw that thing.” She pointed to the photograph that Felicity was still holding.
“But the photograph looks like it was taken at night,” Cyn said.
“Tell them what you saw—just as you told me,” Father Cleary said.
“You’re going to think this sounds crazy, and I have no way to logically explain what I saw. If I hadn’t photographed it, I wouldn’t believe it myself. Cameras don’t lie,” Jenna said.
No, cameras don’t lie, but people do. Far too often. “Go on...” Felicity urged her.
“It was just after sunrise and what looked like a portal to another land opened before me. And it looked like it was night-time on the other side. There was a stone tower. It was the scariest and most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen in my life. So of course I had to take a picture of it, or no one would believe me.” Jenna paused. “I hardly believe it myself. But as I was taking the picture, a horse appeared right on the other side of the portal. It spoke to me.”
A chill ran down her spine. Jenna’s story should have sounded crazy, ridiculous, and a few other adjectives, but she seemed perfectly normal. Well, except for the fact that she’d told Felicity something that should be utterly impossible.
“It spoke to you?” Felicity asked.
“I know...it sounds crazy, right? I mean the whole talking horse thing reminded me of Mister Ed.”
“Right you are. Totally nuts,” Cyn said.
Felicity ignored Cyn’s sarcasm. “Mister Ed?”
“Oh, sorry. It was this old American TV show with a talking horse.”
Cyn nearly spewed a mouthful of beer.
Serves you right for being a smart arse.
“What did it say?”
“It told me not to come any closer. Not in a menacing way, but it sounded like a warning. It said I’d be trapped there forever if I went any further. That was enough for me, so I backed away slowly and it disappeared. The horse, the tower, the portal...poof...it was there and then it wasn’t.” Jenna snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
“Just like that? And how did you get involved?” Felicity asked the priest.
“Aye, five days ago Jenna came into the pub,” Father Cleary said, pausing to take a sip of his beer. “She was having a chat with the bartender about that picture. I imagine after seeing something like that I’d need a drink too. It wasn’t long before all of Kilronan had heard the tale of the púca. Someone who reads that blog of yours—Everyday Supernatural—contacted your boss and put him in touch with me. He asked about the story and if I had any evidence to corroborate it. So Jenna let me send him that photograph you’re holding.”
Felicity glanced down at the photo. Maybe there’s more to this than I’d thought. When Nathan related the case to her, she’d been certain that it was a simple matter of someone not wanting the resort to be built. She always approached these stories with a healthy dose of scepticism, because most of the time it turned out to be a hoax. Felicity wasn’t easily rattled, but it had been a bloody long time since a case had given her the chills. Yet there was something about the way Jenna explained what she’d seen—with a deadpan expression—that gave her an adrenaline rush. Felicity could tell when something was rehearsed. Jenna was telling the truth, and she wasn’t one of the locals, who’d be easily swayed by superstition.
“I see. Jenna, do you think you could show me where you took this photo?”
Father Cleary answered before Jenna had a chance. “Aye, we’ll take you tomorrow. It’s not far from the construction site where the resort is being built. But it’s best to be heading back before it gets dark.”
“Oh, we’re not afraid of the dark, Father,” Cyn said.
“It’s not the dark, but what lurks in it. The púca are known to ride at night.”
Jenna coughed. “I’d be happy to show you tomorrow.”
The waitress reappeared. “Are you ready to order?”
Father Cleary rose from the table. “I’m gonna head on.”
“I should be going too,” Jenna said. “See you tomorrow.”
Felicity nodded. “We’ll meet up with you after breakfast.” And a bit of Internet research. “Is eleven-thirty all right?”
“Sure,” Jenna said.
“We’ll stop by Pier House and have a walk over to where she took the photo,” Father Cleary said as he and Jenna left the table.
“Well, I’m ready to order,” Cyn said. “I’ll have fish and chips.”
“And what will you be having?” the waitress asked.
Felicity had barely had a chance to look at the menu, so she picked the first thing she saw. “I’d like the chicken ciabatta and chips.”
The waitress took their menus. They didn’t have to wait long for their food. While they ate, Felicity thought about Jenna’s story and the strange photograph. Its stone tower and the figure with glowing eyes was a puzzle she needed to solve. Or maybe the light in his eyes was from the camera’s flash? And the tower itself looked like some relic from another time. She’d been staring at the picture all day trying to figure out if it was a fake, but she couldn’t help glancing over at the bar. When she did, the man that was staring at her before met her gaze. He grinned. Crap. This time she’d been the one caught staring.
