Kellan was within minutes of pulling this caper off. Beith Molloy bore little resemblance to the fuzzy faxed photo he’d glimpsed in Declan’s office last night. The same one Declan had snatched out of his hand and into a concealing file. As if his big brother didn’t trust him around a beautiful woman. He’d known if he wanted to meet her, he’d have to take matters into his own hands. Luckily he’d gotten enough of a look at her flight schedule to know when she would arrive in Dublin. The hard part had been acting completely uninterested while his mind had churned with plans to whisk her out from under Declan’s very nose. The woman before him now had a carry-on almost bigger than she was. Her hair was darker, her skin still creamy but with a translucent quality, as if she’d been cooped up indoors too long. His first prickle of conscience had come when she’d looked up at him, fearlessly displaying her scarred mouth. As if she knew it would scare him off. But something in those chocolate-brown eyes… The challenge in them had softened to complete trust as she’d accepted his story without question. He’d completely forgotten about her mouth once the eyes had softened. Where had she been living that she’d willingly walk off with a stranger without demanding so much as an ID card? In a cave? Outside on the sidewalk, he stopped and pretended to adjust his load of baggage, using those few precious seconds to scan the area. Good. No sign of Declan. Fionna had slipped him Beith’s itinerary; the first thing he’d noticed was that it wouldn’t take Beith anywhere near the prime nesting grounds of the endangered bird she was seeking in order to fulfill a commissioned art work. He’d take her to the places she needed to be in order to complete her contract. Along the way, he planned to enjoy her company, tease her, make her laugh and smile, and, if things went as he planned, she’d be inviting him into her bed before the trip was over. Preferably long before it was over. A little summer fling would be good for both of them. He was certain of it. He detected a slight shiver in the arm he’d tucked into his, but she continued to follow him willingly down the row of compact cars. He let a smile widen his lips. She was going to love this. He was sure of it. “Have you a jacket?” He kept his tone casual as he tipped her suitcase to stand on its end and let her carry-on slide to the ground. “In my suitcase. Why?” He watched her face as her eyes centered on his vehicle, and waited for it to break into a smile. Instead, it went curiously blank. She swallowed audibly. “Is this…is this your, um, vehicle?” Kel gazed fondly at his pride and joy. A midnight-blue-and-silver Harley-Davidson Softtail. “Indeed it is. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He thought he heard Beith make a noise, but he was busy glancing at his watch, and caught a shiny red flash out of the corner of his eye. Right on time. Don’t squeal the tires, Fionna. The boxy Honda van pulled up strategically between them and anyone who might be in the terminal looking for them. Fionna unfolded out of the car, all six feet of her, vivid red hair tucked up under a battered baseball cap. She slid open the side door, then turned to smile warmly at Beith. Like all people exposed to Fionna’s smile, Beith smiled back, partially if not thoroughly disarmed. Kel had always thought Fionna possessed more than a bit of Fae blood in her veins. “Offloading?” said Fionna cheerfully. “A bit,” he replied, swinging Beith’s suitcase into the opening and unceremoniously unzipping it. “What are you doing?” Beith squeaked. Fionna and Kel stood staring into her suitcase, momentarily stunned. “She has no clothes,” murmured Fionna. “Yes, I do,” protested Beith. “Everything’s in there. Lots of thin layers. I know the drill. There’s just a few other things on top.” “A few other things?” Kel began lifting bubble-wrapped parcels out of the suitcase. Through the wrap he recognized thick sketch pads, colored pencils, and…heaven help them…an easel? “I’m an artist,” said Beith, apparently reading his expression. “These are the tools of my trade.” “Well,” said Kell cheerfully. “There’s nothing for it—they’ll have to go.” “What?” “They won’t fit in the bike’s panniers. Besides, if you’re going home tomorrow, you don’t need all this, now, do you? Fionna will keep it all for you until you’re ready to go. And,” he shrugged offhandedly, “if you decide to stay, there’s nothing here we can’t purchase on the road. If you need it.” Beith looked up into his eyes, and Kel met her gaze squarely, hoping not a trace of urgency showed. He could see in the dark circles under her eyes that all she wanted was to find a bed and sleep. He felt a prickle of remorse when she shifted her gaze to the car. “I’d almost rather leave my clothes behind than my art supplies,” she said absently. The word “Brilliant!” was on the edge of his tongue, but he managed to hold onto it. “Why don’t we just trade vehicles?” suggested Beith. “If you don’t mind, of course, Fionna. Then, if I end up staying, I’ll have everything I need.” Um… Fionna didn’t miss a beat. “I’d be happy to, but me cousin needs it for his pizza delivery route.” She reached out and touched Beith’s arm, and that Fae magic did its work. Kel watched in growing fascination as Beith took another long look at his Harley, lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “All right. I’ll just need my camera, and…” She reached between Fionna and Kel, grabbed a sketchpad and a package of pencils, then turned away to unzip her carry-on. If possible, she looked even paler. Kel didn’t miss the look of interest Fionna gave Beith. He mentally rolled his eyes. Here it comes. Fionna lapsed casually into Irish, keeping her voice cheerful as she pulled what little clothing there was out of the suitcase and handed it to Beith to tuck into one of the panniers. “I dreamed of the Hag last night, Kellan.” “Did you now?” “You’re taking her to the Burren?” “Of course. She’s to go to the prime little tern nesting sites.” He snorted. “Whoever set up her itinerary hadn’t any idea what they were on about. I know where the best ones are.” “Just be careful. The Hag is restless, which doesn’t bode well for a man like you. Whatever you think this woman needs…” She hitched her chin toward Beith. “Oh, I fully intend to give her what she needs, have no fear about that,” he said, smiling wolfishly. Fionna regarded him briefly, not a trace of amusement in her blue eyes. “Her needs have nothing—and everything—to do with what you intend to ‘give’ her, you fool. Stop for a minute and think what you’re doing. If the only reason you’re carrying on with this is to pull something over on Declan, back out now.” Kellan reached out and tapped the end of her nose. “Been scrying the bottom of a whiskey glass, have you?” She gave him a look that brought him up short. “Whiskey doesn’t touch my cauldron, and that scrying once saved your life, if you recall. Last night I saw the Cailleach, and she is no one to be trifled with. You know that. The Hag will have what she requires, and if you deny her, she will twist off your wee balls and have them with her tea.” The Cailleach. Kellan zipped Beith’s suitcase shut and shoved it deeper into the car, then slid the door shut with more force than was quite necessary. Trust Fionna to ruin his day with talk of the Hag. Yet he knew Fionna had never been wrong about things unseen. And she was also right—her timely warning had once saved his life. He owed her at least a moment’s attention. Even if he planned to ignore her advice. Hag or no Hag. “Then why did you agree to help me with this?” Fionna tilted her head as if it should have been obvious. “Because I dreamed of Beith Molloy, too. The Cailleach wants something from her. And it’s the only reason I’m letting you do this.” “And what would the Old One want this time?” “What she wants for every woman, Kellan. To be whole.” To his surprise, Kel’s heart did a funny little flip in his chest. He turned his head and looked at Beith, and whatever expression was on his face, Fionna laughed at it. “You’re a chancer, Kel. Just do me a favor and be careful. With luck, all three of you will get what you need.”

Gráinne Cottage, Dingle Peninsula, Ireland “I cannot complete this reading.” The older woman’s hands moved quickly to gather the Tarot cards spread on the kitchen table, the movement causing the flame of the single white candle at its center to flicker. Carey Magennis leaned back in the creaky wooden chair, trying to decide if she should be amused or alarmed. For now, she chose the former. After all, Genola’s informal Tarot reading was only for fun. She sipped her tea, admiring the vase of freshly picked heather on the table. The moist breath of an afternoon breeze felt unusually cool on her cheek as it puffed in through the open window. But then again, an Irish July felt downright arctic to any North Carolina native. The morning rain had passed, and through the storm door she saw the rich, green hillside below the cottage. Beyond, the sea glittered like muted pewter. Great Blaskett Island lay a few miles offshore like a sleeping giant, half covered by a fluffy blanket of mist. She had left Kyle poring over maps and guidebooks while she had gone in search of a cup of tea to settle her still-queasy stomach, the aftermath of getting food poisoning from a Killarney restaurant. Thanks to her twenty-four-hour stint on her knees before the porcelain god, they were now a full day behind schedule. They were darned lucky Genola McCarthy had a vacancy in her little cottage B&B at the height of tourist season. Carey had been too ill to make it to their original destination. Kyle had been less than thrilled with the comparatively rustic accommodations, but Carey, now that she was well enough to have a look around, loved the old stone cottage with its thick, whitewashed walls and cozy thatched roof. Traces of the morning peat fire still tanged the air inside the little dwelling, blending with the aroma of fresh bread baking in the Aga. Genola had welcomed her warmly into the homey, low-ceilinged kitchen, and cheerfully joined her for a cup of strong Irish tea with plenty of fresh milk and sugar. Spying the new engagement ring on Carey’s left hand, Genola had reached into her apron pocket and withdrawn a set of Tarot cards, saying with a wink that she was going to see how long it would be before Carey and Kyle began adding to their respective family trees. Carey glanced down now at the sparkling diamond solitaire on her left ring finger as Genola continued to gather the spread-out cards. She’d thought they’d only be spending a few days in Dublin, he making contacts for his fledgling, international real-estate development firm, while she wandered in and out of old churches and museums, feeding her insatiable appetite for all things historic. But he’d presented her a ring at dinner one night—in between taking business calls on his mobile phone—and swept her off on a surprise whirlwind tour of Ireland, attempting to see the entire country in five scant days. She idly turned her hand and wondered why the sight of the glittering stone didn’t set her heart to glittering in return. She ought to be deliriously happy. She should. After all, her life was turning out exactly as she’d planned. “Are the spirits carrying around erasers these days?” She tore her gaze from the ring and, propping her chin in her palm, winked to let the woman know she was only kidding. Genola smiled and winked in return. “Oh, ’tis nothing, darlin’. Simply a mistake, that’s all.” “What kind of mistake?” Carey was relieved to see the Death card disappear back into the deck. “This blank card—” Genola held it up, “—shouldn’t have been in the deck. It’s included only to replace a lost card.” She put the card back into a small wooden box and firmly shut the lid, then shuffled the deck three times. “Now, let’s be after tryin’ this again. Please cut the deck into three piles.” Carey did as she was told, and watched Genola spread the cards across the table with one smooth motion. “And choose three cards, please.” Again, Carey pulled three cards at random and placed them facedown in front of her. Genola turned over the first card, and Carey swallowed a gasp. It stuck in a painful knot at the base of her throat before she forced herself to relax. “Now that’s interesting,” said Genola, unconcerned. “You drew the Death card again. This card represents your past, and at some point…” “I’m going to die?” Carey croaked, only half joking. Genola chuckled. “Not at all, dear. You simply underwent a time of great change. Or you will. Sometimes the timeline is a bit vague.” Carey relaxed, and leaned her elbows on the table again, and allowed a small smile. “Well, I got engaged recently. Maybe that’s it. And I lost my parents at a very young age…” She quickly shut her mouth. This wasn’t something she normally shared with relative strangers. Genola stilled, her expression distressed. “I’m so sorry, child.” Carey reached out and patted one of Genola’s hands. “It’s all right. It was a long time ago and my aunt raised me.” Genola relaxed, then looked her up and down, eyes slightly unfocused. “Your aura is very strong, particularly around you heart. It’s bright green.” Her eyes focused again and she smiled gently. “I thought when I first saw you, that you had the look of a faerie child.” Carey found herself toying with one of her wild black curls. Chemical processing had tamed the unruly mass that was her hair, but Ireland’s damp weather had brought back its tendency to kink. All she had managed to learn about this gift from her father’s side of the family were four tight-lipped words, “Black Irish and Indian.” At which point the woman’s lips would compress into a tight, thin line. “Faerie. Yes, well, I don’t much resemble Tinker Bell,” she said ruefully, remembering her own mother’s petite, fair beauty, lost to her now except in photographs. “Oh, the other crowd are a dark, little folk. Nothing like you see in the movies. The Magennis people in Ireland are mostly fair in coloring, but once in a while they throw a dark one, and it’s said such people are touched by the good folk. You may be several generations removed from Ireland, my dear, but the magic still lingers about you, that I can see.” Oh, this was getting good. Carey dismissed the uncomfortable notion that Genola McCarthy could somehow know exactly how she’d been feeling these past months. As if she were poised on some great precipice of change. She’d chalked it up to the ticking of her biological clock. The Irishwoman flipped the next card. “This card represents your present. Oh…dear…” Carey stared in amazement. She’d drawn the exact same card as last time. “My, my! The oracle certainly is speaking strongly this afternoon.” Genola’s voice quavered a little, despite her efforts to sound cheerful. “I can’t remember any other time someone has drawn the exact same cards in this way, in spite of the deck having been shuffled. Very…odd.” “What do you think it means?” Carey watched Genola’s face. This was only a Tarot reading, for heaven’s sake. “This card represents your present situation. It’s the suit of Wands, which is the suit of change, restlessness, possibly upheaval. And this is the Knight. There’s a man involved. Quite possibly a blond man.” Curious, Carey leaned in for a closer look at the card in question. The card depicted a warrior in battered Athenian armor standing on a hilltop overlooking an ancient city. The soldier held a heavy sword, and a helmet adorned with a horse-tail plume covered his head. Lion-colored hair flowed out from under the helmet. But it was his direct stare that snagged her attention. His vivid green eyes—all she could see of his face—glowed like living things in the stillness of the picture. She had the absurd notion that she wished she could step into the picture and straight into his protective arms. With a hard mental shake, she tore her gaze away from the warrior and noticed a banner flying over the city in the background. It was clearly labled Troy. Her scalp prickled. “Interesting.” She tried to sound offhand. “My middle name is Helen.” Genola’s eyebrow went north. “Is that so? You should see the queen of this suit. It is, indeed, Helen of Troy.” A woman who brought disaster down on an entire kingdom for loving the wrong man. Carey’s stomach started to feel funny again, and she forced herself to relax. “But I don’t know any blond men. At least not well enough to consider them part of my personal life.” Genola smiled, serenely confident again. “If there isn’t one now, there will be. And I daresay his entrance won’t be subtle.” “Hm. If you say so.” Maybe Kyle was going to bleach his dark hair or something. Then she laughed to herself. Not bloody likely. “I certainly do say so.” Genola nodded and reached for the third card. “Well, then let’s see what all these changes and this mysterious blond man will mean for your future. At least we know the card won’t be…” she flipped the card, “…blank.” Now Carey’s heart really did turn over. What the…? Genola’s calm demeanor vanished, and she turned white. The card was blank. Again. “Impossible,” Genola whispered. “I just put that card back in the box. You saw me put it there, didn’t you?” “Don’t be silly,” said Carey, reaching for the box and popping off the lid. “Maybe it stuck to your hand.” But the first blank card still lay inside. She looked up at Genola. “Is there more than one blank card in this deck?” Genola shook her head. “Only one.” “Do it again.” “What?” “Shuffle the cards and let me draw again.” Genola seemed to come back to herself. “Of course, of course.” She gathered the cards and began to shuffle them, then her fingers slowed. “Let’s try a different deck. This one’s new—I haven’t worked with it much.” She leaned back in her chair, reached into a half-open kitchen drawer, and extracted a small, battered wooden box. Sweeping the offending deck off the table and back into its own box, she spread the well-used deck face up on the table, so they could both see that no blank cards lurked. Then she quickly shuffled, humming softly to herself as she worked. “Now,” she said confidently, her face relaxing into another smile. “This deck has never failed me.” Again Carey went through the ritual of drawing three cards, wondering why she was doing this when she ought to be telling Genola “t’anks, but no t’anks”. “Here we go.” Genola turned over the first card. Carey gave a bark of surprised laughter and nearly fell out of her chair. The Death card grinned mockingly up at her. “Ehm…” Genola turned the middle card. Knight of Wands. Again. “I, ah, don’t know what to say, Miss Magennis. I truly don’t. This has never, ever happened before. To draw the exact same cards repeatedly? From different decks…” She reached for the third card, her hand visibly trembling. Carey reached out and gripped her wrist. “Let me.” If the woman was indeed doing a sleight of hand, she was going to make darned sure it didn’t happen again. Not that she believed in this stuff, not at all. But she’d rather sleep without nightmares, thank you very much. She turned the card. Blank. She let it drop from her numb fingers. Get a hold of yourself, girl. It’s a trick. Just a trick. She forced a laugh and quickly gulped the rest of her tea. “You’re very good. Ever thought of going on the road?” Her laugh trailed off when the other woman said nothing. Genola didn’t look at her, but down at the cards, her face pale and still. Then she looked up at Carey, her eyes seeing something beyond the here and now. “I tell you, miss, these cards have never lied.” Carey gave the woman what she hoped was a bright smile that hid how rattled she was. “Thanks, Mrs. McCarthy. I…think I’ll take a little walk down to the headland. Kyle should be finished re-planning our schedule, thanks to me and my rebellious tummy.” Genola nodded and began picking up the cards, one by one, examining each one as if she’d never seen it before. Carey rose from the chair, uneasy and unsure what to say next. Genola touched her arm as she passed, eyes troubled. “Just be careful, miss. Be very, very careful.” Carey chuckled again, trying to put the poor woman—and herself?—at ease. “Oh, don’t worry. My fiancé plans everything down to the last detail. I won’t have time to get myself into trouble. Trust me.”