When Irish Eyes Are Haunting: A Krewe of Hunters Novella (12 page)

Chapter 12

It was sad to be at a funeral; to watch a coffin lowered into the ground or set into a shelf in a mausoleum or vault.

Sad to see flowers cast upon a coffin.

Somehow, it was just as sad to see the proceedings when Collum’s coffin was removed.

The sound of the marble being split from the shelf seemed grating. Watching the men heave the coffin out and onto the stretcher was just as disturbing. Devin realized that she was associated with the family and that made it worse.

It was very solemn.

Father Flannery was there, saying prayers. Other than his words, the whole day seemed silent.

Many of those who would have been celebrating the day before St. Patrick’s Day had gathered at a distance to watch as well. Whispers and rumors were running rampant, Devin was certain.

In the midst of it, Dr. Kirkland arrived, striding across the graveyard, avoiding Celtic crosses and stepping heedlessly on gravestones.

“What is the meaning of this? Why wasn’t I consulted?” he demanded.

Sheriff Murphy stepped forward. “Sorry, Kirkland. Orders came down from the county; an autopsy is happening.”

“What? You’re going to find proof that a banshee killed the man?” Kirkland demanded. He saw Rocky and Devin standing near and turned his wrath on them. “Who do you think you are? How dare you come here assuming your methods and means are superior and that we’re all a pack of superstitious idiots? This will not be the last of this, not by a long shot, no indeed!”

He stormed off. Rocky and Devin looked at one another.

“Another suspect?” Rocky asked softly.

“Why?” Devin asked.

“The million dollar question,” Rocky murmured. “Come on; the coffin is in the ambulance. We’ll follow it to the county morgue—into Kat’s hands.”

They did. Kat greeted them there and assured them that Will was watching over Brendan, Seamus, and Kelly.

It had grown late. With the body safely in her hands and Kat and the county examiner ready to work, the two of them left, returning to the castle.

They were exhausted and famished and headed to the pub. Allen was behind the bar; Siobhan was working the floor. She seemed not irritable, but distracted that night.

“All this going on—it gives the body a chill, that’s a fact!” she told them. “And, of course, with St. Patrick’s tomorrow, it’s like a zoo here, people squawking for this and that and not a wee bit of manners among them!”

“We’ll get our drinks from Allen,” Rocky assured her.

“Aye, and thank you on that!” Siobhan said.

Rocky and Devin went to the bar. Allen was harried as well; he still managed to pour a perfect pair of pints for them.

“If you need help, I can hop back there with you,” Rocky offered.

Allen gave him a grin. “I may call on you. We’re really moving. Believe it or not, several of the vendors ran out of beer. That’s—that’s sacrilege in Ireland!”

“Call me if you need me,” Rocky told him.

“Ah, but you’re a lawman,” Allen said.

“I had lots of jobs before I became one,” Rocky assured him.

Allen grinned. Rocky and Devin returned to their table.

Devin had purposely chosen a booth in the old chapel section.

“We were right beneath here today,” she told Rocky. She leaned closer to him. “There has to be a hiding spot we don’t know. Either it is someone who belongs at the castle and has a room here—like Allen—or it’s someone who knows where to put things out of sight. And not in the crypt, as one might think.”

“I believe that whatever is being used actually leaves the castle walls,” Rocky said. “But, how? That’s the question!”

“I’m sure we can find an answer,” Devin told him. “So many vendors have come and gone—maybe they’re using a vendor?”

Their food came and they ate. Rocky had just taken his last bite when Siobhan stopped by the table. “Allen says that if you’re certain you don’t mind, he’d love some help behind the bar,” she said.

“All right, then,” Rocky said, rising. He looked at Devin.

She smiled. “I’m fine. I’ll be thinking—and watching.” And she would be. She’d noted that Michael and Aidan had just come into the bar. Aidan seemed distracted. Michael was calm and collected.

Rocky went behind the bar. Devin pulled out her phone and pretended to give it her attention.

She watched Aidan. He seemed dejected. But, as she watched him, she felt that she was drawn to watch Siobhan again. Every time the waitress came into the chapel area, she seemed distracted.

“What bothers you here?” Devin asked her, catching her when she would have hurried by.

Siobhan crossed herself. “We’re over the dead!” she told her.

She didn’t get a chance to say more. She dropped the heavy glass beer mug she had been carrying as sound suddenly ripped through the castle.

The great clock was beginning to chime the midnight hour.

And along with it had come another sound.

The banshee’s wail. The same sound they had heard just a night ago
.

Rocky looked her way. He leapt over the bar and went racing out of the pub toward the center tower.

Devin jumped to her feet, as well, to follow him.

Yet, even as she reached the great hall, she saw that Michael was following Rocky—and Aidan was following him.

But Aidan suddenly stopped and headed out the main doors.

Devin stood for just a moment’s indecision.

Then, she followed Aidan.

* * * *

Rocky swore, ruing the fact that they’d actually managed to get Collum to autopsy that day.

Kat would have still been with Seamus and Kelly, and Will would have been with him.

But, as he tore past the velvet chain, jerked open the door and ran down the steps, he realized that the sound was already gone.

When he flicked on the light and reached the dungeon, it was empty.

There was something there, though. Someone had been there. Someone had just been there! He could sense it—feel it!

There was a noise behind him and he spun around. Devin?

No.

It was Michael Karney.

Karney looked at him impatiently and started on through to the crypts.

“Dammit!” he swore.

He turned in the shadows there and looked at Rocky. “Someone comes here. I know they come here.”

To Rocky’s surprise, Michael suddenly turned, pushing at the shroud and bones of a long dead ancestor. “There’s got to be something—some way that they’re escaping. And whoever it is, they’ll get to Brendan, Seamus—then Kelly, and then me!”

Rocky set his hands on the man’s shoulders. “They didn’t go that way—and you’re now covered in bone dust. That way is foundation wall—it has to be something else. Some other way. The other steps are here—the steps down to the crypt from the old chapel.”

“We would have seen them—the pub was full,” Michael said irritably.

“Then we have to take it slowly, carefully, and methodically,” Rocky said. He sighed.

There had to be something somewhere. A tunnel—and escape. But where?

“Start on this side,” he told Michael wearily. “Look low because whatever it is, it leads beneath the courtyard.”

The two of them began to look. It was tedious. They were both white with dust, sweating profusely despite the damp cold of the crypt.

Michael paused. “We need Aidan—he can help. He’s in as much trouble here as we are.”

And Devin? Where was Devin?

Rocky was surprised by the depth of the fear that gripped him. He pushed past Michael, finding the stairs to the pub directly above the crypt.

They were narrow, winding. The door above didn’t give. Locked.

But, no. He was certain it wasn’t going to be locked as it should have been.

He hefted his shoulder against the door and it opened.

He spilled out into the lights of the pub like a ghost risen from above.

His arrival was met by dozens of screams.

He ignored them, looking around the pub, then looking for Siobhan and Allen. He didn’t see Siobhan.

Allen was behind the bar, trying to calm people and still pour his perfect pints.

Rocky raced over to him. “Allen, where is Devin? Where did she go?”

“She raced after you,” he said.

“And Aidan—where’s my brother?” Michael asked.

Allen dead paused for a minute. “Are you crazy—they raced out after you! After that, I don’t know. Look at this place—does it appear that I could be watching people!”

They all froze after his words. A different cry suddenly filled the night.

It was lilting; it was high. It was mournful and truly beautiful.

The real banshee!

Rocky turned and gripped Michael by the shoulders. “Come on—come on, now! We’re finding where that escape is, and we’re finding it now!”

“But they didn’t come with us…how do we know…?” Michael stuttered.

“We don’t know where it lets out,” Rocky said. “We do know that it leads from the crypts. Let’s go—now! And we’ll find it—don’t you see, someone’s life depends upon it now!”

* * * *

Aidan could stride quickly when he chose.

The courtyard was quiet; no one was about.

Aidan didn’t seem to notice—he was on a mission.

Which meant that Devin was on a mission, too.

She was quickly running to keep up with him, running into the night. They passed the storytelling area by the pit and headed down toward the road to the village. She realized—huffing and puffing somewhat despite the fact that she was in pretty good shape—that they were heading to the center of the village.

To St. Patrick’s of the Village.

And the graveyard that surrounded it.

She gave up trying to hide the fact that she was following him. He had absolutely no interest in looking back.

The wind rose; it seemed to be pushing her forward. The air was damp and cool. The moon rose high over them, as if guiding them along. It shimmered over the massive Celtic crosses and small headstones and footstones, mausoleums and vault.

Aidan hopped the little stone fence.

Devin did the same, hurrying after him.

He made straight for the Karney family tomb. When he reached it, he pulled open the gate.

Still not locked!

She followed, slowing her gait. Aidan disappeared into the vault. She waited a second, catching her breath, and then she crept to the entry. She could see him deep in the vault.

Once again, he’d thought to bring a flashlight.

She crept in, pausing by the tombs of Brianna and Declan Karney, watching the light. He was heading deep into the back—deep into the hillock that covered the family vault.

She began to follow, moving along carefully. She left behind any semblance of the modern world, entering the tunnel where the sides were lined with shelves of the dead, ghostly in their decaying shrouds. Some shrouds were gone; one skull was turned toward her. The jaw had fallen off. The skull seemed to scream out a warning.

She kept going.

Aidan paused ahead; she feared that he was going to turn.

Wincing, Devin threw herself onto one of the shelves—by the looks of the gown, she was next to the bones of a deceased lady of the manor. The dust covered her; the bones seemed to rattle in anger at the disturbance. She nearly sneezed.

She caught herself, barely daring to breathe.

Aidan went on.

She crawled out of her hiding space and went after him, coming closer and closer behind him.

He paused suddenly and spun around. She didn’t move quickly enough; she froze in the glare of his light.

Aidan screamed. His flashlight fell.

“Jesus and the saints preserve us!” Aidan muttered, falling on his knees. “No, lady, I beg of you, I’m not even next in line!” he pleaded.

Stunned, Devin gathered herself together and headed for him. She picked up the flashlight. He was on his knees, still muttering prayers, crossing himself.

“Aidan! It’s me—Devin!” she said.

He went still and then looked up carefully, looking at her with only one eye open—as if that would help if she were a demon.

“Oh, my God!” he breathed. “You look like death itself!”

“I had a run-in with some bones,” she told him. “Aidan, what are you doing here?”

“I’m finding the bastard—or the banshee!” he told her.

“In here?”

He let out a soft sigh.

“Aye, in here! I think that there’s a tunnel—leads all the way back to the castle crypts. I was reading a history about the Battle of the Boyne. Men escaped this way after the battle. A priest helped them burrow through the back of the graveyard. I figured that the tunnel still had to exist. It was after the Battle of the Boyne, you know, that the Catholic populous was displaced—lest they bargained like the lords of Karney! But before their bargaining went on, they helped dozens escape to America.”

“Have you been all the way through here?”

“I wanted to—I came today. But I couldn’t make myself do it. Then we heard the sound again tonight at midnight and I wasn’t going to be a patsy—let them kill the others and come for me!”

“Ah!” Devin said softly. “Well, then, shouldn’t we go on?”

She was answered—but not by Aidan.

A voice rang out from the darkness beyond.

“You need go no further. Alas, my friends, you found what you’re seeking. Fools. Aidan, it was never going to get to you. Or Michael. You should have left well enough alone—you should have stayed in Dublin. And Devin! Sweet American beauty! Ghost-catcher agent! I’m so sorry. Alas, you had to come. Ah, well. You do love history. Now you can be part of it.”

A shot rang out.

Aidan screamed, but not because the shot hit him; it slammed into the rock at his knees, frightfully close.

Devin slammed the flashlight out and grabbed Aidan, wrenching him to his feet.

Another shot ran out and then another.

She ran some distance and then paused, making use of the dead again. She shoved Aidan into one of the shelves, thrusting the bones aside. She felt him shivering, urged him to silence. She fell to the ground as well, sliding into the lowest shelf. Her fingers curled around something.