When Irish Eyes Are Haunting

  When Irish Eyes Are Haunting

  A Krewe of Hunters Novella

  By Heather Graham

  1001 Dark Nights

  Copyright 2015 Heather Graham Pozzessere

  ISBN: 978-1-940887-34-0

  Foreword: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose

  Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated

  The Silenced Text Copyright © 2015 by Slush Pile Productions, LLC

  Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  When Irish Eyes Are Haunting

  Devin Lyle and Craig Rockwell are back, this time to a haunted castle in Ireland where a banshee may have gone wild—or maybe there's a much more rational explanation—one that involves a disgruntled heir, murder, and mayhem, all with that sexy light touch Heather Graham has turned into her trademark style.

  About Heather Graham

  Click to purchase

  Heather Graham has been writing for many years and actually has published nearly 200 titles. So, for this page, we'll concentrate on the Krewe of Hunters.

  They include:

  Phantom Evil

  Heart of Evil

  Sacred Evil

  The Evil Inside

  The Unseen

  The Unholy

  The Unspoken

  The Uninvited

  The Night is Watching

  The Night is Alive

  The Night is Forever

  The Cursed

  The Hexed

  The Betrayed

  Coming in Summer and Fall of 2015

  The Silenced

  The Forgotten

  The Hidden

  (All available through Amazon and other fine retailers, in print

  and digital—and through Brilliance Audio as well.)

  Actually, though, Adam Harrison—responsible for putting the Krewe together, first appeared in a book called Haunted. He also appeared in Nightwalker and has walk-ons in a few other books. For more ghostly novels, readers might enjoy the Flynn Brothers Trilogy—Deadly Night, Deadly Harvest, and Deadly Gift, or the Key West Trilogy—Ghost Moon, Ghost Shadow, and Ghost Night.

  Out next for Heather the second book in the Cafferty and Quinn series, Waking the Dead—which follows Let the Dead Sleep. Go figure! (I guess they've slept long enough!)

  The Vampire Series (now under Heather Graham/ previously Shannon Drake) Beneath a Blood Red Moon , When Darkness Falls, Deep Midnight, Realm of Shadows, The Awakening, Dead by Dusk, Blood Red, Kiss of Darkness, and From Dust to Dust.

  For more info, please visit her web page, theoriginalheathergraham.com or stop by on Facebook.

  Dedication

  Dedicated with love to my cousin, Patrick DeVuono, who grew up with me in the family where leprechauns were real and the wonderful tales our elders told could leave us in awe—and give us the chills!

  In memory of my Mom, born in Dublin, the most intelligent and wonderful woman I ever knew. When she couldn't give us a real answer, she would smile and say, “Let's look it up!”

  And for Granny, who was about 4’11”—and could convince us that indeed, the banshees would be getting us in the outhouse if we didn't behave—even when we didn't have an outhouse.

  For Aunt Amy and Katie (and Sam! Who made marrying an Italian a good thing!)

  For all my mom's family, the wonderful Irish Americans.

  And, for Ireland, of course. I'm an American and I love my country.

  But, I also enjoy every second of being in Ireland, and loving the land that bred so many people I adored so very much.

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  1001 Dark Nights story

  The First Night

  by Lexi Blake & M.J. Rose

  Table of Contents

  About Heather Graham

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Also From 1001 Dark Nights

  An excerpt from The Silenced by Heather Graham

  Special Thanks

  One Thousand and One Dark Nights

  Once upon a time, in the future…

  I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.

  I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and

  the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast

  library at my father’s home and collected thousands

  of volumes of fantastic tales.

  I learned all about ancient races and bygone

  times. About myths and legends and dreams of all

  people through the millennium. And the more I read

  the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered

  that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually

  become part of them.

  I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher

  and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I

  would not be telling you this tale now.

  But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off

  with bravery.

  One afternoon, curious about the myth of the

  Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to

  see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar

  (Persian: شهریار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then

  sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written

  and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,

  the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand

  women.

  Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived

  in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged

  places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had

  never occurred before and that still to this day, I

  cannot explain.

  Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have

  taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can

  protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to

  protect herself and stay alive.

  Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.

  And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a

  point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.

  And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that

  he might hear the rest of my dark tale.

  As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new

  one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before

  you now.

  Chapter 1

  “Ah, you can hear it in the wind, you can, the mournful cry of the banshee!” Gary Duffy—known as Gary the Ghost—exclaimed with wide eyes, his tone low, husky and haunting along with the sound of the crackling fire. “It�€
™s a cry so mournful and so deep, you can feel it down into your bones. Indeed. Some say she’s the spirit of a woman long gone who’s lost everyone dear in her life; some say she is one of the fairy folk. Some believe she is a death ghost, and come not to do ill, but to ease the way of the dying, those leaving this world to enter the next. However she is known, her cry is a warning that ’tis time for a man to put his affairs in order, and kiss his loved ones good-bye, before taking that final journey that is the fate of all men. And women,” he added, looking around at his audience. “Ah, and believe me! At Castle Karney, she’s moaned and cried many a time, many a time!”

  Yes! Just recently, Devin Lyle thought.

  Very recently.

  Gary spoke well; he was an excellent storyteller, more of a performer than a guide. He had a light and beautiful brogue that seemed to enhance his words as well and an ability to speak with a deep tone that carried, yet still seemed to be something of a whisper.

  All in the tour group were enthralled as they watched him—even the youngest children in the group were silent.

  But then, beyond Gary’s talents, the night—offering a nearly full moon and a strange, shimmering silver fog—lent itself to storytelling and ghostly yarns. As did the lovely and haunting location where Gary spun his tales.

  The group sat around a campfire that burned in an ancient pit outside the great walls of Castle Karney, halfway between those walls and St. Patrick’s of the Village—the equally ancient church of Karney, said to have been built soon after the death of Ireland’s patron saint. A massive graveyard surrounded the church; the Celtic crosses, angels, cherubs, and more, seemed to glow softly in a surreal shade of pearl beneath the moon. That great orb itself was stunning, granting light and yet shrouded in the mist that shimmered over the graveyard, the castle walls, and down to embrace the fire itself—and Gary the Ghost—in surreal and hypnotic beauty.

  Gary’s tour was thorough.

  They’d already visited the castle courtyard, the cliffs, the church, and the graveyard, learning history and legends along the way.

  The fire pit they now gathered around had been used often in the centuries that came before—many an attacking lord or general had based his army here, just outside the walls. They had cooked here, burned tar here for assaults, and stood in the light and warmth of the blaze to stare at the castle walls and dream of breeching them.

  The walls were over ten feet thick. An intrepid Karney—alive at the time of William the Conqueror—had seen to it that the family holding was shored up with brick and stone.

  “The night is still now,” Gary said, his voice low and rich. “But listen if you will when the wind races across the Irish Sea. And you’ll hear the echo of her wail, on special nights, aye, the heart-wrenching cry of the banshee!”

  Gary—Devin knew from her cousin, Kelly—was now the full-time historian, curator, and tour director at Castle Karney. She’d learned a lot from him, but, naturally, she’d known a lot already from family lore. Kelly Karney was her cousin and Devin had been to Castle Karney once before.

  The Karney family had held title to the property since the time of St. Patrick. Despite bloodshed and wars, and multiple invasions first by Vikings and then British monarchs, they’d held tenaciously to the property. So tenaciously that fifteen years ago—to afford the massive property along with repairs and taxes—they had turned it into a fashionable bed and breakfast, touted far and wide on tourist sites as a true experience as well as a vacation.

  Gary, with his wonderful ability to weave a tale, was part of the allure—as if staying in a castle with foundations and a great hall begun in the early part of the fifth century was not enough!

  But Gary had gained fame in international guidebooks. While the Karney family had employed him first for the guests of the B&B, they’d always opened the tours to visitors who came to the village and stayed anywhere there—or just stopped by for the tour.

  “Indeed! Here, where the great cliffs protected the lords of Karney from any assault by the Irish Sea, where the great walls stood tall against the slings, rams, arrows, and even canon of the enemy, the banshees wail is known to be heard. Throughout the years, ’twas heard each night before the death of the master of the house. Sometimes, they say, she cried to help an elderly lord make his way to the great castle in the sky. Yet she may cry for all, and has cast her mournful wail into the air for many a Karney, master or no. Saddest still, was the wailing of the banshee the night before the English knight, Sir Barry Martin, burst in to kidnap the Lady Brianna. He made his way through their primitive sewer lines of the day, thinking the castle would fall if he but held her, for she was a rare beauty and beloved of Declan, master of Karney castle. Sir Martin made his way to the master’s chambers, where he took the lady of the house, but Declan came upon him. Holding the Lady Brianna before Declan, Sir Martin slew her with his knife. In turn, Lord Declan rushed Sir Martin, and died himself upon the same knife—but not until he’d skewered Sir Martin through with his sword! It was a sad travesty of love and desire, for it was said Sir Martin coveted the Lady Brianna for himself, even as he swore to his men it was a way to breech the castle walls. While that left just a wee babe as heir, the castle stood, for Declan’s mighty steward saw to it that the men fought on, rallying in their master’s name. Aye, and when you hear the wind blow in now—like the high, crying wail of the banshee—they say you can see Brianna and her beloved. Karney’s most famous ghosts are said to haunt the main tower. Through the years, they’ve been seen, Brianna and her Declan—separately, so they say, ever trying to reach one another and still stopped by the evil spirit of Sir Barry Martin!”

  There was a gasp in the crowd. A pretty young woman turned to the young man at her side. “Oh! We’re staying at Karney Castle!” she said. “And the main hall is just so hauntingly—haunted!”

  “Ahha!” Gary said, smiling. “Hauntingly haunted! Aye, that it is!”

  “We’re staying there, too!” said an older woman.

  “Ah, well, then, a number of you are lucky enough to be staying at the castle,” Gary said. “Ten rooms and suites she lets out a night! Be sure to listen—and keep good watch. Maybe you’ll see or hear a ghost—there are many more, of course. It’s been a hard and vicious history, you know. Of course, you need not worry if ya be afraid of ghosts—while the main tower is most known to be haunted, Brianna tends to roam the halls of the second floor, and that’s where only the family stays.”

  Devin felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a gentle whisper at her ear. “You, my love. Have you seen Brianna?”

  It was Rocky—Craig Rockwell, the love of her life, seated by her side, their knees touching. And it was the kind of whisper that made her feel a sweet warmth sear through her, teasing her senses.

  Rocky was her husband of three days.

  But though she smiled, she didn’t let the sensual tease streak as far as it might. Oddly enough, his question was serious; partially because they were staying in the old master’s suite, since they were family, through marriage—Rocky, through her. Devin, because her mother’s sister April had long ago married Seamus Karney, youngest brother of the Karney family.

  His question was also partially serious because they were who they were themselves—and what they did for a living, rather strange work, really, because it was the kind that could never be left behind.

  She and Rocky had been together since a bizarre series of murders in Salem. Devin owned a cottage there, inherited from a beloved great aunt. Rocky had grown up in nearby Marblehead and had—technically—been part of the case since he’d been in high school. As an adult, he’d also been part of the FBI—and then part of an elite unit within the FBI, the Krewe of Hunters.

  Devin had been—and still was—a creator of children’s books. But, she’d found herself part of the case as well, nearly a victim.

  Somehow, in the midst of it all, they’d grown closer and closer—despite a somewhat hostile beginning. As they’d found their own lives in dan
ger, they’d discovered that their natural physical attraction began to grow—and then they found they desperately loved one another and were, in many ways, a perfect match. Not perfect—nothing was perfect. But she loved Rocky and knew that he loved her with an equal passion and devotion.

  That was, she thought, as perfect as life could ever get.

  And, she’d discovered, she was a “just about as perfect as you were going to get” candidate for being a part of the Krewe as well. That had meant nearly half a year—pretty grueling for her, really—in the FBI Academy, but she’d come through and now she was very grateful.

  Rocky had never told her what she should or shouldn’t do. The choice had been hers, but she believed he was pleased with her position—it allowed them to work together, which was important since they traveled so much on cases. While the agency allowed marriages and relationships among employees, they usually had to be in different units. Not so with the Krewe. In the Krewe, relationships between agents aided in their pursuits.

  While Devin had never known she’d wanted to be in law enforcement before the events in Salem, she felt now that she could never go back. She belonged in the Krewe because she did have a special talent—one shared by all those in the unit.

  When they chose to be seen, she—like the others—had the ability to see the dead.

  And speak with them.

  It wasn’t a talent she’d had since she’d been a child. It was one she had discovered when bodies had started piling up after she returned to live in Salem. The victim of a long ago persecution had found her, seeking help for those being murdered in the present in an age-old act of vengeance.