A Circle of Crows (2 page)

Rachael's face swam into view, then Bella's, followed by Morgana's.

"Oh please,” she murmured, and unable to help herself she began to let the tears flow.

November 30th,1994

Early morning

Raena made her way up the street after the cab had dropped her off. She stood half a block away looking at the inn while a freezing wind madly whipped her long, auburn hair. Thoughts whizzed past in a slideshow; the funeral, her advisor's face when she turned in her withdrawal from graduate school, locking the door for the last time at her beachside rental on the cape. How she would miss the sea...

She turned to come up the old stone path, which was their version of a sidewalk, and Morgana came bursting through the front door. “Aunt Rae, Aunt Rae, you're here!” she shrieked.

Raena lugged her suitcase up the steps and took a deep breath.

Out of the corner of her eye, in a tree barren of leaves, perched a single cardinal which appeared to be observing the business of this homecoming. “Cardinals are a sign of hope,” she attempted to convince herself...

Rae smiled for the first time in weeks, and scooping up her niece said, “Hello, butterbean. When do we eat?"

Chapter 1

Present Day

September, 2003

Raena walked down the quiet street and glanced back at the inn, which now had softly glowing windows from all the antique oil lamps that had been lit on behalf of the current guests for ambiance.

Rae walked faster in an attempt to outrun the anxiety that had plagued her for the past three weeks—anxiety she had no clue why she was experiencing. Perhaps it was the time of year, almost November, the month when all of the events had occurred which brought her back to Rhinebeck. Post-traumatic stress disorder they called it, she remembered it from one of her psych class electives at the university.

"Or,” whispered a little voice in her mind, remarkably like her grandmother Moira's, “you have the
The Sight
. After all, you have red hair, you are descended from the Scottish Highlands and there were plenty of seers in our heritage..."

"Rubbish,” she said out loud, and began to jog.

Thoughts of dear Gran were in her head now, whether she liked it or not. Half the time growing up, Rae thought, or rather knew, Gran was daft. Her grandparents were of Scottish descent and had retained all of the customs and superstitions passed down from their parents, weaving the girls’ upbringing full of faeries and folktales. To add to the excitement, her grandfather had been a farmer, and consulted the
Farmer's Almanac
as if it were a religious experience. Most of the time, she was able to convince herself it was just Gran's mental illness ... still, the foreboding would not abate, no matter what she did to quell her fears. She found herself thinking about having a drink, which further increased her anxiety.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something fly and whipped her head accordingly in its direction. A murder of crows—
or were they magpies?
—had descended upon a yard and a rooftop. Rae's blood ran cold and she felt as if someone had slid an icy hand to the small of her back and out came her grandmother's voice again,

"A crow on the thatch, then death lifts the latch!"

And in her mind's eye, she remembered the last time she saw a murder of crows.

"Shoo! Go away!” she yelled at the flock. A great cacophony of cawing was their reply.

Turning, she ran directly down the street and kept up the pace for a whole block, when again, Moira O'Sullivan's long-dead voice maintained a rhythm with her footfalls,

"One crow for sorrow,

Two crows for joy

Three crows for a girl.

Four crows for a boy,

Five crows for silver,

Six crows for gold,

Seven crows for a secret, never to be told."

A rhyme they used to jump rope to as little girls, taught again by Moira, along with a heavy dose of banshees and a “Failte!” (Gaelic for Welcome).

Rae looked up and magically, she found herself in front of the local watering hole,
The Rusty Lantern
and opened the door. Taking a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dim, smoky atmosphere, she walked over to a barstool and sat down.

"Ayuh, Rae. What'll ya have?” requested Tim, whose wondering gaze examined Rae's jogging suit with interest; he hadn't made any attempts to conceal his interest in her over the years.

"Molsen™. No glass necessary tonight, I'm not staying."

"Okay.” And with a wry smile, he placed a longneck bottle before her, followed promptly by a tall beer glass. With no doubt, Tim recalled Rae closing the establishment just last week, till the words, “Last call for alcohol!” echoed throughout the bar.

She didn't even acknowledge his gesture and placed her hand to her forehead and tried to clear her foggy mind.

She remembered her trip to Europe after she received her Bachelor's degree and thought about London.
What is it?
Then it came to her ... there were supposed to be ravens in the Tower of London, and the legend went that if the ravens were ever to leave, the Crown would fall, along with the country.

"I am plagued with black harbingers,” she said to no one in particular, especially not Tim. “For goodness sake, this is ludicrous."

Her head in her hands, she attempted to sort out her feelings to find the source of her anxiety, hoping it would then abate. She suddenly had the feeling of being watched. Slowly, she turned her head toward the back of the bar, and sure enough, a huge man with ragged hair was staring at her. When she met his gaze however, instead of looking away, as one does when they are caught in the act of staring, his eyes met her full on, and he smiled—a huge, smile showing all his yellow teeth.

Rae turned and after a few minutes, she leaned closer to the bar. “Tim, who is that fellow in the corner?"

"I haven't any idea. Been here since yesterday. Odd sort of man. But being a stranger isn't a crime, you know?"

"Yeah, tell that to anyone over sixty-five who has lived here all their life. Being a stranger is a capital offense in a town like this."

Rae finished her beer in three large gulps and as she threw a tip on the bar, said over her shoulder, “Told you I wasn't staying!"

Turning, she began her jogging pace again, oblivious to the two crows perched above
The Rusty Lantern's
stoop.

As she jogged, she could not get the man out of her head.
There was something odd about him, but I can't put my finger on it. Aside from the astoundingly good dental work...

Rae quietly opened the back door in the kitchen when she reached the inn, choosing it over the front door to avoid the welcome bell placed above it. It was silent throughout the inn, but as she passed her twin's apartment, she heard the news inside.

She bounded up the stairs, avoiding all the ones that creaked by memory, and hurried to her own suite. Her cat, the Dodger, was curled up on her bed. Opening the side table drawer, she pulled out a shot glass and Jim Beam™ and quickly downed one.

Lying down, the cat placed himself upon her chest and she sighed deeply. Soon, her eyelids began to flutter with dream sleep.

"Come here, poppet,” commanded her grandfather.

Rae crawled upon his lap and she smelled his familiar scent of Old Spice™ and tobacco.

Her gran leaned over a pot stirring, with her back to them.

"Poppet, do you remember the story I told you last week about the Kelpies? Well, that new horse of the Sullivans looks like a Kelpie if I ever seen one. I expect he will change into a man any day now."

Rae sat straight up in bed, her clothes sticking to her as she was sweating profusely.

"What is going on here?” She poured herself another shot, which she disposed of quickly, again.

"I'm a writer, I have the Hemingway defense for insanity, right?” she asked the cat, as his tail flicked dangerously back and forth, then he grabbed her leg and nipped it.

The last coherent thought she had was
I am not crazy.

Chapter 2

The Sisters MacBeth

Rachael hit the alarm as it sounded its five a.m. call. She shuffled to the kitchen and put on the coffee, then waited at the scrubbed wood table till its rich aroma filled all the surrounding rooms of the inn. She walked into the sitting area and lit the huge brick fireplace to take the chill out of the early morning air. “Ahh, that's better,” she whispered. The cold September air leaked through the old windows, making the inn quite drafty, despite the three fireplaces on the first floor alone.

At five fifteen a.m., the bell on the front door tinkled and her younger sister Isabella entered, her breath visible in the cold. As always, Rachael was astounded by her sister's beauty, even at dawn. Her hair was blond, cropped short, and her blue-green eyes sparkled with life. Her delicate features and frame reminded Rachael of a wood nymph or a fairy perhaps. She was a sharp contrast to the twins with their athletic bodies and long auburn hair; Rachael's was currently pulled into a clip as strands fell into her face.

"Good morning, Rachael. What's on the agenda today?"

"Come sit and wake up with me.” Rachael led the way to the kitchen. The sisters sat at the table and Rachael handed Bella her cuppa. “Well, it was supposed to be Raena's turn for storytime today in the library, but she was up half the night. I could hear her banging around; you know how lightly I sleep."

Isabella's eyes narrowed and she looked concerned. “Is it the nightmares again?"

"Yes,” she replied.

"She didn't come in and try to wake you?” prompted Bella.

"No, you know how she gets about them."

"The last time she told me anything about them, we were down at the
Watering Hole
in town and she was on her way to funkytown. What she did tell me was gruesome; and she laughed the whole time, the way she does when something makes her uncomfortable."

"Like what, Rachael?” Bella inquired, her blue-green eyes somber and focused.

"I assume that if she wanted you to know, she would tell you. Yes?"

Bella's eyes blazed. “It's ridiculous the way the two of you act like I'm still a child. I am twenty-seven years old! Where is she now?"

"Still in bed, I assume,” Rachael responded, attempting to appear nonplussed by the situation.

"I'll do her group today, but first, I'm going to check on her."

"Suit yourself, but she'll be mad as a hatter if we let her miss her group."

Isabella went to the sitting area closet and donned her “uniform” for the day. The sisters dressed in renaissance style dresses each day when they had guests at the inn. Once appropriately dressed, Isabella walked up the stairs in the ruddy September light, trying to miss each loose floorboard in the stairs to be as stealthy as possible.

The old house creaked and moaned in protest as fall and winter approached. The sisters had made several renovations to it since the death of their father. Rachael had redone the stained glass which adorned the top of each window upstairs, and Rae and Bella had furnished the inn with antiques they had found at various “fleatiques” in the area. The plaque on the front porch proclaimed it a
historical landmark
.

Isabella turned right at the top of the stairs, and tiptoed toward Raena's suite on the second floor. Rae had her bed, bath, and sitting area close to all the guest suites. Quietly, Bella opened the heavy mahogany door and peered into Raena's room. Her older sister was sleeping soundly, and looked very small in her enormous four-poster bed. Her auburn gold hair was being highlighted by a ray of sunlight leaking in through a space in the curtains. Next to her lay an open book and a shot glass. Isabelle frowned that Rae had needed this avenue again to sleep. “That's twice this week,” she murmured to herself.

She walked over to the window and pulled the drapes completely shut and checked Raena's alarm. It was set for six fifteen. Bella checked her watch, which read six on the hour. She flicked the switch on the alarm to off and smiled to herself at the scolding she was going to receive when Rae finally woke.

Rae carried on under a facade of bravery, and would not let any of her problems ever affect the family, or the business. Secretly, Isabella believed Rae appreciated any attention given to her, as she was the primary caregiver of the family. Bella turned to go and spied a stack of papers on Raena's nightstand. She quickly recognized the children's lesson plan and activity Rae had planned for the bi-weekly story hour the inn held in their library. “Oh, I am so dead,” she said as she let the door click shut.

Chapter 3

The Dreams

Dark, murky water surrounded her as she looked fervently left and right, unable to distinguish anything in the gloom. There was no sign of her anywhere. She could feel the panic rising in her chest and the inability to breathe properly.

Then she saw her—her little sister, not more than three years old—her blond hair swirling around her in wavy clumps entangled with seaweed. “Bella!” she tried to yell, but no sound came out. She swam toward the girl, but no matter how fast or hard she went, Bella kept drifting out of her grasp. Just then, the little girl began to struggle and twirled to face her. Raena saw the look of terror in her blue eyes—already beginning to bulge.

"Bella!” Rae yelled, and sat straight up in her bed. She was sweating and panting as her eyes adjusted to the dim light in her bedroom. Her cat, the Dodger, sat staring at her from the foot of her bed. She picked him up for comfort and held him to her. “What is going on with me?” she whispered to herself. “I haven't dreamt that since Bella was a baby."

Bella was adopted. When her parents brought her home at the age of one year old, they had told the twins, then eight, that Isabella's biological parents could contest the adoption for up to one year. So the girls lived with the fear that Bella could be taken at any moment. They would hurry home from school each day, neither admitting why they were running flat-out on a fine autumn day instead of lingering as all their friends were.