Emerald Isle (10 page)

“Okay, ladies, why don’t you tell me what I can do to help?” I figured the faster I appeased them, the faster I could get out of there.

Badb disappeared behind a curtain as Danu spoke. “A treaty was signed between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the first Druids to protect the four treasures. Throughout the ages, four people, or, as we refer to them, the four corners, have been appointed by the humans in charge to guard the hallows at all costs. We learn their identities only when they have completed a quest.”

She snapped her fingers, and an image popped into the bubble.

“The Warrior.”

It was a copper-haired woman on a ship in the heat of battle. She was fighting off six men with two swords—and winning. From her dress, the setting, and the way she fought, it could only be Grace O’Malley, Pirate Queen. She ruled the western banks of Ireland for forty years and protected her people and her land from foreign invasion, including the powerful British forces. She was known for expert navigational skills and her vengeful temper. Many a man was slaughtered in retaliation for crimes committed against Granuaile (her Gaelic name) and those she loved.

She was, as they say, a total badass.

Danu continued. “The Guardian.”

There, on the screen, was Oscar Wilde lecturing before a classroom.

“The Seeker.”

Joan of Arc.

Danu snapped her fingers again and said, “And the Mage.”

Katharine Hepburn.

Aha! That’s where they made their mistake. I knew all too well about the Warrior, the Guardian, and the Seeker, and their roles in serving the secrets of the old soil. Months ago, a young girl showed up on my doorstep claiming to be my sister. Her mother was missing, and the clues the woman had left behind led the girl to me. She thought it was because we were related. As it turned out, we were connected in another way, a deeper way. Her name was Ivy Delaney, and she was a Warrior. Around that same time, the Guardian also showed up in Amethyst to help protect a sacred text from thieves. His name was John Mahoney, a police officer from Chicago, and we were all three descendents of the scribes who wrote that text.

But there was no Mage. It was a three-member team.

“Okay, ladies, I’ve seen quite enough,” I said, stepping forward.

Badb emerged from behind the curtain, holding a golden chalice. Danu gave a slight shake of her head to Badb, then turned to me.

“So then you’ll gather the corners and find the cauldron?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. You see,” I quoted from the Geraghtys’ Blessed Book, “there are three only whose calling is a benefit to their people: the Warrior on the field of battle, the Guardian of sacred truth, and the Seeker of Justice, wherever she may be.”

Danu rolled her eyes. “Who told you that? That is not true.”

Badb said, “Danu is right. This”—she held up the cup—“is truth.”

Danu said, “I’m not sure that is necessary, Badb. She will believe in her destiny if I have to shove it down her throat.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Badb smiled wickedly, moving upon me so fast, I was forced into a chair. She held the cup to my lips and gave a questioning look to Danu.

Danu thought about it for a moment. She said, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” She walked over to me. “Stacy Justice, since you know so much about the treasures—and just because you haven’t secured a Mage in your time doesn’t mean that corner doesn’t exist—then you must know about us.” She tossed a look to Badb. “Tell me what Badb represents.”

Geez, would this nightmare never end?

I took a deep breath. “Battle. Sacrifice. Transformation…um…”

“Truth,” Badb prompted.

“Thank you. Truth.”

Danu snatched the chalice from Badb, offering it to me. “Either drink from the chalice of truth or we will find other ways to enlighten you.”

I slapped it from her hand, spilling the liquid across the floor, and stood. “I want to go home. Now. I want to see my family.”

Thor rose to his feet at the sound of the cup clanging against the wall.

Badb leaned into me, her hot breath melting my eyeliner. “You want to see your family? That can be arranged.”

I heard Danu yell, “No!” just as Badb picked me up and threw me into the bubble.

I could still feel the handprints on my arms where that bitch dug her talons into me, but I seemed to be unharmed. I found myself standing in front of a school, wearing a tea-length, belted dress, navy pumps, and a pillbox hat. My brain was scrambled again, which was beginning to worry me. What if I came out of this with permanent damage? I silently counted to ten, sang the alphabet song in my head, and tried to remember the name of my favorite sports team. I came up with the Chicago Cubs. Could that be right?

A gaggle of girls and a handful of boys rushed out the doors and lined up in front of me. They were at the tween age, perhaps twelve or thirteen, and smelled of porridge and hope. There were a dozen or so of them, and they stared at me with the inquisitive caution children exhibit when faced with a stranger.

“Maggie O’Brien,” the first girl said.

“Nice to meet you, Maggie.”

“Likewise.” She stood there, waiting for something. After a moment she crooked her finger at me, signaling she had a secret to tell. I bent to lend her my ear and she
whispered, in a thick Irish brogue, “You’re supposed to mark
present
next to our names.”

That’s when I felt the clipboard in my hand.

“Right. Sorry, Maggie.” I unclipped the pen from the metal fastener and scribbled
present
next to her name just as a bus pulled up.

The door made a hissing sound as the driver pushed it open, and Maggie hopped on, a purple satchel over her shoulder.

The next girl was Katie Byrne, and I did the same for her name, plus six more, until I heard a commotion near the end of the line.

I looked up and saw a tall, thin girl shove another.

“Hey! Stop that, right now.” I said.

The tall girl sneered at me defiantly, then pointed at the girl she shoved and whispered something to the shy kid standing next to her. The neighbor laughed at whatever the bully said, although she seemed uneasy about it.

The blond boy in front of me rolled his eyes and said, “She’s always like that.”

“Yeah? Well, not on my watch.”

I winked at him, made a note next to his name, Aedon O’Neil, and the next student’s, and the next, wondering what this little jaunt was supposed to teach me. Junior high sucks? Mean girls exist on every plane?

Hell, I knew that.

The doe-eyed girl standing in front of me now was the one who had been shoved, but she didn’t seem fazed. She seemed downright regal. I admired her moxie.

“Hi! Are you the new chaperone?” she asked, a bounce in her step.

Uh-oh. That must have meant there was a field trip in my future. “Well, I suppose I am. What’s your name?”

“Brighid. Brighid Geraghty.”

The clipboard clattered to the sidewalk as my hand let go, and I froze.

The girl smiled and said, “I’ll get it.” She scooped the clipboard up and held it out for me.

“Birdie?” I whispered. My head was spinning. All at once it hit me like a kaleidoscope. The clothes, the surroundings, the accents. I looked at the clipboard.

The Academy of Sorcery

Hill of Tara Field Trip Roster

“I prefer Brighid,” my young grandmother said to me. “She was a powerful goddess, the daughter of Dagda, of the Tuatha Dé Danann.” Her voice burst with enthusiasm. “Do you know who they are?”

I nodded, having learned that at the private school of Geraghty Girls. She continued, satisfied she didn’t have to explain that whole gnarled mess of a family tree. “Brighid was so revered that the Christians made her a saint. There’s a lot of stuff dedicated to her in Kildare. A sacred well, a statue, even a cathedral. It’s where my people are from.” She radiated pride.

Then the little shit behind her said, “She thinks she’s so cool because of her name. Doesn’t even sound good with your stupid American accent,
Brigit
.”

The troublemaker pretended to accidentally bump into Birdie, and she stumbled forward, into me, dropping her
notebook. It took all I had not to grab that kid by the ear and introduce her to an American swirly.

But Birdie handled it with aplomb. Her smile wavered just a bit, and then that ferocious resolve, which I both admired and feared, rose above the snide remark.

She turned to face her attacker, hands on hips. “Tallulah, just because your daddy is a member of the council doesn’t mean you have what it takes to be a good witch. I suggest you spend more time on your studies and less time picking on me if you want to graduate.”

I wanted to applaud, but decided against it.

Tallulah’s face reddened so fast, I thought steam might shoot from her ears.

“Okay, girls, why don’t you both get on the bus?” I said.

Behind me, a man’s voice said, “Oh, wonderful! The agency sent someone to fill in for Miss Murphy. Thank you so much for filling in on such short notice.”

I turned to face a wiry, middle-aged man who was losing the battle of the bulge. He looked as flustered as I felt. “Mrs. Doherty is right behind me. Everyone accounted for?”

I checked the clipboard. “Looks that way.”

“Very good, very good.”

He took a minute to speak with the bus driver and the students, then he hopped off, wished me luck in a tone that indicated I was going to need it, and disappeared back inside the building.

I looked at the bus, and my stomach suddenly felt like I had swallowed wet cement. I had absolutely no experience chaperoning children, let alone a dozen of them, let alone my own grandmother. Oh, and let’s not forget they were witches and wizards in training.

Yep, I was in way over my head thanks to my big, stupid mouth.

Someone tapped my shoulder and said, “They can’t leave without you, lass. Up you go.”

I shifted my feet to face her. “Mrs. Doherty?”

The woman wore cat’s-eyes glasses and a drab pantsuit, and was pushing the other side of forty. “At your service. Come on, now, Tara is waiting.”

Birdie was sitting in the second seat on the right, so I took the seat across from her and Mrs. Doherty took the first seat on the left.

Doherty settled her things onto the bench and stood up, the scent of violets trailing her. “Listen up, class. Now, you are all here because you are a descendent of either a high king or an important scribe. I expect you to behave with the propriety and class of those noble men and women. The council will be expecting a full report, and believe me, you do not want your name in it.” She gave a brief warning that spellcasting would absolutely not be tolerated, and suggested everyone sit back and enjoy the scenery.

I kept my eye on Birdie the entire bumpy ride. It was fascinating and disturbing at the same time to see this woman who had raised me, comforted me, guided me all these years, as an innocent, wide-eyed, hopeful kid. She wrote in her book most of the way, periodically lifting her head to take in the sights, and I wondered why she had never told me about this school.

Occasionally, I glanced back at Tallulah, who, by the end of the hour-long trip, had managed to come up with the nasty rhyme
Brigit is a dimwit, a stupid twit, an ugly zit
.
Others chimed in instantly. I stood and firmly said, “Stop,” wishing I had paid closer attention to all their names.

The bus had come to a halt, and Mrs. Doherty was busy giving instructions to the driver, although she did glance back when she heard the taunt. She simply chose to ignore it.

So that’s how it’s going to be? Because Tallulah’s father has clout?

I glanced at Birdie, who winced but lifted her chin to drink in the spectacular hill that was once the seat of the high kings of Ireland. I followed her gaze, and to my amazement, I saw flashes of battle scenes scattered across the landscape. I could actually smell the rich green hue of the grass carpeting the rolling hills, could taste the history and sacrifice in the air. Visions of men and women fighting side by side flickered before me. Warriors being honored, priestesses receiving crowns. I could hear rituals, dancing, and chanting all over the mighty knoll. I knew I was really in Ireland, not only because of the breathtaking landscape and the earthy scent of the land, but because I felt like I had come home.

“
Hmm-hmm.
”

The kids giggled, and I realized that Mrs. Doherty was waiting for me to exit the bus, reminding me that I was a chaperone, not a spectator. I stood up and quickly stepped off, then scooted to the side, waiting for Birdie.

Mrs. Doherty had other plans.

“Why don’t you take one group over to the Stone of Destiny, and I’ll start at the Mound of the Hostages, then we’ll switch?”

“All right,” I said, planning to pull Birdie into my group.

But that didn’t happen.

“The children already know their assigned groups.” She clapped her hands and said, “Boys and girls, attention, please. Will Group A please come with me? Group B, please follow Miss, er…” She said to me, “What is your name?”

“Justice.” I can’t say why, but I immediately regretted telling her my real name.