Carrier of the Mark. Leigh Fallon
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“Wow. Imagine trying to shake that kind of association.”
“Yeah, that’s got to suck. But honestly, they do nothing to endear themselves to the locals. When they first moved here three years ago, we were all a little bit in love with them. Rían was, like, sizzling hot, and Adam was swoon-worthy, but they were absolutely obnoxious and shunned anyone who tried to make friends with them. Áine was more approachable, but she always lurked in the shadows of her brothers, so we eventually stopped trying. The DeRíses seemed to like the distance, and then all the old stories started popping up again.”
“So who’s the guy in the Land Rover?” I asked, totally engrossed.
“Oh, that’s Fionn.”
“Fee-un?”
“Yeah, the guy who took them in, Fionn Christenson. He is so hot … well, for an oldie, that is. Wait until you see him!” She nibbled the last bits of her apple and then threw the core in the trash. “He’s some sort of consultant, and he travels a lot. When he’s not traveling, he works from home. He has this sexy English accent, so Darren’s convinced he’s working for Her Majesty’s Secret Service … you know … MI5.” She laughed. “Darren and his conspiracy theories!”
“Are you serious?”
She nodded and rolled her eyes.
“What about Rían? Do you have any idea why he’s still hanging around the school?”
“I don’t know what his problem is. He finished school last year, and from what I’d heard, he was due to start at Trinity College this year. I’ll tell you one thing for sure: He’s not too keen on his brother having the blatantly obvious hots for you!”
I flushed. “Áine seems pretty nice, in a strange way,” I said, moving swiftly on from Rían.
“Oh, yeah, she’s fine. Actually she’s been much better since you’ve been here. Before you came she was as bad as the other two. She would always have one of them by her side. They’re a bit overprotective, don’t you think?”
“I guess so. Maybe being orphaned at such a young age made them that way.”
“Maybe.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “Do you really think the DeRíses have magical power?”
“I don’t know what I think. But there is something really odd about them.”
She laughed. “Haven’t I been telling you that all along?”
Six
DINNER
decided to quit the sailing classes. I hated beinga quitter, but the truth was, I was not meant for water. I was better off accepting my fate now; otherwise fate would come looking for me … again. So on Friday, the gang went to the marina and I changed my clothes for dreaded PE. What a way to finish the week. Yuck. After a riveting class of running laps around the hockey field while Miss O’Toole flirted with the groundskeeper, I packed my stuff and headed home. I was red faced and sweaty by the time I got to my house, thanks to the laps and the uphill struggle with my ever-increasing-in-weight backpack. I opened the door and dumped the monstrosity inside.
I tried to shake off my bad mood. I knew I was only cranky because all my friends were currently under the tutelage of the gorgeous Mr. DeRís and I was not. I was just about to head upstairs to take a shower when a text came in on my phone.
Don’t forget. Dinner tonight 7 p.m. I’ll be home to pick you up at 6:30. Dad.
Oh, crap. I had forgotten all about it. Dad wanted to introduce me to the who’s who of Kinsale, most of whom I already knew through idle gossip and their kids who attended the school. He also seemed pretty eager for me to try out a fish restaurant in town, the Crab Cage or the Lobster Pot or something like that.
I got a glass of water and went to my room—my favorite place in the house. White walls, oak floors—and two dormer windows flooded the room with light by day, making it cheerful and homey. It also contained my prize possession, my bed, which I had brought with me from the U.S. It had been my mother’s bed before mine, and it made me feel close to her. Its white wrought-iron headboard was an intricate mesh of flowers and leaves that twisted and spiraled from one side to the other. I threw myself down on the pillows, kicked off my shoes, and tried in vain to piece together all the little bits of oddness that made up Adam DeRís. My eyes wandered to my bookshelves. I glanced at some photos and mementos of my life before Kinsale, a life that I rarely thought of. These things had meant a lot to me a few short months ago, but now their significance had faded.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it just wasn’t happening. I may as well start getting ready for tonight. I’d just grabbed a towel when something behind me started tapping and scratching. I tiptoed to the window and pulled back the curtain. I wasn’t at all surprised to see my feathered friend sitting on my windowsill. This time I stared back at him. The crow angled his head and glared back at me with his winking eye. I stuck my tongue out at him and went in for a shower.
Feeling refreshed, I got dressed in my soft, comfy jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Then I slicked on a little black mascara and pink lip gloss and threw myself back onto my bed to do my math homework while I waited for Dad to get home.
At six forty-five I heard the key in the front door.
“Megan, are you ready?” Dad called into my room as he passed. “I’m just going to change my shirt and we’ll go, all right?”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m ready.” I grabbed my purse and went downstairs to wait for him.
He was down in double-time, smelling nice and his face flushed.
“Ohhh, you’re putting in an extra effort tonight, Dad,” I teased him.
“No more than usual,” he said, carefully inspecting his reflection in the hall mirror.
“Yeah, sure.” I gave him a sidelong look.
There was obviously something very appealing about this restaurant, and I had a feeling it wasn’t the crab cakes. As we pulled away from our house, I looked back. The crow was perched on the highest point of our roof, watching me leave. Was that bird really following me? No. That was insane; birds didn’t stalk people. I pushed the thought out of my head.
The restaurant was lovely, quaint, and totally jam-packed. The food was amazing. Too bad the people surrounding us were so dull. They were bigwigs in town: the superintendent from the Kinsale Gardaí (the Irish police), who, at seven feet tall, towered over us all; as well as the owners of the various town shops and businesses. Killian’s mom and dad were there (Caitlin would be seething that she missed this one). Then there was the owner of the restaurant, Petra Van Meulder. Judging by all my dad’s excessive laughing and beaming, she was the object of his extra efforts.
To be fair, she was lovely and really pretty. Petra told me she was from Holland and that she had come to Ireland to forget a bad divorce and never went home. I appreciated that she was making an extra effort to include me in