was framed by spiraling locks of fiery auburn hair that hung down past her waist. If a toy company were to produce a doll to represent Ireland, my wife would make the perfect model for it.
If the looks weren’t enough, she was also possessed of the stereotypical temper that, whether politically correct or not, was so often associated with both the ethnicity and hair color. Fortunately, it wasn’t one that was easily ignited although I had managed to spark it on a few occasions.
Growing up, she had spent almost as much time in Ireland as the United States, even attending college there; hence, she was never completely devoid of a light, Irish lilt in her voice. However, get her around her family, get a few alcoholic drinks in her, or wait until she got overly tired, and her guard would drop. The lilt would morph into a thick brogue, replete with slang and colloquialisms the average American was hard pressed to understand. We’d been married better than twelve years, and she still came up with some that perplexed me.
When she really got riled up, she would even mix languages on you. While certainly not fluent in Gaelic, she had more than a passing familiarity with it. That particular vocabulary, however, consisted of innumerable curses and derisive phrases born of the ancient language, and if provoked, she was more than happy to use them.
On the flip side, she even knew a few of the endearments, and I’d had the good fortune to hear them whispered in my ear from time to time.
“I love it when you talk with an accent,” I said, shooting her a grin.
“Aye, what accent?” she asked, still laying it on thick and laughing as she spoke. “You’re the one with the accent, then.”
“Right,” I answered. “Midwest plain and dull. So what’s the name of this place again?”
“Seamus O’Donnell’s.”
“Sounds Irish,” I joked.
“Well, duh,” she returned.
“So it doesn’t sound familiar. Have we been there before?”
“No.”
“Hmmm. I thought we’d been to every Irish pub in Saint Louis by now.”
“They’ve only been open a few months.”
We had made the loop and merged into the afternoon traffic. She sped up to the next intersection, just catching the light before it switched and turned the vehicle to the right from Kingshighway onto Oakland.
“So how do you know this so called ‘pub food’ is any good if we haven’t been there?” I asked, shooting a glance over at her.
Her hair was pulled back, but loose strands were whipping about her face as she looked over and smiled at me. “I said we haven’t been there before. I never said that I hadn’t been there.”
“Oh,” I exclaimed playfully. “So you went there without me, did you?”
“Hey, a girl’s got to have lunch, doesn’t she?” she laughed.
“Yes, I suppose she does,” I replied. “So do they have colcannon and Dublin coddle?”
“Among other things, yes they do.”
“And Guinness, of course?”
She glanced at me and raised an eyebrow, giving me an unmistakable stare.
“Okay,” I held up my hands in surrender. “I know, I know. Stupid question.”
“Well, it IS an Irish pub, Rowan,” she laughed.
She downshifted as the traffic signal ahead of us winked yellow, and we rolled to a stop at the white line just as it switched over to a glaring red.
Considering the events of the day, I was surprised to find myself in such a good mood. Truth is, even if today had never happened, I still would have been surprised. I hadn’t felt this good about life since the first time I’d been cold-cocked by an unwanted ethereal vision of a horrific murder; and that had been almost four years ago.
A far cry from past experiences, my seizure-induced headache had faded relatively quickly. None of the typical creepy sensations that always accompanied these events had plagued me in the least. Even though I could still feel a troubling shadow falling across my life yet again, it was faint and nebulous. Nothing like the dark foreboding that always forced me into a brooding stupor.
I didn’t know if it was some sort of artificially conjured euphoria brought on by my wife’s contagious good mood, or what. Maybe I was just getting better at keeping myself grounded and centered. As basic a task as that is for a Witch, it was something I’d been having trouble with for some time now. In the end, I simply didn’t care what it was, but I knew one thing for sure- I planned to enjoy every minute of it.
I simply felt good. I was truly relaxed and happy for the first time in a very long while.
I felt my wife’s fist thump hard against my shoulder as she playfully punched me. “What are you grinning about, Row?”
I hadn’t realized that the broad smile had carved itself into my face, but I suppose it was just part of the mood. “Nothing,” I replied, rolling my head to the side so I could look at her. “Not a thing.”
“Sure, whatever,” she replied with her own smile, then asked, “So, did Ben say when he would be getting out of there?”
“Probably in a couple of hours is what he said. Why?”
“Well, it’s only a little after six right now, so that would still be early yet,” she replied, pulling her hand across her forehead and dragging some of the wild strands of hair from her face. “Maybe he and Allison could join us later for a pint or two.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I replied, remembering that I had purposely not told her about the phone call I’d overheard. Truth was, I didn’t actually know to whom Ben was talking on the other end, but I had my suspicions. Still, it was best not to start a rumor, even if it was only between us.
“Come on,” she urged. “It’ll be fun. The Don’t Be Brothers are supposed to be playing tonight.”
“The what?” I asked, furrowing one eyebrow and squinting at her.
“The Don’t Be Brothers,” she repeated. “It’s a play on…”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I told her as I nodded my head. “I’m just not sure I want it.”
“They’re really good, Row. I’ve heard them play before.”
“Okay, so speaking of playing, what DO they play?”
She shrugged. “Irish folk songs, what else?”
“You mean Irish drinking songs.”
“Of course, they’re playing in a Pub.”
“So that means we have to sing along.”
“Your point?”
“I don’t know any of the words, and I doubt if Ben or Allison do either.”
“Aye,” she said as she shook her index finger at me. “But I do.”
“Okay,” I gave in, reaching to my belt and grabbing my cell phone. “I’ll give him a call, but I don’t make any guarantees.”
I wasn’t actually sure if I would be able to reach him, but I was willing to try. If I was correct, and the earlier call had in fact been from Allison, maybe they had managed to patch things up by now. An evening out might even be just exactly what they needed. After all, it was Friday. They were adults. Their son was old enough not to require a sitter, so that shouldn’t be an obstacle. Looking at it that way, there was really nothing to keep them at home.
I thumbed in the speed dial code and put the phone up to my ear. I heard the ringer at the other end issuing from the earpiece, but halfway through the trill it suddenly became muffled. As I listened, a heavy, rhythmic thrum was starting to fill my ears and was effectively dulling the ambient sounds. I glanced around expecting to find a car with a radio blasting heavy metal music somewhere nearby. If that was the source of the noise, however, I couldn’t locate it.
When the second ring sounded, a coppery metallic taste began creeping up the back of my tongue, and I instantly tensed. The sensation wasn’t new to me, and I desperately feared what I thought it was about to bring. The false sense of security I had felt a few moments ago was now fleeing in earnest.
A tidal wave of deja vu slammed into me full force, and I knew it was more than just a trick of an overactive imagination. I had been here before, experiencing an unwanted psychic event from the passenger seat of my wife’s Jeep. I opened my mouth to warn her of what was about to happen only to have my words halted in my throat by the sound of Felicity’s own frightened voice.
