Gyrfalcon Boone tilted his head to the side.
“It’s about these commandos in the Amazon jungle who end up being hunted by an extraterrestrial warrior,” I went on. “I feel like we’re in that movie. You know, without the tropical jungle part. And without the automatic submachine guns and rocket launchers and commando training.” That craglorn had better not be a Predator.
Turning around, I surveyed the room. There was no telling what it was used for back when the tower house was intact. All that was left was moss and lichen encrusted limestone. Any wood or furnishings had been removed or rotted away long ago. Through the crumbled roof, I could see the rhododendron towering toward the sky, its branches invading and pushing the walls apart. One day, there would be nothing left of this place but a pile of rocks overgrown by nature.
Focusing on the far corner, I lifted the shovel and speared it into the damp earth. I hardly made a dent. Stomping my boot on the end, I worked it deeper and began digging, hoping I would find the buried treasure before the sun rose. Seriously, I could be the pirate, and Boone could be the parrot on my shoulder. Shiver me timbers!
I was just getting into a rhythm when the tip of the shovel hit something hard. Hoping it wasn’t a rock, I scraped back the dirt, and my heart leaped when I saw it was some kind of metal. Working the shovel around the edges, I coaxed it out of the earth, and when it was loose enough, I tossed the shovel, fell to my knees beside the hole, and dug it out with my bare hands.
Finally, prying it free, I held the metal box in my hands. It was a little longer than my forearm, narrow and made out of iron or tin—I couldn’t tell which. It was the perfect size to hold a dagger. Scraping the dirt off the top, I wrestled with the latch.
“Do I need to do the doorus unlockyus thing again?” I threatened the box. “I’m a Crescent, you know.”
The latch sprang open as if I’d scared it into submission, and I opened the lid. Inside sat a thin, silver dagger, its hilt decorated with gold and silver Celtic knotwork. It looked like it should be on display at a museum someplace, sitting on a pedestal with fancy lights shining on it, complete with a little plaque.
“Oh, yeah,” I declared. “Pay dirt.”
Lifting it out of the box, I turned it over in my hands, surprised at how heavy it was. It looked like a mini sword but was only the length of my forearm from hilt to tip. Inspecting the design, my gut feeling was further solidified when I picked out the golden crescent moons among the silver lines and swirls.
I glanced up at Boone and grinned. “Told you so, and we didn’t even have to get a pregnant deer to shit at midnight under a full moon.”
Now all I had to do was get to Croagh Patrick and find the spring…without Boone. It sounded easy as pie, but like him, there was no telling what awaited me outside the influence of the hawthorns.
Too bad, so sad. There was no other way.
Chapter 17
It turned out the dagger’s correct name was an athame. And the spring at Croagh Patrick? It was the lifeblood of Ireland. The waters that fed the land from the belly of the earth itself. Or so said the spell book.
The ghosts of my ancestors had led me to the tower house the night before, and the next morning, I hoped they would lead me to the spring. Boone couldn’t leave the protection of the hawthorns, so I had to go it alone. A stranger on strange soil with nothing but Google Maps to guide me.
We’d parted ways before the sun came up, and I’d dozed on the couch before the alarm on my phone practically slapped me awake. The plan was for me to borrow Sean McKinnon’s car, with Boone vouching for my exemplary driving skills, and drive the two hours to County Mayo where I would begin my search at the foot of the mountain. I had a few clues in the spell book and an Internet search as to the location of the spring, but I wouldn’t know for sure until I got there.
Boone was adamant the craglorn wouldn’t come out until it was fully dark, so I had time.
Dressing in a comfy pair of black jeans, a plain gray short-sleeved T-shirt, and my trusty combat boots jammed onto my feet, I packed my few essentials—mainly the athame and my phone—into a bag that slung across my chest and went to Irish Moon.
Mairead was waiting for me out front, lingering in a spot of shade under the eave. She was dressed in a cute black dress with tiny purple flowers printed on the fabric, big black boots, and her hair in twin French braids. She had mad style, that kid.
“Hey,” she said when she saw me.
“Mairead…” I smiled sweetly, dangling the keys in the air. “Mairead old buddy, old pal.”
She scowled. “You’ve got dirt on your face.”
“Are you able to spot me today?” I wiped the back of my hand over my cheek.
“Again?” she exclaimed, knowing exactly what I was going to ask before the words left my mouth.
“I’ll give you a bonus. A better one this time and a kickass reference.”
“You better.” She pouted and snatched the keys from me.
“Consider this a promotion to assistant manager. I couldn’t do this without you.”
Her eyes lit up, but she instantly shook it away and pretended to be aloof about it. “You better. You’ve taken more days off than you’ve been here.”
“Have not!”
“Feels like it.” She pouted and turned to unlock the door.
Behind us, the squeal of tires drew our attention as a car screeched to a halt. We both turned to find a little red Toyota Corolla idling with Boone behind the wheel. This
