Page 166 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“When you’re done with your session, grab the noon boat to Kilronan,” he called with one hand curled around his mouth. “I’ll take you to meet the rest of your kin. Cousin.”
And with a cocky salute, he dove beneath the waves with the same curious submarine flash that meant he was no longer in his human form.
48
KILRONAN
Although I am imperfect in many ways, I want my brothers and relations to know what I’m really like, so that they can see what it is that inspires my life.
— ST. PATRICK,CONFESSIO
As the ferry docked in the harbor of Inis Mór, the largest of the Aran Islands, I wiped my palms on the sides of my jeans, feeling as nervous as I’d ever felt.
Why, I couldn’t quite understand. I was PhD, for the love of Brigid. I’d stood in front of grouchy scholars and listened to them poke through my intellectual abilities too many times to count. I’d braved classrooms full of irritable and apathetic undergraduates for six years. I’d withstood the horrors of the academic job market.
But what was waiting for me on this island seemed like one of the most intimidating things of my short life.
Penny had called out to Ciarán when she died, so I had assumed my grandfather was dead. But what if the shifter who had seduced her long ago was still alive? The idea of meetingthe man responsible for my mother’s birth—who in all likelihood had abandoned the two of them before Gran was forced to leave Ireland—was overwhelming, to say the least.
What if he didn’t like me?
What if he turned out to be a horrible person?
What if this entire venture was a mistake?
Caomhán was slouched on the dock when I arrived, munching a snack of smoked herring in his uniform of worn jeans and a faded T-shirt while he eyed tourist girls meandering around the town.
“Knew you’d show,” he said as he hoisted my backpack over his shoulder and held out the small tin. “Herring?”
“If that’s not a giveaway to what you are, I don’t know what is.”
He bared his teeth and tipped the last of the oily fish into his mouth before tossing the tin into a bin at the end of the dock. “Smoked fish is a national snack, Cassie. It just means I’m Irish. As are you.”
I followed him into the town, which was substantially busier than Inis Oírr. There were several restaurants and pubs, many of which boasted outdoor patios with blue umbrellas shading people spending a holiday on the island, possibly here for the upcoming solstice celebrations. Music floated in and out of the pubs, along with the rabble that only accompanied crowds. The sound was strange after living in near-solitude for almost two months.
A large Celtic cross stood tall in the middle of the town’s crossroads, and the cobbled streets led up to several shops. I made a mental note to stop at the sweater market before leaving.
“A bit more going on here, isn’t there?”
I smiled, confirming that Caomhán had basically read my mind. “Is this where you go when you’re not in the water or badgering Jock?”
He snorted. “Not unless I want to be nagged to death. I’ve me grandmother’s old place on Inis Oírr, so I only come to Kilronan when I must. They’ve been biting my ear off about bringing you, though.”
I followed him up one street to a large house a few blocks off the main square. It was made of the same weathered, whitewashed stucco as many of the other buildings in the town, and it was easily the largest house in the village, a miniature fortress at the end of the pitted road.
Caomhán strode up to the bright red door. “Ready?”
Before I could ask ready for what, he pushed open the door, and we were met by chaos.
The foyer opened into a large, warm living room swarmed with people. I counted at least seven children ranging between two and ten rolling around on a thick braided rug while two women sat in rocking chairs, one nursing a baby, the other soothing a small child. Many shared Caomhán’s inky dark mop. Black hair like mine.
“Dia dhaoibh!” Caomhán’s deep voice called, and as if on cue, the mass of children hopped up from their wrestling match on the carpet and tackled him to the ground. “Get off me, you mongrels!”
But Caomhán’s laughter rumbled through the room, and the children shrieked and barked some more in their joyful frenzy.
“Who’s this?”
A woman with thick brown hair threaded with gray and plaited over one shoulder appeared from a door across the room, holding a dishrag. Behind her, two other similarly hued girls appeared. The woman frowned when she saw me, but her eyes lit up when they dropped to the wrestling match at my feet.
