Chapter 2
Ten years later.
It was after six in the morning, but Madeline couldn’t find any sign of the winter sun. She overanalyzed the humidity, the feel of the air, and the sound of the wind, concluding that England winters and New York winters were the same—cold and bleak.
Ciaran turned away from the window and looked at her.
Madeline should have gotten used to the sight of Ciaran by now, but it never happened. God must have been in a very good mood indeed when he created such a gorgeous human being. She could hardly believe that every inch of that six foot three slender yet muscular warrior’s body belonged to her. His face—that of a dark angel—continued to make her stomach quiver. Those deep and intense gray eyes focused on her as if for him no one else existed and nothing else in the world mattered.
Suddenly a bullet hit Ciaran’s chest, exiting from his back. Blood splattered onto the glass window. Madeline gasped as the image of Ciaran flickered and disappeared.
She shook her head and snapped back to reality. A few days ago, her life had changed forever.
She still remembered the sensation of Ciaran’s blood on her hands, the commotion in the operation room, and the emptiness when she thought her world would exist without him in it.
She couldn’t get the memory of his beautiful eyes, glassed over and lifeless, out of her mind. And she couldn’t ignore the lingering fear that she would have to experience that incident again in the future. Ciaran said he had left the memory behind to move on with life, to be with her. But that was before she told him the truth behind his recovery.
It wasn’t a miracle that he was back with her again.
Jennifer had wanted her to tell Ciaran, and she had. But regardless of how much she tried to spin the story and make it golden, the naked truth was that his mother had swapped the drug. And, as a result, Juliette had died, and the real drug had coincidentally saved his life.
Jennifer had told her that Juliette never let go of anything, and Madeline wagered she would cling to Ciaran this time more than at any other time.
This ordeal wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
The air seemed to thicken a bit. Madeline spun around, surveying the empty room around her. She didn’t care for what she was feeling. This wasn’t her familiar psychic blue dots. It wasn’t the appearance of Juliette’s hologram, either.
It was the unmistakable metallic stench of her long forgotten ghost. Who was it going to possess now? Fear rose in her mind like tidal waves.
“Madeline!”
Madeline startled and cried out.
“Are you okay?” Tadgh said from the door. “I knocked.” Tadgh stood, puzzled, his hands in his pockets.
“Huh?”
“Can I have a word with you?”
“Of course.” Madeline smiled. "Where's Jo?"
"Planning a new game in the game room . . .”
Madeline was a bit disturbed by Tadgh's apparent agitation as he rolled up and down on the balls of his feet. "What's up Tadgh?" she asked.
"I don't know. Something feels strange."
"Why wouldn't it seem that way, especially after all that’s happened?"
"I called Dublin. They said Mother hasn't arrived home yet. She left ages ago. Where could she be?"
"Is there anywhere she might go to take some time off? Be by herself? She's been through a lot lately. What about your cousin George’s in France? Jennifer mentioned him before."
Tadgh shook his head. "You don't know my mother. She's an authoritative figure in the family. She would never take shelter anywhere or protection from anyone—no matter how mad Ciaran might be at her. I even searched for air traffic info just in case . . .”
"There might have been an accident?"
Tadgh nodded. "Air, road, water . . . I looked everywhere. I even rang George, although I knew it was entirely unlikely that she’d gone to France. I couldn't find a hint of her. What did she say to you?"
"Nothing. She just cried."
"Do you . . .” Tadgh cleared his throat, “Do you think Mother did the right thing, you know, regarding Juliette?"
“I won’t judge her, Tadgh. One day, I will be a mother, too, and I don’t know what I would do or what I will be capable of when it comes to the welfare of my own children.”
Tadgh nodded.
“Let me see what I can do,” Madeline said and closed her eyes. She tried to catch a sense of Jennifer’s mind—a trace, a feel, a hint of even a single blue dot somewhere.
A dot suddenly appeared at the back of her mind, quickly expanding and exploding like a bomb, spraying dark blood particles all over her. The metallic stench engulfed her senses.
Madeline yelped and slumped to the floor.
“Madeline, are you okay?” Tadgh ran to her, holding her by the shoulders and sitting her up.
“Do you smell anything strange in the room, Tadgh?”
He squinted his nose, sniffed, then shook his head. “Why? What’s going on?”
She shook her head. “I can’t see your mother, Tadgh.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’ll keep looking,” Madeline promised.
“Where’s Ciaran?” Tadgh asked.
Madeline smiled. “He said he was going out for some fresh air . . .” Her voice trailed off. She could swear that she had just seen the white Mountain Avens flowers she’d picked this morning bleeding. She’d watched as a drop of blood formed at the center of a single flower, rolled down a white petal, and landed on the table. She blinked, looking again closely.
Ciaran had said this was Juliette’s favorite kind of flower, and he’d had them brought here from Ireland.
Tadgh frowned. “Are you okay, Madeline? Tell me what’s going on.”
“What color are those flowers over there, Tadgh?”
“They’re white. Why do you ask?”
“Was Juliette by any chance buried near here?”
Tadgh cocked an eyebrow. “You want to buy her flowers?”
“Was she cremated or buried?”
“She was buried. The family’s cemetery is nearby. Why?”
She wondered whether her ghost was able to possess an already dead body. Her mind’s eye kept seeing the Mountain Avens dropping blood onto the table—it seems like an omen or a warning to her. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and traced Ciaran’s thoughts.
Madeline muttered. “Ciaran is at the cemetery at the moment. Trouble’s coming. I can feel it. He didn’t bring his cell with him. We have to go there right away.”
“Can’t you channel to him, talk to him in your mind? You know, using your psychic trick.”
“It’s not a trick, Tadgh, it’s an ability. And yes, I can channel and try to communicate with Ciaran. But he’s not a psychic—he can’t hear me and can’t respond.”
“Okay. Let’s go then. Hope it’s not too late. What’s he thinking, not bringing his cell with him?"
“Nostalgia,” Madeline muttered.
Tadgh led the way, and they rushed out of the room.