Devil's Mountain Read Free Page A

this?”
    “Please, Nellie,” Mary pleaded. “Only a charm. For luck. Please leave it there!”
    My mother threw the small heart to the floor and crushed it beneath her new Jimmy Choos. “I’ve had enough of your charms. I’ll not have you interfering with my daughter. Keep your black magic and His evil powers to yourself.”
    Mary deflated before us, and for the first time, I could almost see her sixty years in her green eyes. “I meant no harm. Truly, I didn’t. I’ll leave you now.”
    Without another word, my mother reconstructed the bouquets and they were almost as good as new. She fixed my lipstick and my veil. I was ready to go.
    Years later, I’d often wonder what would’ve happened if my mother hadn’t disturbed Mary’s charms.
    Chapter 2
    Mary
    Though my mouth was dry, I couldn’t face the strong tea offered by the stewardess and I dared not stop on the way home from Shannon Airport. I tore across the country in my battered Ford Fiesta, the only thing I’d taken from Dublin after the divorce. The weak morning sun shone through a light mist. In the distance I could almost see Devlin’s Mountain. My mountain now.
    Well, not quite my mountain, as His lordship would quickly remind me. It was almost nine-thirty. I said a quick Hail Mary, for what it was worth, and prayed He still slept. Three days.
    If I reached home before ten then I’d have been away only three days. Surely, the price for being away three days wouldn’t be that high.
    I slammed on my brakes as a lorry turned onto the N-23. The lorry heaved up the small incline and my tiny Fiesta crawled behind. Damn, if the lorry didn’t turn off soon I’d be late.
    I couldn’t be late.
    Thanks be to God, he turned off at the cross. Quarter to. I might make it.
    The hedges seemed to have grown overnight, almost blocking the small pitted lane that led to my cottage. Seamus had cut them back the week before I’d left. I’d have to tell him to cut them again. Anyone else would be astounded by their rate of growth, but not Seamus Griffin.
    The Griffins were one of the five families. He knew.
    A branch tore at the side of the car as it groaned up the steep incline. The road was dark.
    A giant cloud suddenly appeared and covered the top of the Mountain, blocking the morning sun.
    He must be angry.
    As I neared the cottage, the lane was quiet, devoid of all life. Even the birds seem to have scattered. There was nothing around. Except Him.
    The yellow eyes of the old goat-- pucan , as we called it in Irish--glowed beneath the shadow of a hawthorn tree. I drove the last few minutes home, stopped near the shed and shot out of the car, leaving my bag in the boot. If I could get into the enclosed garden, within the protection of my beds of foxglove, angelica, betony and nettle, I’d have a few hours to myself.
    After some sleep and some food, I’d be able to face Him.
    But I was too late.
    The pucan blocked the gate. “My love.”
    “Sir.” I bowed deeply.
    “I’ve missed you, my love.”
    Willing my voice to remain steady, I said, “I’m sorry. Orla’s baba was sick. She needed me in Dublin.”
    A wind ripped across the back field, blowing grit into my eyes. The pucan looked at me as I rubbed my poor eyes, tears streaming down my face. “Did she?”
    The wind continued to assault me. I lifted my hand to shield my face. “Yes, but it’s only been three days.”
    The pucan stared at me, eyes glistening. The wind stopped. “That it has. Isn’t it amazing how far one can travel in three days.”
    I wiped the last of my tears with my sleeve and forced myself to smile. “Sure, with the new road to Dublin, I’m up and back before I know it.”
    “So you are. And how is the lovely Orla?”
    “Fine. The same.”
    The pucan came closer, His hoof almost crushing my toe. His breath, the same in every apparition, smelled of moss and dampness. It smelled as old as the earth. “Did she enjoy New York?”
    Sweat dripped down my back. “New