Love empowers both mortals and immortals alike.
There is something about Eve that can only be described as âenchantingâ or âmagical.â She is a young hospice worker assigned to work with seventeen-year-old Tommy Kennedyâs beloved great-grandmother. Eve charms Tommy and his family. She always has the right thing to say, and her mere presence comforts them in their time of need.
Only Tommy has seen Eve before -- in a nightmare heâd had that took place in ancient Ireland, where Eve was brutally murdered.
Tommy and Eve grow close even though he remains haunted by her presence in his dream. Eve reveals her secret. She is the girl in his dream. She died and was reborn as a banshee, a guardian spirit that helps her descendants, which include Tommy and his family, during times of need.
Eve becomes a fixture in Tommyâs life, and what starts as a friendship promises to turn into more. Unfortunately, Eve has a powerful enemy who could threaten their happiness. Tommy and Eve risk a lot by staying together, but they believe their love is worth fighting for.
Love empowers both mortals and immortals alike.
There is something about Eve that can only be described as âenchantingâ or âmagical.â She is a young hospice worker assigned to work with seventeen-year-old Tommy Kennedyâs beloved great-grandmother. Eve charms Tommy and his family. She always has the right thing to say, and her mere presence comforts them in their time of need.
Only Tommy has seen Eve before -- in a nightmare heâd had that took place in ancient Ireland, where Eve was brutally murdered.
Tommy and Eve grow close even though he remains haunted by her presence in his dream. Eve reveals her secret. She is the girl in his dream. She died and was reborn as a banshee, a guardian spirit that helps her descendants, which include Tommy and his family, during times of need.
Eve becomes a fixture in Tommyâs life, and what starts as a friendship promises to turn into more. Unfortunately, Eve has a powerful enemy who could threaten their happiness. Tommy and Eve risk a lot by staying together, but they believe their love is worth fighting for.
Prologue
            Southwestern Ireland â 1500 BCE
            This was not Aibheallâs first time sneaking out of the roundhouse in the middle of the night, but it would be the last. She was meeting Conor in their special place, a secluded glen deep in the forest. From there, they would travel to the eastern shore, then hire a boat to take them to Albion, where they would start a new life for themselves.
            Aibheallâs parents, the King and Queen of the Luceni, and her brother and sister were still fast asleep. She slipped from the roundhouse and darted from building to building on her way to the main gates.  She kept to the shadows and moved only when she was certain she was clear. The sentry on duty in the watchtower was a friend of Conorâs and had agreed to let Aibheall through without blowing the alarm horn.Â
            She still had to worry about the other people that lived within the ringfort, such as the servants, craftsmen, and her fatherâs warriors. All it took was one person stepping outside to take a piss, and she was at risk of being caught. If caught, she would have to face her fatherâs wrath and knew for certain she would never see Conor again.
            Aibheall made it to the ringfortâs inner gate, which the sentry had left unlatched for her. He had left the outer gate unlatched as well. She slipped through and, with an excited smile, jogged down the path that took her from the ringfort. As she ran past her fatherâs fields, towards the forest, her smile became bittersweet.
            She gazed back at the only home she had ever known so far. She would miss this place, where she had grown up and had so many fond memories. She would miss her family too, especially her precious sister, Emer. She was only a couple of years younger than Aibheall and was an excellent playmate and confidante.Â
            But Aibheall had no choice. Her parents had arranged for her to marry the king of the neighboring Concani tribe. For anyone else, he would have made a fine husband, but Aibheall was deeply in love with Conor and could not imagine a life without him. Â
            Aibheall wore a plain hooded cloak and dress with simple leather sandals. She had packed light, carrying only a small satchel slung over her shoulder filled with the barest of necessities. A smaller pouch on her belt held her jewelry, which would pay for anything she and Conor needed on their journey and help them get settled in Albion.Â
            Aibheallâs breath shuddered when she reached the forestâs edge. She could barely keep her hands steady as she lit her torch. It would not be long until she would be at Conorâs side, and the two of them would be together forever. She tread down the worn path that led to the glen. The bright full moon and equally bright stars helped light her way.Â
            Aibheall spotted glimmering torches up ahead. She smiled and breathed Conorâs name. She hurried the rest of the way and bounded into the glen.
            Conor was there. Only he was on his knees. With one of her fatherâs warriors standing on either side of him. A third stood in front of him. Two more warriors appeared behind Aibheall and seized her by the arms. Conor tried to spring to Aibheallâs defense, but his captors held him at bay.
            A figure stepped into view. It was Emer. âHow touching.â
            âSister. What is the meaning of this?â asked Aibheall.
            Emer strode toward her. âThis is what you have forced me to do, dear sister.â She looked her up and down with a sneer. âBeautiful and talented Aibheall. You had such a bright future ahead of you, father arranging for you to marry the king of the Concani. What a powerful alliance that would be, the union of our two great tribes. And you would have been at the seat of that power. But you wanted to give it up for love and a life with a simple warrior?â
            âEmer, please,â said Aibheall. âIf you wish to take my place and marry the Concani king, that is fine by me. All you have to do is let Conor and I go, father will have to offer your hand in place of mine in order to save face.â
            Emer laughed out loud. âYou do not think that once father found you gone, he would not scour the lands, reach out to every ally, pay any price, to get his favorite daughter back? Yes, I will take your place. I will marry the Concani king. But you need to be gone for good in order for that to happen.â
            She nodded to the warrior standing in front of Conor. He drew a dagger from his belt. Conor struggled. The two warriors holding him tightened their grip on his arms. The warrior with the dagger moved behind Conor and yanked his head back by his hair.
            âAibheall!â he screamed her name.
            She cried out and tried to burst from her captors. Her cry turned to a full-bodied scream as the warrior with the dagger slit Conorâs throat. His body jerked and spasmed as it bled out. The warriors holding Conor let his body fall lifelessly into the grass.
            âBring her to him,â Emer ordered.
            Aibheall was dragged closer to Conor. Tears stung her cheeks. She stared deep into Conorâs eyes, but they had already gone cloudy and lifeless. Aibheall turned to face Emer. Her sorrow had been swept away by rage. Emer held out her hand. The warrior who had slit Conorâs throat passed his dagger to her. The blade was still wet with Conorâs blood.
            Aibheall did not turn away. She locked eyes with her sister as Emer raised the weapon over her head. Emer stopped, unable to follow through. She handed the dagger back to Conorâs killer, who had no problem plunging it into Aibheallâs heart.Â
            He yanked the dagger out of her chest. The other warriors arranged Aibheall and Conorâs bodies, so they were side-by-side. Aibheall struggled to hold on to life. She could not move. She could only watch as the dagger was placed in Conorâs hand. She took a long look at her sister then shifted her gaze to study the faces of the warriors with her. She also summoned the image of the sentry who had let her through the gate. He had to have been a part of this plan as well.Â
            Aibheall clung to thoughts of revenge even as life continued slipping away from her. In her final moments, a breeze shook the branches of the nearby hawthorn trees, and in that sound, Aibheall heard a voice that promised her and Conorâs deaths would not go unavenged.
Chapter One
Scottsdale, Arizona - Present
My alarm went off, but I was already awake and had been for over an hour. Damn, Iâd never had such a vivid dream like that before. It was like I was there, watching it all. I could still feel the night air and smell the forest. And that girl. That poor girl. What was her name again? Aibheall.
            I sniffed back a tear. I was still shaking, sitting on the edge of my bed. I was a wreck when I first woke up â right after Aibheall had been killed by that guy with the dagger and as she lay there dying but still vowed to get revenge somehow, some way.
            Aibheall, Emer, Conor. Nana would love all those old Celtic names, and that Iâd had a dream that took place in ancient Ireland. And how did I know it was ancient Ireland? I donât know. I just did. I felt it.
            As I stayed seated, I started having flashes of special moments Aibheall and Conor had shared together, the first time they saw each other, the first time they spoke, secret walks in the forest, and late night rendezvous in the barn. Where were these images coming from? This wasnât something I remembered reading or seeing on TV. It was all brand new to me..
            I tried to think about something else, anything, even about school. But my mind quickly went back to Aibheall every time. She was the epitome of a Celtic woman of that day. Not just beautiful but smart. She could fight and ride. She wrote poetry and crafted silver jewelry too. When her father promised her to the king of the Concani, Aibheall and Conor were heartbroken. That was when they planned to escape together and make a new life for themselves in Albion, which I knew was an old name for England.Â
Somehow, Emer found out. Someone must have given Aibheall and Conor up. Or maybe Aibheall told her, thinking she could trust her sister not to betray her. The way Emerâs men set up the scene, it would look like Conor had killed Aibheall in some sort of loversâ quarrel then killed himself in shame.
I wiped more tears away and checked my phone. Damn, it was time to get ready for school. I pushed myself up from the edge of my bed, cleaned up, got dressed, and headed downstairs. I passed my little sister Annaâs room and could hear her singing along to some lame pop song.Â
She was always up earlier than me. Thatâs because getting ready for school was always such a calculated process for Anna. First, she had to search her closet and dresser drawers, over and over, in order to put together that dayâs cutest outfit. Then there was deciding on what makeup look to go for. And then, of course, was her hair. Poor thing.
The sun was just rising. I saw Mom through the patio door doing her yoga. That meant Dad was in his home gym at the other end of the house. I made my coffee and an everything-bagel smothered in cream cheese. I ate it standing at the counter. I chewed and sipped absentmindedly, my mind still on Aibheall and Conor. Well, mostly on Aibheall.
âTommy?â Mom tapped my shoulder. I just about jumped. She giggled. âWow someone has a lot on his mind. Care to share?â
âNot really,â I said.Â
Mom made her disappointed face then ran her fingers through my hair, which Iâd just recently dyed. It was light purple, almost lavender. Before that, it had been dark blue.
âYou probably use better dye than my colorist,â she said.
âI kind of doubt that.âÂ
âYou know, if you keep dying your hair like that, itâs going to start falling out before youâre thirty.â
âThen Iâll shave it.â I washed the last bite of my bagel down with the last swallow of my coffee. âI have to go.â
Mom turned her cheek toward me for a kiss. I gave her a tiny peck.Â
âHave a good day at school,â she said.
I shrugged. âStranger things have happened.â
I felt Momâs eyes on me, as I headed to the front door. She didnât like my hair or the way I dressed, but that was because she worried about people harassing me. We did live in a pretty conservative town, where public opinion mattered and all things shallow and superficial reigned supreme.
Dad had a problem with the way I looked too, most likely because heâd rather have a son who looked more âmanlyâ and who liked sports instead of music and poetry and art. Speak of the devil, I passed Dad on my way to the front door. Heâd just finished his workout and was dabbing his sweaty face with a towel. We both avoided eye contact and mumbled to each other. That passed as a normal conversation between us.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder and started walking. I was seventeen. Iâd had my driverâs license for a year but was in no hurry to get a car. Mom and Dad said theyâd loan me the money, but I could only imagine what strings would come attached with that.Â
Besides, my friends, Dave and Chris, had their own car. Theyâd pick me up at the park. It was a bit of a walk from my house, so Iâd listen to music on my phone with my Air Pods. The three of us had a garage band. We liked bands like The Cure and Morrissey and wanted to play music like theirs.
I wrote songs or at least tried to. It always felt like I was whining on paper. Dave and Chris said I was good and encouraged me to keep writing. I was still thinking about Aibheall. I could see her clearly in my head and tried to put words to what I saw. Hair like fire. Fiery hair. No, too cheesy. What if I flipped it? Eyes like blue fire. Hair like red rain. Yeah, that didnât suck too much.
A shiny convertible zoomed past me. I heard the shouting over the music in my Air Pods.
âFag!â
âQueer!â
I stopped short, barely avoiding the almost empty Starbucks cup that was chucked at me. Then there was the laughter. There was always laughter. Two boys sat up front, and three girls were crammed in the back of the convertible. All of them were looking back, laughing at me. My little sister, Anna, was one of them.
Sheâd always been popular growing up. Sheâd always been pretty too, and during eighth grade letâs just say she âfully blossomedâ into her womanhood. But she was still as big of a brat as ever. Sheâd started high school this year, and she and her friends got absorbed into the same popular clique her friendsâ older sisters belonged to.Â
If that wasnât bad enough, those girls associated with a clique of boys who called themselves Alpha Squad, as in each of them considered themselves an alpha male, and I suppose they were. They all looked like models and played multiple school sports. On top of all that, each of them came from rich and influential families. They were used to getting whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it.Â
I was one of Alpha Squadâs usual targets. I wasnât gay. If I was, Iâd have no problem admitting it. This was supposed to be the 21st century, wasnât it? Yeah, try telling Alpha Squad that.Â
I was really tall but super skinny and could never put on weight no matter how much I ate. I also had what beauty experts called âdelicate featuresâ and liked to color my hair. Then there was the way I dressed. I liked skinny jeans and Chucks, and today, I had on a Mohair sweater that looked like the one Johnny Rotten wore when he was in the Sex Pistols. I wore jewelry too. I liked silver, even though everyone said that was for girls. Oh yeah, and I painted my fingernails black. Canât forget about that.
I could have changed my look, but I doubted it would make much of a difference, or at least enough for people like Alpha Squad to leave me alone. But why should I change? I liked myself, and I wasnât going to let anyone take that away from me.
Dave and Chris were waiting for me at the park. Earlier this year, theyâd bought an old hearse to drive around in. It was great. I loved the look of it.Â
âIt can hold our gear when we start playing gigs,â said Dave the first day he showed it off to me. Chris agreed. I played along but couldnât imagine us ever being ready to perform in front of people.Â
Dave and Chris were fraternal twins. Iâd known them since freshman year. Weâd bonded over our love of music and our disdain for Alpha Squad and all the people at our school who kissed their entitled asses.
Dave drove. Chris played DJ, scrolling through the music on his phone and picking whatever caught his eye. Iâd sent them a track with some guitar chords and vocals a few days ago. The other day, they sent me a track of a bassline and drum beat theyâd come up with to go with it. It was good. I just tweaked it a little bit then mixed it with the track Iâd made, using my laptop.
I didnât touch the vocals. There was no way I could make them sound good. I hated the way I sang and kept telling Dave to get ready to sing lead vocals if we were ever to perform in front of people.
Dave parked near the schoolâs auto shop. That was his last class of the day. We would meet him there for a speedy getaway. The first bell rang. We didnât come to school early to hang out like other people did. We wanted to spend as little time at Hellansfield High â or Hellhole High, as we liked to call it â as much as possible.
We werenât alone either. There were all sorts of freaks and geeks at our school that we called friends, and we gathered together as often as we could, in classes, in the hallways, and at lunch. You know, strength in numbers. That kind of thing. When we were in groups, Alpha Squad just shouted verbal abuse at us. If they caught one of us on our own, theyâd get more âhands-on.â
English Literature was my first class. It was the one I enjoyed the most, so it was safe to say the rest of my day went downhill. My notebook was open, and my pen moved like it had a mind of its own. But I wasnât taking notes. I never did. Most of the time, I worked on lyrics. The teacher, Ms. Barker, was well aware and didnât mind. She knew I was still listening and could come up with a good answer to any of her questions if she chose to call on me.Â
That morning, she read a poem by William Butler Yeats called âThe Wanderings of Oisin.â
ââOisin (Ush-een). Sad to remember, sick with years,ââ she read.Â
I nodded, very pleased. Sheâd pronounced his name correctly. The other day, sheâd told me weâd be reading the poem as part of our study of Yeats and asked if I could translate the names that were in Gaelic, like Oisin, ahead of time. I was happy to do it. Yeats was one of my favorites, and I hated hearing his words get butchered.Â
Ms. Barker kept reading. I finished off some lyrics and then started on a sketch of Aibheall. I tried so hard to capture her looking happy, like when she was planning on running away with Conor and being with him forever. But her smile kept fading.Â
I had to settle for giving her a slight grin and tried to compensate for it by making her happiness show in her eyes. Only no matter how hard I tried, I couldnât make her eyes shine very bright. They remained sad but tinged with ferocity, like when she wished revenge on her sister and her men even as she lay dying.Â
But somehow it was perfect. I loved it. It was her.
I let out a soft groan.Â
How could someone who appeared in my imagination seem so real to me?Â
That question haunted me for the rest of the day. The more I thought about her, the more real Aibheall became to me. I joked that if I thought about her hard enough, I could will her into existence. Wouldnât that be something?
My last class of the day was the horror that was P.E. Luckily, we were playing basketball. That meant all I had to do was run up and down the court and wait for no one to pass the ball to me. Everyone on my team knew I most likely wouldnât catch it, and if I did there was no way Iâd actually make a basket. So they left me alone.Â
Players on the other team shot me evil looks. They were probably tempted to hurl the ball at me just for the hell of it but didnât want to risk the intentional foul and the penalty shot that would follow.Â
The whistle blew. Class was over. A half hour later, another day of school would be over too. God, I couldnât wait to graduate and get out of this place for good.
Each day, I made it a mission to get in and out of the locker room as quickly as possible. A lot of guys took their time. Youâd think it was the highlight of their day. Those were the jocks of course, and that included the members of Alpha Squad who were in this class with me. I swear, they tossed words like gay and fag around as insults but had no problem complimenting each otherâs physiques and describing in great detail how tiny or misshapen certain peopleâs dicks were. Did they not see the irony?
The air was already thick with steam and reeked of sweat and body spray. Then there was the testosterone soaked banter. Most of it was provided by Alpha Squad. Their leader, Tucker Vance, was in this class along with two guys who would probably be considered his lieutenants â I wondered if they could even spell the word lieutenants â Bobby Kincaid and Cooper Aldridge.Â
They were the ones whoâd picked up Anna and her friends that morning. The three were just changing out of their PE uniforms. I already had on my jeans and sweater.
âWe took this little bitch into one of the upstairs bedrooms. Tossed her on the bed,â said Cooper. âWe made her airtight. We all got to bust a nut. And when we left her, she was so out of it, she probably didnât even know her own name.â
The three laughed and fist bumped.Â
âWhat about those little freshman chicks youâve been working on?â Tucker asked. âAre they good to go or what?â
âTheyâre getting there,â said Bobby. âThat one, Anna Kennedy, her bodyâs slamming. You see the way her ass looks in those leggings she wears? I just want to stick my dick right in there.â
I bristled. Anna may have been a total bitch to me, but on some primal level, as her big brother, I still felt a protective instinct.Â
âThatâs her brother over there,â Cooper laughed.Â
All three were looking at me now.Â
âHer brother or her sister?â Tucker called out to me. âHey, baby, we know you can hear us.â
I hurried to tie my Chucks.
âYou ever notice how he changes his clothes before any of us?â said Bobby.
âHe never showers either,â added Cooper.
âProbably doesnât want us to see his tiny dick,â said Bobby.
âMaybe heâs got a clit,â said Tucker.
All three of them laughed, so did a bunch of the other boys standing around them. I pulled my last shoe on but donât didnât bother tying it. I grabbed my backpack, ready to run, but Tucker was standing in front of me in just his gym shorts. He was all chiseled and handsome like some young god. One of the evil ones.
âSo what is it?â he asked. âDo you have an actual dick or are you rocking something else down there?â
âLeave me alone,â I murmured.
âCome on. Show us the goods.â
I glanced around. No one looked like they had the slightest interest in helping me. Most just laughed. Others just ignored the whole situation. They were probably relieved Tucker hadnât targeted them.
âNo!â I tried to run, but Bobby and Cooper were behind me. Bobby grabbed my arms while Cooper went around to help Tucker. They hoisted my legs in the air.
âAlright. If youâre not going to show us voluntarily,â said Tucker.
Cooper laughed so hard he was on the verge of hyperventilating.Â
I kicked and thrashed. âStop it! No.â
They had my belt off. Tucker unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. Tears stung my eyes. He and Cooper both had a grip on my jeans and boxers and started tugging. I threw everything I had into one final kick.Â
My foot caught Tucker in his pretty face. He staggered and let me go. Bobby and Cooper were so shocked, they loosened their hold on me. I bolted. Everyone around me stood stunned and silent.Â
I pulled up my pants as I ran and ended up tripping and falling. I landed right outside the door of the P.E. teacherâs office. Coach McDermott stood over me.
âWhat the hellâs going on here?â He stared at me, demanding an answer.
I sniffed and zipped and buttoned my jeans. Coach then glanced past me.Â
âJesus Christ, Tucker. What the hell happened to you?â He ran over to check on Tucker whose nose was red. Blood ran all the way down to his chin.Â
âI donât know, Coach,â said Tucker. âWe were just horsing around, and he freaked out. Kicked me.â
I cried out, âBullshit.â
Coach glared at me. âYou want to tell me what happened then?â
Tucker, Bobby, and Cooper flashed me almost identical smug grins, daring me to say something. As much as I wanted to, I knew Coach wouldnât believe me. Either that or heâd just call it âhorsing aroundâ like Tucker had done and say I was too sensitive or some shit like that.Â
âThatâs what I thought. Go to the office,â he told me. âTucker, you go to the nurse. Get that checked out, make sure it isnât broken.â
I needed my backpack. A kid named Monty brought it over. He was fat, to the point where he had man-boobs. A couple weeks ago, Tucker, Bobby, and Cooper once took turns feeling him up. I knew he could sympathize. I thanked him and headed to the office, wiping fresh tears from my eyes.
Mom came and got me. We sat in the assistant principalâs office. I had a chance to tell my side of the story but was too embarrassed. I ended up getting suspended for three days. His secretary printed out the paperwork. Mom signed it and walked me out of the office without saying a word.
Halfway through the parking lot, Mom finally decided to speak. âYou know your fatherâs going to flip out about this.â
âMaybe heâll be proud,â I said. âI bloodied a kidâs face. Thatâs manly, right?â
âDo not joke! Your father does a lot of business with Tucker Vanceâs father. Itâs going to take a lot for him to smooth this over.â
âIâm sure heâll find a way. They donât call him âSlick Rickâ for nothing.â
Mom fumed and looked ready to yell, but she held back. âHoney, donât you think youâd have less trouble if, you know, you changed the way you look?â
There. She finally said it out loud.
âI like the way I look,â I told her.Â
Mom sighed. âLetâs just go home.â
âI was planning on seeing Nana.â
Mom let out another sigh. âFine. But you take the bus home.â
She dropped me off at Vista Village. That was the retirement home or senior living community or assisted-living facility or whatever you wanted to call it where Nana lived. Nana liked to call it Heavenâs Waiting Room.
She was my great-grandma on Momâs side. Ninety-six years young and still spry and sharp as a pin. She once said the secret of her longevity was drinking a pint of Guinness and a glass of Tullamore D.E.W. Irish whiskey every day. Of course, Vista Village didnât allow that sort of thing, but Nana had her ways. A little Irish charm and a bit of cash, and her favorite staff members were happy to act as her booze mules.Â
Without Nana, I wouldnât have any connection at all with my Irish roots. She came to the U.S. with her parents when she was little, and they settled into the Irish community in Phoenix. She tried to keep the old traditions alive with her family, but that got diluted over the years as her kids and grandkids became more and more âAmericanized.âÂ
I loved hearing about Irish history and folklore from Nana. Weâd listen to music and read William Butler Yeatsâ poetry. She was even teaching me how to speak Gaelic â although she just called it Irish.Â
I found Nana in the recâ room sitting in a big, comfy chair sipping tea and reading Yeats. I smiled and let out a big sigh the moment I saw her. All of the bullshit Iâd gone through that day just fell right off me. I greeted her with a hug and kiss then pulled over a chair and sat next to her.
âDia dhuit,â she said. That was Irish for hello.
âDia is Muire dhuit,â I answered. That was like hello back to whoeverâd just greeted you.Â
âConas ata tu?â Nana asked. How are you?
âTa me go maith. Agus to fein?â Iâm fine. How are you?
âTa me go maith. Go raibth maith agat,â Iâm fine. Thank you. âYouâre almost sounding like a native,â said Nana. âI remember when we were still living in Sligo, my parents made sure we never lost touch with our native tongue, so weâd spend two weeks each summer in a little village in Donegal, where they spoke only Irish.â
âCool.â
Nana and I both noticed a couple of women playing cards at a nearby table, staring at us. They looked me up and down, chuckled, and made comments to each other.
My gaze dropped toward the floor. Nana had a different response.
âWhy hello, Susan. How are you today?â she asked one of the women, nice and loud. âHave you heard from your granddaughter lately? Is she still in rehab? What is this, her second or third visit? Iâll say a prayer for her. Maybe this time itâll finally stick.â
One of the women, Susan I assumed, made a shocked face and became suddenly flustered. I hid my laughter behind my hand. Nana then turned her sights on Susanâs card partner.
âOh, and Rebecca,â she started. âI saw your son was here yesterday. How lovely. I hope you had a wonderful visit, and he didnât show up just because he wanted money like he normally does.â
Now both women were flustered and the center of attention in the recâ room. They gathered their belongings in a hurry and retreated, looking thoroughly humiliated.
âYouâre so mean,â I giggled.
Nana dropped her book in her bag. âThey had it coming. Letâs go back to my suite. Iâve hung around these old farts for long enough today.â
I helped her out of the chair. We walked arm-in-arm down the hallway back to her suite. I sat her down in her easy chair, poured two glasses of Tully and popped open two bottles of Guinness. I may not have been legal drinking age, but Nana never liked to drink alone.
âSlainte,â we each said. It was Irish for cheers or more specifically it meant good health.
Nana had me dig through her record collection. I put on an album by The Chieftains. They were considered one of the greatest Irish folk bands and for good reason. Each member was a virtuoso. Their sound was timeless and almost ethereal. I only wished I could play music half as beautiful someday.Â
After that, Nana had me put on an album by The Dubliners, who played a lot of the old standards. We sang along to each one. I loved how a lot of the old songs told a story, and a lot of them were about specific periods in Irish history like the Great Famine or the Easter Rising.
Before we knew it, it was dinner time. One of the staff wheeled Nanaâs meal in on a cart. She was one of Nanaâs favorites, so she turned a blind eye to our empty Guinness bottles and glasses of whisky. The food at Vista Village actually looked really good. Nana insisted I stay for dinner some time, and I would have if Dad didnât have a thing about having family dinner every night. He liked to pretend we were a happy family. He was big on that. Image over reality. That was probably why he was a major player in the advertising world.
Those family dinners were always a joke. I would be forced to recount the details of my day at school like they actually mattered then Iâd have to hear about Mom and Dadâs day at work. Anna of course loved it, because she got to talk in depth about her favorite subject. Herself.Â
I took the city bus home. It stopped just blocks from my house. I walked through the front door. Anna and a bunch of her friends had taken over the living room.
âOkay.â Her friend Vanessa snapped her gum. âIâd fuck Bobby Kincaid. Marry Tucker Vance.â That was met with a chorus of ooooâs. âThen Iâd definitely kill Annaâs brother.â
Another one of Annaâs friends spotted me. She made a silly, shocked face then alerted everyone else to my presence. They all laughed out loud, red-faced and pointing at me. Whatever. I shook my head and climbed the stairs. They were still laughing and going on about it, not even trying to keep their voices down.
âOh my God, did you see the look on his face?â
âI thought he was going to cry.â
âIâm totally posting this.â
I met Mom coming out of her room.Â
âWell, I told your father about your scuffle with Tucker Vance at school today,â she said. âHe was not happy. Youâre spending the rest of the night in your room for starters.â
âNo family dinner?â I grinned.
âIâll bring you a plate.â
âI could have had dinner with Nana,â I said, thoroughly disappointed.Â
I went on to my room and shut the door behind me. I scrolled through my phone, looking for some music. I grabbed my Beats studio headphones instead of my Air Pods. I just wanted to get lost in some music, and those did the best job of shutting out the rest of the world.
I put on some Morrissey. I loved his album, Maladjusted. It ranked up there as one of my all-time favorites. I only hoped I could write lyrics half as good as his someday.Â
I stretched out on my bed. I donât know when, but at some point I drifted off to sleep. I saw her again. Aibheall. Only she wasnât in the glen where sheâd been murdered. She hovered over me, dressed in a shimmering black gown. Her hair was silver and flowing behind her. She cried black tears.
Next thing I knew, Mom was jostling me awake. It was nighttime now. Man, how long had I been asleep?  I sat up and turned on the lamp on my nightstand.
âWhat?â I asked all groggy.
Momâs eyes were puffy. She sniffled. âThat was Vista Village. Itâs Nana.â
Tommy Kennedy is an alternative, sensitive soul. He's a musician and loves old 80's indie rock bands from Britain, especially The Cure, The Smiths and Morrissey. He's also very knowledgeable about Irish history, folklore and poets; so much so his teachers consult him before they even think of trying to pronounce any Gaelic words in texts. It stems from his Nana. His great-grandmother who emigrated to America when she was a child from Sligo. When his Nana, at the ripe age of 96, passes away Tommy meets Eve, a carer at the hospice where his Nana lived out her last days. They form a connection, and before long, Tommy finds out that Eve is far more than a humble carer. She's a Banshee Queen.
Death's Fair Maiden starts of with Eve's story - or as she was in 1,500 BCE, Aibheal (pronounced Ee-vahl), describing her untimely death from the plotting of her little sister who wanted to be a Queen. O'Mahony paints a vivid picture of a dark, pre-Christian era Ireland, the reader can practically smell the fire from the braziers as Aibheal tries to flee to Albion with her lover. You feel the stab, not only of the knife which kills her, but the sharp tang of betrayal from her sister. It's richly written and immediately captures the imagination.
Unfortunately, some of that richness fades when the story continues, narrated by Tommy. It feels as though he skips over a lot of important parts of the story - concentrating only on what affects him. Even at the end, when everything. just seems to fall smoothly into place, he skims across it - focusing instead on just what those events made him feel like.
Saying that, O'Mahony doesn't shy away from some disturbing themes in Death's Fair Maiden. While it could, ultimately, be called a paranormal romance, there are so many other aspects to this novel. He touches on some major events in Irish history - from the Battle of Clontarf to the Easter Rising. He also discusses bullying (verbal and physical) and sexual harassment in schools and teachers apathy if the crimes are committed by the popular crowd; suicide and suicidal ideations; the old gods and human sacrifice.
In all, this isn't a book for the faint hearted. There's some graphic violence and sex, as well a lot of history - all wrapped up with a boy who just wants to be a musician. There's also a great soundtrack that accompanies it - if you enjoy The Smiths and The Cure, that is.
S. A