Carrier of the Mark Page 2

  I held up my still-tingling hands. “Sorry, I haven’t got an Irish one yet, but I’ll get right on it.”

  She made a face of mock horror. “No phone! How have you existed here this long?”

  I cracked up. “I promise I’ll have one by the end of the week. I’m meeting my dad now; I’ll put on the pressure.”

  But my laughter quickly died in my throat. A little down the road, Adam was leaning against the chipped paint of an old Volkswagen Golf. He was talking to the guy he’d been fighting with earlier. Adam’s mouth curled into a smile as the other guy gave Adam a mock punch before climbing onto a motorcycle.

  Caitlin followed my stare and sighed. “Trust me, you don’t want to go there,” she said, stepping into my line of sight.

  “What do you mean?”

  She lowered her voice. “He’s a snotty, stuck-up git. He’ll mess with your head. Just do yourself a favor and keep walking. I have to leg it now or my mum will kill me.” She slowly turned and walked away.

  My freezing hands shook. I shoved them in my pockets, but stayed rooted to the spot. Adam was relaxed, still laughing at something the other guy said. I gazed at his eyes, bright green, set wide apart, whites perfectly clear, framed with thick, dark lashes. I took in the curve of his lips, the high angle of his cheekbones, and his long jaw that gently rounded to his chin. I caught my breath when I saw there was a girl sitting in the car’s passenger seat.

  “Figures,” I muttered.

  Adam glanced in my direction and said something to the girl. She looked at me warily and I felt a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. Was I that obvious?

  Get a grip. Squaring my shoulders, I turned to walk into town. I didn’t see the old man approaching me until I was right in front of him.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I smiled, expecting him to apologize too, or perhaps step aside to let me by. But he just stood there, his watery gray eyes focused on mine.

  “Well … excuse me,” I said, stepping off the sidewalk and quickening my pace. I looked back at the old man. He was wearing a brown cloak with a rope around his waist like some bizarre monk. His long gray hair hung loose down his back, and his beard was tied with a leather clip. His expressionless face turned to me.

  I whipped my head around and didn’t glance behind me again. Odd; I felt like his face jogged a memory, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  I focused on navigating the ten-minute walk to the marina where my dad worked. The club, though small, was world-renowned, and this manager position was the opportunity of a lifetime for my dad. Pulling on the shiny brass door handle, I walked inside and went straight to the receptionist’s desk.

  “Hi, I’m Megan Rosenberg; I’m here to see my dad, Caleb.”

  “Ah, Mr. Rosenberg’s daughter—I wondered when I’d see you. Did you enjoy your first day at school, pet? It’s a nice school we have here. My own daughter was a student there until last year. She’s in college now in Limerick.”

  Not knowing what else to do, I nodded.

  She cocked her head to the side and gave me a big motherly smile. “I’ll just call him and let him know you’re here, dear.”

  A few minutes later, my dad came wandering in. “Megan!” he exclaimed. “How was your first day?”

  I pulled my dad away from the reception desk. “It was mostly good, I think.”

  “Make any friends?” Dad said, following his usual first-day script.

  “I made a few friends. One girl, Caitlin, is really nice.”

  “Caitlin Brennan?” the receptionist piped up.

  “Er, yeah,” I replied slowly. Wow, this really was a small town.

  “Her mother owns the Misty Moorings bed-and-breakfast.” She smiled.

  My dad discreetly rolled his eyes and directed me out the front door. “Sybil,” he said, as if that explained it all. “Tell me, what was your first day really like?”

  “Honestly, it was one of the better ones. Something feels different this time.”

  “I know what you mean, Meg. I think your mom’s looking after us,” he said wistfully, glancing up to the sky.

  “Maybe.”

  “Or it could be that Irish blood in you; it’s back on home turf.”

  “I have Irish blood?”

  “It’s pretty diluted, but it’s definitely in there. Your mom’s grandfather came from somewhere near here, I think. Somewhere in County Cork.”

  “I guess that explains the freckles,” I said, inspecting my arms. “So, are you going to show me around your vast empire?” I put my arm in the air and waved it around extravagantly. “It looks very fancy. Is your office nice?”

  My dad was happy to give me the grand tour: the boats, the marina, and the club. I tried to look interested, but water and boats were never my thing. Truthfully, water had always sort of freaked me out. It held an allure for me, but one that felt dangerous, so I generally gave it a wide berth.

  “I’m so proud of you, Dad,” I said, after he had shown me everything there was to see. “You’re definitely onto a winner here. How did you manage to swing this job?”

  “I’m still not sure,” he replied. “Someone recommended me, but I don’t know who. I just wish I could thank whoever it was. I’ll never get an opportunity like this again.”

  “Well, you deserve it.” I paused. “One thing, though.”

  He looked at me nervously.

  “I’m seriously going to need a cell phone.”

  He looked relieved. “We’ll get right on that! Come on. I’m finishing up early, and I’m going to treat you to a big bag of fish and chips. When in Ireland, do as the Irish do!”

  “Sounds good,” I said, hooking my arm into his. “Lead the way.”

  Dad pulled the door open for me and I found myself face-to-face with a shocked Adam DeRís.

  “Mr. Rosenberg,” Adam said, avoiding my eyes.

  “Hello, Adam. This is my daughter, Megan,” Dad introduced me. “Adam is one of our instructors.”

  I didn’t know where to look.

  “Nice to meet you, Megan,” he muttered, and started backing away, tripping over himself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rosenberg, but I’m in a hurry.”

  “Of course, of course.” My dad’s forehead was crinkled in confusion as he leaned closer to me. “That was weird. He’s normally so friendly. Never mind, let’s get those chips.”

  With my stomach twisting uncomfortably, the last thing I felt like was fries. I glanced over my shoulder at the fast-departing Adam.

  “Don’t worry about him, Dad,” I said, faking a smile. “I’m not bothered.”

  But I was lying. Adam’s reaction did bother me. It bothered me so much it hurt.

  Two

  DAY TWO

  I got up the next morning with one intention: to prove to myself that Adam DeRís was nothing more than the usual seventeen-year-old guy. I was sure that seeing him again would break whatever spell he’d put on me. There was no way he could be as breathtaking as my memory painted him; my mind was playing tricks on me. As soon as I had that clear in my head, I would be able to start fresh. Perhaps I could even claw back a little bit of my dignity in the process.

  And that was why I found myself standing at the school gates forty-five minutes before classes started.

  Half an hour went by, and while other students had started to pour in, there was no sign of Adam. I looked anxiously up and down the road.

  A hand tapped me on the shoulder, and I jumped.

  “You came back.” It was Caitlin, beaming at me. “We didn’t scare you off then?”

  I laughed. “Not quite; I thought I might risk one more day before I run screaming to the U.S.”

  “Come on, we’d better get inside. If we’re late to biology, Psycho Phil will go ballistic.”

  My heart sank a little. I’d forgotten the class schedule here changed every day. I wondered if Adam would be in my biology class. I was just going to ask Caitlin who Psycho Phil was when I realized my hands were tingling again. A black Volkswagen
came into view and swung into a parking space across the road. Adam opened the car door, stepped out, and threw his bag over his shoulder in one fluid movement. Then he leaned over the roof of the car, talking to the girl who was getting out of the passenger side. It was the same girl I had seen him with yesterday. She was tall and slim, and her smooth, black hair was cut in a blunt bob.

  They started walking toward the entrance, where I was standing with Caitlin. Adam was grinning, and her face looked up into his with a sly little smile, her eyes gleaming with a witchy edge to them. Adam walked by without a glance. She looked at me sheepishly, then quickly walked on.

  “Bitch,” I muttered. I hated to admit it, but I was totally jealous. She was stunning. I could never compete with that. To top it all off, they were probably laughing at me and my completely transparent infatuation with Adam.

  “Earth to Megan; come in, Megan,” Caitlin said as she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Megan, are you with me?” she said a little louder. “Or are you with a certain tall, dark, and outrageously handsome Mr. DeRís?” She followed my gaze.

  “I wish.” I stared after them. There was no point in trying to hide my glaringly obvious emotions. “They look good together,” I said, somewhat begrudgingly.

  “They would,” she said. “They’re twins. And did you not listen to a word I said? Honestly, don’t bother. Now come on.” She grabbed my arm and started dragging me up the hill. “We’re definitely going to be late!”

  We ran down the hallway to our class.

  “Twins,” I said at the door, as we paused to catch our breath.

  “Yes, twins. Her name is Áine.” She shook her head in irritation. “Really, Megan, no offense or anything, but let it drop. You’re wasting your time. He’s a total plank, and has the personality to match. Now, shush,” she whispered, putting her finger over her lips before pushing the door to the biology lab open. I followed, wondering what a “plank” was.

  “Ah, ladies, nice of you to finally join us,” said a sarcastic voice as we filed into the room. “I’m assuming this is our new class member, Miss Rosenberg.” A man with beady eyes and more hair on his face than his head glared at me. “Well, Miss Rosenberg, let’s hope this is not how you intend to continue your education in this school, and if it is, perhaps you could be so kind as to not drag Miss Brennan down with you.”

  “No, sir,” I muttered, and fled to the nearest available desk. I was starting to understand the “Psycho Phil” nickname.

  As soon as I realized we were talking about the lymphatic system—something I had studied last year—I tuned Psycho Phil out and my thoughts drifted back to Adam. The image of him smiling and leaning on his car crept into my mind: his head thrown back in laughter, his green eyes glittering with mischief. I pushed the picture from my mind and reminded myself that I was trying to purge him from my system, not reinforce my feelings. I rubbed the scar on my neck; it was itchy again. I couldn’t believe how much it had been irritating me. It never really bothered me before, but then again, I’d never gotten all flustered over a guy like this before either. I idly traced its circular shape and lost myself to memories of my mom. The scar would always be a painful reminder of the last day we spent together.

  I was six. Mom and I had gone to see my grandmother, who was living in a retirement village. We had a great time playing games, Gran telling me stories of when my mom was my age. After dinner Mom and I set off in the car for the three-hour drive back home.

  Rain began to fall, and soon the wipers had to work overtime to keep the windshield clear. My mom turned up the radio and we sang along tunelessly, laughing at each other as we made up our own words to the songs. Then there was a sheet of metal coming straight at us and a screeching noise that hurt my ears. I screamed.

  The next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of me and beeping machines by my side. My dad was holding my hand.

  “You came back to me,” he said, tears spilling down his face. Later he told me my mom had died instantly in the crash. I’d been unconscious for days. By the time I woke up, Mom had already been buried. I would never see her again.

  My memories of the crash were still vivid all these years later, but now I felt detached from the event. All that was left was the scar, my dad’s sadness, and the guilt I felt when I tried to remember my mom. I kept a photo of her with me, so I wouldn’t forget what she looked like.

  The bell broke my reverie. Caitlin turned to me.

  “So did you choose home ec or art?”

  “Art,” I answered, as I gathered my books.

  “Well, you’re on your own for this one. I’m off to bake a cake. I’ll see you in maths. The art rooms are back up the corridor; turn right and they’re on your left.”

  “Caitlin, what’s the deal with Adam and Enya? Why don’t people like them?”

  Caitlin laughed. “Her name is Áine. You know, like Awn-ya. You’re going to have to get used to these Irish names. Anyway, it’s just … well, they’re stuck-up and a bit weird.” She leaned in closer. “There are rumors about their family. I don’t think I believe them, really, but you know what they say—there’s no smoke without fire.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  “There’s been talk of ‘odd’ goings-on. And Adam and Áine don’t do much to persuade people otherwise.”

  “So when you say ‘odd,’ you mean…?”

  “Really odd. You know … things-that-go-bump-in-the-night odd.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  She raised her shoulders and half smiled. “I don’t know. But you’ve been warned.” She wagged her finger and left the class.

  I wasn’t much good at art, but I did enjoy it. I was happy that the art teacher ignored formalities and got right down to business. She handed me a sketch pad and pointed me toward a desk with a drawing board on it. I glanced at the still life of white daisies in the center of the room and picked up my pencil, but a shiny black bob on the opposite side of the room caught my eye.

  Áine DeRís. She didn’t look at me, just kept sketching. What was it with the DeRís twins? I couldn’t get away from them. I looked up at her again and this time her eyes met mine. She quickly looked away, and I rubbed my neck in annoyance. Now that I knew Adam and Áine were twins, the similarities were obvious: the dark, rich hair; the green eyes; and the strong facial features. They both oozed the same quiet self-confidence, the type of arrogance that came from a life of privilege. Odd, though. Adam’s old car seemed to suggest they weren’t rich.

  I sketched away as I thought about them, flicking glances through the limp-looking flowers when Áine wasn’t looking. By the end of the class I was pleasantly surprised with what I had produced. I finished off the sketch and went to get the fixing spray. I was just returning to my desk when Áine passed me. She brushed the display table in her haste to get by and nearly knocked over the vase. Saying nothing, she righted the vase, picked up a daisy that had fallen to the floor, and gently placed it on my desk. Giving me a cautious smile, she walked out.

  Caitlin was right. Weird. I grabbed my bag and glanced at the flower she’d left on my desk, doing a double take. I could have sworn it had been a tired-looking white daisy when she picked it up, but it was most definitely a healthy-looking pink daisy now. I chucked it into my bag with my things and went to my next class.

  After math (I couldn’t imagine ever feeling comfortable calling it “maths”), Caitlin and I went outside for lunch. Jennifer, Killian, and Darren were already there, stretched out in the sun. Everyone was chatting happily, and I munched on my sandwich and listened intently, catching up on the gossip. At one point, Darren turned to me, then looked back in the other direction, and then at me again. I watched him, bemused.

  “Darren, what are you doing?” Jennifer asked.

  “I was just wondering who Rían DeRís was glaring at, and it would appear to be you, Megan. Bloody hell, what did you do to deserve that look?”

  “Ree-in?” I glanced u
p and found the face in question. It was the guy who’d been fighting with Adam yesterday, the guy with the motorcycle. He was Adam’s brother! His eyes boiled with such intensity that I had to look away. “Why would he be looking at me? I’ve never met him,” I said uncertainly.

  “He shouldn’t even be here. He finished school last year. I’d watch out if I were you, Megan. Rían will put the evil eye on you. People around here think the DeRíses are witches, ya know,” Darren replied, standing up and waving his hands around like a magician.

  “Darren, that’s rubbish. You listen to too many old wives’ tales.” Jennifer gave Darren a look and tugged on his shirt to make him sit down. “And anyway, the rumors are of their being druids, not witches.”

  Darren leaned closer to me. “My granddad reckons they’re related to the old Killeen coven that hexed the town back in the eighteen hundreds.”

  “What! You’ve got to be messing with me. Is that what you meant by ‘odd,’ Caitlin?” I asked.

  “Darren, shut up. You’re going to scare her,” Caitlin said with a slight edge to her voice.

  They all looked at me with serious faces. Then they burst out laughing.

  “Don’t mind us,” Caitlin said, gently rubbing my arm. “Yes, there are rumors, and there have been ‘incidents,’ but none of us actually believe the stories. Do we, guys?”

  “What stories?” I pressed.

  “Tell her the one about the cat!” Jennifer exclaimed, elbowing Darren excitedly.

  “Ooh, that’s a good one,” Darren declared, leaning into me. “A long time ago, there was a woman who lived here. Her name was Elizabeth Killeen. Rumor has it she’s, like, the DeRíses’ great-great-grandmother or something. Anyway, she was a bit of a babe, and all the menfolk of the town had a thing for her. Of course, all the women blamed Elizabeth for the wandering eyes, and one unfortunate lady actually went to confront Elizabeth. When she did, Elizabeth morphed into a ferocious cat and lashed out at her, plucking an eyeball right from her head. The cat reportedly ate the eyeball, and then morphed back into Elizabeth. At least, that’s how One-eyed Lily tells the story.”