A Semester Abroad

The voice was softer this time and seemed strained. She will not save you, William. You will be the cause of her death. Accept your position at my side and I will let them all go.

Seamus, nose bandaged, had a large knife in his hands and he was running towards the ladder, a twisted snarl on his face. "It was supposed to me! I was to be the promised one!"

He was welcome to it, the stupid bastard. I stopped watching Daisy and began trying to shift and kick away the ladder. His twin came hurtling through the air sidewise and sent him tumbling.

"Get away from him, spawn!" Alistair had just hurled a huge man more than fifteen feet.

I felt the tears again as a man that knew me all my life and my aunt stepped in to protect me one more time. It was two of the most impressive people I knew versus at least 50 villagers. As formidable as they were, I feared for them, but I also had hope. In a dramatic pose, Aoife slowly raised her arms to her sides and the corpses that weren't wearing green began to twitch and then slowly clamber to their feet.

A shot rang out and struck her in the head. Two more followed in her body. The corpses fell back to the street. Looking across at a roof, I saw Jim lying prone with a rifle. Fragments of her skull reassembled and she rose from the ground, again floating in place. Aoife screamed wordlessly and her red nimbus grew brighter.

Hearing the ladder rattle, I looked down to see Father Chakowski slowly climbing up. "Watch my back, will you son?"

Looking down at Mr. O'Shaughnessy, I offered up a quick prayer for both him and Father Chakowski, who was now sawing at the ropes holding my ankles to the wooden outcropping I was perched on.

"I'll get your hands next. I'm not a young man anymore, William. I don't know if I'm going to be able to hold you up. You're going to have to try to get onto the ladder, okay?"

My heart was thumping so fiercely I wasn't sure that I'd be able to speak. "Yeah, sure. Thank you, Father."

"Not what you see every day, but part of the job. Protecting the flock, supernatural evil and all that."

He was trying to be glib, but I could see his hands shaking and the terror lurking in his eyes. The priest was deathly afraid and he was still there. He was as much a hero as Aunt Daisy.

Aoife began to float down the street as her minions fell, the non-existent wind still blowing her hair and flowing rags. Jim seemed to be a machine. Shot after shot fired, villager after villager dead. Where Aunt Daisy was about economy and finesse, Alistair was pure brutality. He'd grab someone, break them and move on to the next.

It seemed that touching corpses made it easier for her to raise them and she could no longer do it en masse. As Aoife passed a fallen villager, she'd lean over and offer an unholy benediction. They'd awkwardly climb to their feet and fight again.

When she reached the pristine white gate in the middle of the simple but well-kept fence in front of the building I was affixed to like an ornament, she pivoted without looking and began floating towards us. Quickly finishing the rope on my legs, Father Chakowski clung to the ladder with one arm, turned to her and held out his crucifix.

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Lord, please protect William from this abomination."

The snarl on her face was terrible to behold and her glow grew deeper. "You have no power here, priest!"

"I have no power at all, but He does. Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,met dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen."

Aoife recoiled, turned again and floated to the street.

Her small army was being destroyed, falling quicker than she could raise them. Jim tried shooting her twice more, but she kept getting up, so he concentrated on her minions. She must have grown tired of his unending rain of bullets. Raising both hands towards him, she made a pulling gesture, as if yanking on a rope. Her red glow diminished and Jim flew from the roof and slammed into the ground.

I looked again at all the villagers in green and the man my mother hired to protect me as a child. If I had just agreed to what Aoife wanted, they'd all still be alive.

Alistair kicked a woman and sent her hurtling into a fence. Rushing forward, he grabbed Aoife by the neck and twisted. I heard the crack from where I was and her nimbus dimmed again. The second snapping noise wasn't quite as loud as her neck popped back into place. Reaching out, she grabbed Alistair by the throat. It might have been a trick of the eye, but he seemed to grow smaller and his skin became sallow. Slowly, he slumped to the ground.

Aunt Daisy reached into a holster she had by her ribs and pulled out a pistol with glowing blue runes. It was the same gun that Aunt Cynthia had used to shoot Mab.

Daisy seemed stunned as she looked at the weakening Alistair. He was our own private legend. Almost unaging, stronger than he had any right to be and as solid and enduring as a mountain, he lay on the ground. Daisy aimed carefully as she spoke, anger in her voice. "Only eight bullets left. You deserve a couple, monster."

Aunt Daisy only needed one. The bullet slammed into Aoife's side. A shocked expression on her face, she stepped back from Alistair and fell to the ground. Her head lolled to the side, facing me, and our eyes locked. Dink's impassioned barking grew dim.

I watched as she reached out and took her father's giant hand. She couldn't have been more than three or four. He was dressed in a black cassock and beamed down at her.

"Come along, my little Aoife."

Somehow, I was swept along with them as they walked into the fields from their large stone manor. Her short little legs slowed them down, so he picked her up, carrying her as he sang softly in Gaelic. Aoife looked at her giant of a father with adoration.

Coming upon a clearing, he propped her upon his shoulders while they stood in front of a large stone circle. "Not a word of this to anyone. Your sister is too young and she is of another man's seed. You, my little princess, are our salvation."

Other men and women in cassocks soon entered the clearing, one leading a goat. The animal was led into the circle, where its legs were quickly and efficiently lashed together.

Her father kissed her cheek and whispered. "It is the Old Ways, Aoife. Ensuring the crops and bringing prosperity to the village."

The man that tied the goat pulled out a long dagger with a red leather-bound hilt and slit its throat.

We were back in the manor. There were servants scurrying about, all of them stopping to curtsy to a ten-year-old Aoife. Another girl, looking very much like Aoife sat at a table, playing with a doll. The large man walked through the door and used a metal stick to knock and pry mud from his boots. He looked at the girl with the doll with disdain, walked over and kissed Aoife's head.

"Tonight, my acushla."

We're suddenly at the clearing again.

"Poppa, is that my Ginny?" She was looking at a heifer that was standing in the middle of the stone circle.

"Yes, Aoife. The sacrifice has to mean something. I will guide your hand."

Tears streamed down her face as her father helped her open the throat. Blood splattered her fine boots and she covered her ears at the animal's loud gurgling scream. He carried her back to the manor, the love evident in his eyes, softly singing to his daughter.

Time went by. The manor was threadbare, without servants or guests. Aoife looked much like I had known her. A tired looking woman brought a platter to the table and served Aoife before the girl who looked like her, Aoife's father, and the woman I assumed was her mother.

As she placed the platter on the table, she collapsed onto her chair. With an exhausted tone, she spoke. "You must, daughter, you simply must."

"No, slattern. I mustn't." She looked at the young woman across the table from her. "Have your spawn marry him."

The woman looked to the ground and Aoife slowly, slowly pushed the plate that was in front of her to the side and eventually off the table. "I will decide who I marry! The decision is mine and neither of us shall... be with another!" She looked across at her half-sister. "Clean that up."

Standing, she took a shawl and passed by an empty fireplace as she went to a small room, closing the door behind her.

We were back at the clearing. Aoife was tied and laying on the ground. Her father loomed over her, his tears falling onto her face. "It has to mean something. It will bring years of bounty."

"Poppa, no! No!

"I love you, little one. I..." His voice broke as he dragged the blade across her throat.

The distant barking and growling grew louder and I slowly pulled myself to the present. Our eyes were still locked and she mouthed the words.

"I love you." As the light in her eyes dimmed, she looked human and afraid.

Alistair slumped to the ground. Aunt Daisy turned to me. "You okay for a minute?"

"Yes." I was lying. I'd never be okay again. I knew she meant physically, though, but I couldn't feel my arms and felt as though I'd fall to the ground if I were cut loose.

She ran over to where Jim was lying on the ground.

Father Chakowski squeezed my shoulder. "You're going to be alright, son. I'm going to finish these ropes and hold onto you and you're going to swing over to the ladder. Try to be quick, okay? We'll manage between the two of us." My confessor began sawing.

I heard a distant rumbling as he worked. She came walking around the corner of the house, the same as Father Chakowski did earlier. The rumbling grew louder. Mrs. O'Barrows stood on the street by the gate, shotgun in hand, tears streaming down her face.

"You would have had everything." She looked down at Aoife. "We're no more. It's all gone, you amodaun. It's all gone!"

The rumbling grew ever louder as she spoke. An Audi Q3 came barreling around the corner. Mrs. O'Barrows had time to turn to look before getting hit and thrown into the air. The vehicle came to a screeching halt and Grandma stepped out.

"Stay away from my grandson, you hag worshipping bitch!"

She turned to me as I shook my legs out and tried to swing over to the ladder. "We're going home, William. And not a word to your mother."

Skyping with Grace had helped with the healing. Missing her was almost physically painful. We didn't see each other after that insane day. My family got me on a plane and we left for home immediately. She was hurt, but realized that something serious had happened. I couldn't tell her about the village and the deaths. How could I explain it to someone else when I couldn't understand it myself?

She talked about how her brothers were close to being able to get their charter boat. She was writing up their business plan and was going to help run the business while still attending classes. From what she said, the four of them were happy and were looking forward to the future.

I hadn't missed any time at St. John's, but went home to Montauk every weekend and was often in prayer; for myself, the recuperating Jim and surprisingly, Aoife. My faith in what was reality and what wasn't was shaken. In my life, I'd protected Cynthia from a demon that called himself Krampus and I'd helped my sister save children from Mab; both of which had knocked on any walls between what should stand between reality and fantasy. Aoife destroyed those walls.

Both Alistair, who was recovering, and Father Chakowski were helping me re-center and come to grips with what I'd experienced. I was questioning everything and looking for the supernatural in every shadow. There were times when I felt like I was losing my mind.

I craved normalcy. There was a part of me that desperately needed to be just a college student; for my struggles to involve grades and balancing time between friends and family. I didn't want to be different, or rich or special. I was sleeping too much and when I wasn't, I'd lay in bed and have random thoughts of soft curves, titian hair and lilting accents. In a few years Grace would be running her brother's business and getting married to some Irish guy. If she remembered me, I hoped it would be positively.

Eventually crawling out of my shell, I began to socialize again. The self-defense classes grew in popularity and I helped recruit some of the students for the campus escort service. I even began going to a few parties. Like Uncle Tommy, I used to love to talk to people and learn about their lives. Now I spent time sitting and watching. I wasn't a wallflower, but I relished the normalcy of it all.

There was a knock on my dorm room door. Putting down my Kindle, I slipped on some jeans but ignored the shirt on the floor. It was probably an invite to a kegger. Pulling open the door, I stood there, mouth open.

"Feck, you look good, Yank. Half-naked William. My favorite."

I pulled Grace to me and she kicked the door closed behind her.

With thanks to the Left Foot, Right Foot Society for their continued support, to Randi, Nora and Mark for the editing, to Steve M for the beta-reading and to the readers that are kind enough to spend some time with these characters.