The Devlin Witch Book 1

THE DEVLIN WITCH- BOOK ONE

She was tall, slim, with black wavy hair that hung down her back. Her skin was clear with a hint of rose at the cheeks. Her eyes, even from a distance, were an unearthly green. They almost glowed in the late evening sun.

My mother stopped so suddenly I bumped into her. "Draiodair Mna," she whispered.

"Ma, what is it?"
She pointed at the woman and then said louder, "Draiodair Mna." "Ma, what are you saying?"

My normally bossy, confident mother looked at me with the eyes of a terrified child. "The witch. His witch. The Mountain's whore."

I turned to Bobby. "I don't know what's wrong with her. Who is that woman?"

Without looking at me, he said, "That's my mother." 

We stood there for a moment. It was Brendan who broke the silence by running to the dark-haired woman. "Nana!"

"My little man." She scooped him up into her arms.

Orla quickly took her son from her mother and said in a clipped tone, "So you made it then, Mam."

She kissed Bobby. "Yes, I'm sorry I'm late." She turned to me. "You must be Caroline. I'm pleased to finally meet you."

"Me too." I kissed her cheek.
Behind me my mother growled, "And I'm her mother."
Bobby's mother held out her hand. "Lovely to meet you. I'm Mary Connelly."

"Don't you mean Mary Devlin? Mary Devlin from Devil's Mountain?" Mary peered into my mother's face. "Nellie? Nellie Collins?"

"Who else? Or are you surprised I'm still alive, not crushed by a bus like my poor Jimmy?"

Mary looked like she'd been slapped. "Nellie, no. I'm surprised is all. It's been a long time."

"Not long enough!"

We blocked the narrow sidewalk and a giggly crowd of students pushed past us. My father held out his hand to Mary. "I'm Caroline's father. We're glad you could join us. Please, the restaurant is right down the street. Let me show you." And with that, my sour, introverted father gallantly offered Mary his arm and led her through the throng of happy hour revelers to the restaurant.

I took my mother's arm. "Come on, Ma. Let's go."

"She's spinning her web already."
"Ma, please. I don't know what's up with you and Bobby's mother but

you have to calm down."
She looked up at me. "It's not too late, Caro. You can still call it off." "Call what off?"
"You can't marry into that family," she said, her voice now trembling.

"It will be the death of you."
I dropped her arm. "Cancel the wedding? Are you crazy?" "Caroline, please. Please listen to me!"

My father's sister turned to look at us. I whispered in my mother's ear, "I've heard enough. For God's sake, get a hold of yourself."

When we reached the restaurant I practically ran to its small bar. As I gulped down my drink, I berated myself for caving into my mother's demand for a big wedding. I was thirty, and in the past two years I'd attended close to twenty weddings. They were boring and expensive and I had more pouffy bridesmaid dresses than I cared to count. A big wedding was the last thing I wanted.

Bobby, too, was hesitant to put his family through the stress of a wedding. From what little he'd said, his parent's divorce three years ago was both unexpected and devastating. Mary had found her husband kissing his secretary in a local pub. It fractured the family, with Orla taking the father's side and Bobby taking the mother's. Bobby's father ran off to London with his secretary for a quickie wedding as soon as the ink was dry on their divorce. Mary, who was stunning, really, and looked years younger than her age and certainly younger than the chubby new wife, had returned to her childhood home in Kerry, to Devlin's Mountain. Bobby was so thrown by it all he'd accepted an offer from an investment bank in New York and emigrated soon thereafter. The four of them--well, I guess five, if you include the new wife--hadn't been in the same room since Bobby left Ireland. The last thing he needed today was my mother's antics.