Magic Destiny: Dark Paranormal Romance (Irish Rogue Series Book 1) Read online

  MAGIC DESTINY

  Book 1 in the Irish Rogue Series

  Kate Gellar

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  1 – MAGIC BOUND

  2 – MAGIC BOUND

  BOOKS BY KATE GELLAR

  Word from the Author

  About the Author

  1

  Abby

  “Here it is,” said Wendy.

  Abigail Brennan peered over her best friend’s shoulder at the image of a beautiful castle on the west coast of Ireland.

  “Oh my God. Do they really rent out places like that?”

  Wendy chuckled. “You should know. You’re the Irish expert.”

  Abby leaned back. “I only know about the history.”

  “And your last name is Brennan. A good, solid Irish name.”

  “That too.” Abby studied the picture of Drumm castle she knew to be older than the US. Most castles in Ireland dated back to the thirteenth century. “These places are still owned by the original families. Most are hotels, some still use them as homes.”

  Wendy looked up at her. “So the plan is to go live here? How did you even hear about this place?”

  Abby shrugged at her blonde-haired friend. “I got an email about it. They said they were offering me a place on a summer history program.”

  “How much does it cost?”

  “Nothing. I’ll work at the castle for my food and board in exchange for learning about Ireland’s history.”

  “And they normally do this kind of thing, email random strangers about an unpaid job offer?”

  “No. I got a letter from Columbia first to say someone would be contacting me about it. They must have a dual program setup to help with dissertations.” Abby had a scholarship to Columbia University and had just completed her exams to earn her M.Phil degree when the email came through, two weeks ago. She’d seen it as a sign to get out of the US for the summer.

  Wendy opened new pictures and scrolled through information about the family who owned Drumm castle. “Alderdyce family. Doesn’t say much about them other than the castle was passed down through the generations.” She elbowed Abby. “I’d say this is exactly what you need right now. I don’t know how you managed to sit all your exams, what with everything that happened.”

  Abby had kept it together long enough to make it through her finals. Her mom had been ill for a few years. Then the mystery illness that had stumped even the best doctors finally claimed her. It had been her and her mom for five years since her father passed away. Abby’s summer plans consisted of nothing more than moping around the family house. But the thoughts of living in a house full of memories that was left to her in her mother’s will, a house that smelled like Ivy Brennan and still held all her things, didn’t appeal to Abby. She hadn’t set foot in it since Ivy’s funeral two months ago. Abby had been sleeping on Wendy’s dorm room floor at Rowan University in New Jersey where Wendy studied music performance. Each morning she commuted to Columbia by train.

  Wendy looked up, hopeful. “Take me with you. I don’t want you to go.”

  “Wendy Schmidt, if you can fit in my suitcase, then I’m for it.”

  “I’ll damn well make myself fit. But I’ve too much going on here to go.” Wendy turned round in her chair. “Are you sure now’s the right time to go? I mean your mom just died.”

  With no siblings, Abby was all that remained of their nuclear family. Except for her cousin Paul and her aunt, both Quinns. The Brennans, her father’s family, hailed from County Wexford, and the Quinns on her mother’s side came from County Galway. Their diverse Irish family history had pushed Abby toward leaning more about European history as a whole—her major at Columbia. Now that her mom was gone, Abby felt both peace and sorrow. She had been her mother’s sole caregiver in her declining years, but while Ivy’s death released the stress, she now nursed a gaping hole in her heart where her mom used to fit.

  The image of Drumm castle was still on screen. Abby stared at it, unable to explain to her best friend or to herself what drew her to that small rock in the Atlantic Ocean. She’d never visited her parents’ home, yet an invisible voice called her home.

  “It’s the right time. I need to do this. I feel like I’m supposed to go, you know?”

  Wendy nodded. She was a Schmidt; her family came to the US from Germany in the late forties and settled in Brooklyn alongside a barrage of Irish and Italian families. She’d often talked about visiting the Fatherland, but she needed money to do that. “Maybe one day I’ll go home, when I’m rich and famous.”

  Wendy had an incredible singing voice and was enrolled in a two-week summer program at one of the top singing schools in New York. To pay for it, Wendy would be bar tending in Manhattan. Abby was certain that one day she’d be sitting in the front row at one of Wendy’s concerts.

  Wendy opened a new search page and typed something. “What’s their native language in Ireland? You’ll be speaking Gaelic in no time. Top o’ the mornin’ to ye.”

  Abby giggled. “Neither of my parents ever said that once, and they were both first generation. They all speak English there. The Irish language is taught in schools.”

  Wendy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’d sell my right arm to go anywhere in Europe. I’ve barely been out of Brooklyn.” Abby never remembered Wendy’s family taking trips beyond the US. The farthest Wendy had been was Las Vegas, to a singing competition organized through her school.

  Abby pulled up a chair beside Wendy and studied new pictures of the gray bricked castle set on a sprawling estate. “Built in 1380. Shit, I still can’t believe that thing is older than this country.”

  “Fuck, Abby. I know you’re going to meet a prince.’ Wendy fanned her face. ‘I hear Irish men are hot. I mean, chiseled man pecs, big dicks.”

  Abby was blessed—or cursed—with the Irish pale skin with freckles. To top it off, she had a head full of red hair that she’d been teased about through school. “Leprechaun,” and “Carrot Top,” were the nicer insults. The worse ones included, “Does the carpet match the drapes?”

  She refused to answer that one. And yes it did.

  “Princes? Really? How long have you known me? And how many times have you heard my father’s stories? Wrong country.”

  Wendy rolled her eyes. “Well, they used to have princes. Says it right here.” She tapped the screen with her finger.

  “Back when Ireland was ruled by the British for eight hundred years, but that reign officially ended in 1922.” It was Abby’s turn to roll her eyes when Wendy googled hot, Irish princes.

  “So, like I asked before, are you sure you’re ready to go? I mean, you’ve just been through a major tragedy.”

  “Dad died when I was sixteen. Ever since his death, I’ve felt the strongest urge to go there. But I was too young and couldn’t afford it. Then when Mom got sick, I had to take care of her. There wasn’t anyone else. Living in the country will lend credibility to my dissertation. I can’t write one on the history of Ireland without ever having been, can I?”

  “Who’s lo
oking after the house while you’re gone?”

  “Paul.” Her cousin. “Apparently he’s interning at one of the top law firms in NY for the summer.”

  “Hot Paul? As in ‘how is he related to you, no offense’ hot Paul?”

  “Gee, thanks. Yeah, hot Paul.” Paul with the same raven black hair as Ivy Brennan and striking blue eyes. Paul who’d been a friend she could call upon when things got too much with her mother. Her mom was his mother’s sister. Paul’s mom had been in and out of treatment for cancer, but her condition wasn’t so bad that she required the same level of care Ivy had. They’d helped each other through the rougher times. Abby was sad she couldn’t stick around this summer to hang.

  “Well, that’s decided then,” said Wendy. “I’m moving in to your house. I’d hate for Paul to be there all alone.”

  “I think your parents might have something to say about that.”

  “I’m twenty-one! I’m already having sex. I know what a vagina and a penis is. What can they say or do?”

  Abby relented. “All right, but only if Paul says it’s okay.”

  Wendy squeaked and went back to checking out Abby’s new home for the next three months. She’d received an email a week and a half ago offering her a place to be an intern, and a week ago she’d accepted it. She was to arrive by the first of June. That was three days away. They must really want her because they’d even sent her tickets for the flight.

  “You know you don’t even have to visit a country these days.” Wendy pulled up the street view and navigated a narrow country road to a set of iron gates leading to the grounds for Drumm castle. “You can do it all through Google.”

  Wendy was right—Abby could street view whatever she wanted, immerse herself in Irish life through online chat boards, get a good feel for the country. But it felt dishonest to write about a place she’d never even visited.

  Truth was Abby was nervous. Like Wendy, she’d never left the comfort of the US. Why would anyone leave when there was so much to see in their own country?

  But as Wendy began a new search for Things to do in Ireland, Abby Brennan knew this trip was about more than research for her dissertation. The land her ancestors came from called her home.

  In her dreams, the ancients whispered her name. Now, she listened.

  2

  Abby

  The family house in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn was a 1925 two-story property with a red brick exterior and a white door. Bay Ridge, known as “Little Ireland”, used to have a strong Irish immigrant presence, but over the years that population had grown to include immigrants from other countries. Her father had bought the house in the late eighties and it was the only home she’d ever known. The locale’s St. Patrick’s Day parade founded in 1994 began and ended in Bay Ridge. Abby used to sit on her father’s shoulders to watch it go down 3rd Avenue.

  They had bought in the neighborhood before prices sky rocketed for the area. Now, their modest 1300 square foot, three-bed home shared space with million-dollar properties. It had been a happy home growing up, but when her father died five years ago and her mother got sick soon after, things changed. Abby had no siblings, no one to help when her mom fell out of bed or was too weak to dress herself in the evenings.

  The only thing that got her through that tough time was Paul Quinn. He’d been through a similar time with his mother a few years ago. A mystery illness had almost claimed her aunt and presently threatened her health once more. There were similarities between Ivy Brennan’s illness and that which plagued Paul’s mother over the years. Both cases had left the doctors stumped and Abby to silently question the similarity of their illnesses.

  Abby climbed the steps she used to sit on as a kid to watch the other kids play football or hopscotch. She’d been a shy, quiet child with only Wendy and Paul for friends. Her red hair attracted unkind comments from the older boys. Paul had lived two blocks away until his family moved to Philly when he was fifteen, soon after Paul’s father passed away.

  She took a deep breath and slid the key into the slot. Her mom had been gone two months, yet it felt like it had happened yesterday. Coming back here brought many memories to the surface; some happy, many later ones not as much. The door creaked open and Abby stepped inside the house she hadn’t lived in since the funeral. With Ivy gone, the thoughts of living alone in this house scared her. Wendy’s offer of accommodation had allowed Abby to put reality on hold for the last two months. But she’d been a burden on Wendy for too long. It was time to face up to her new life.

  A mix of dust and Ivy’s perfume brought tears to her eyes and a lump to her throat. It had been tough to watch her mom get sicker each year, and toward the end weaker each month. Still, the doctors had no clue as to what had caused her decline. “A mystery illness”, they kept saying. Abby had hoped they’d figure it out before she died, to give Ivy a level of peace with knowing the truth.

  But doubt and guilt continued to plague Abby. Had she done enough for her mother? Could she have helped save her if she’d brought her to a different specialist?

  Abby pressed down her raw, aching guilt as she closed the door and set her suitcases down. She had packed up her things at Wendy’s, and while Wendy was sad to see her go, the time had come for Abby to take responsibility for her own life. She would pack the rest of her things she needed from the house and travel to the airport directly.

  The early afternoon sun streamed through the bay window. Abby walked through the bright house that could probably fetch more money on the market with an upgrade. But Ivy Brennan had been claiming disability checks, which meant as well as being a nursemaid, Abby also had to make sure the money lasted.

  But the biggest surprise she got was three weeks ago when the family lawyer contacted her and said she’d been left not only the house, but a small sum of money Ivy had squirreled away. For a rainy day, Abby guessed.

  No rainier than now.

  The house creaked with what she was convinced was the ghost of Ivy Brennan. This had been her home for thirty years.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you, Mom. I wish you had a better quality of life in the end. How about I make us a nice cup of tea?”

  It was a question Abby used to ask her mom each evening after she got home from school, then later from university. She filled the bottle-green colored kettle with water and set it on the just-lit burner on the stove. When the kettle whistled, she filled two mugs with tea and clinked hers against the one on the counter.

  “Drink up, Mom. You don’t want it to get cold.” She set it down on the table in the spot where her mother used to sit and drink her tea. A dresser next to the table held a collection of family photos. Abby grabbed one of her dark-haired mother from when she was in her twenties. Except for the hair color, Abby looked just like her.

  A cool breeze caught her and she shivered. Dropping the photo back, she strode from the kitchen, leaving the untouched tea on the table and the memories of her mother behind. Ivy was gone. No point in pretending otherwise.

  Abby carried her suitcase upstairs and set it down on her bed. Everything in her room looked the same, but felt different without Ivy in the house. She’d spent many happy evenings playing alone in this room. She liked solitude and being an only child had given her plenty of practice at it. But as an adult she’d spent too many sleepless, anxious nights worrying about her mother in the next room.

  Abby stood outside the closed door to her mom’s room. The last time she stood here was to pick out an outfit to bury her mother in. Wendy had been her rock that day. In fact, her best friend had picked out a pretty green dress that offset her mom’s raven hair and green eyes perfectly. She had been a beautiful woman, but her mystery illness had ravaged away that beauty.

  Abby squeezed the knob in her hand and turned it. She sucked in a deep breath and stepped inside the room. Several pill containers sat on the nightstand. A pair of reading glasses sat perched on an open book. Abby nearly broke in half at the sight of Ivy’s slippers on the floor. The ro
om looked like a damn shrine.

  Clothes were strewn all over the bed. That was Abby’s fault. Her mom would have yelled to see such untidiness. But neatness had been the furthest thing from her mind that day.

  With space to deal with Ivy’s death, Abby now picked up the clothes and hung them in the wardrobe without feeling like she wanted to cry. It wasn’t long before the room was back to normal. Ivy would be proud to see her room looking neat again. One day soon, Abby would need to go through everything. She didn’t expect to keep much. Her mom owned nothing special except for a necklace that Abby wore around her neck. She studied it in the vanity mirror and touched the Celtic symbol hanging from a silver chain. It was the only thing of value and the only thing Abby wanted to keep.

  She burst into tears as she collapsed on her mom’s bed and pulled out her phone. She thought she could do it alone.

  She dialed a number and a male voice answered.

  “Hey cuz, what’s up?”

  “Paul, I’m in my mom’s house.” Sobs punctuated her words. “I’m supposed to stay here tonight, but I... I can’t.” She broke off as a cascade of tears worked their way down her face.

  “Shit, Abby. Why didn’t you tell me you were going there? I would have come with you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m being silly. I’ll be all right.”

  “Well, I barely understood half of that... Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m coming over.”

  “Coming over? But you’re in Philly. That’s like a two-hour drive.”

  “You know that summer job in a New York law firm? Well, I happen to be in the city meeting with my new boss as we speak. I was going to head home but I can stay a night.”

  Abby gulped down a breath. “Really?”

  “Really. Have you eaten?”

  Abby shook her head. Realising Paul couldn’t see her, she squeaked, “No.”

  “Okay. I’m bringing food and alcohol. We can call it a celebration and a commiseration.”

  Abby giggled. “Thanks Paul. If we weren’t related and you weren’t really gross, I’d say you were the perfect man.”