A little before four, Mary rapped sharply on the door, and each girl struggled to hear her head. A shower and fresh clothes brought them all back to full consciousness. As the headed out the door into the rapidly approaching evening, the phone rang.
“Shouldn’t we get the phone,” asked Rachel. “It might be Mom.”
"Ah yes, perhaps some good news, finally?"
Mary picked up the phone. "Brenda!" she exclaimed loudly at the fist sound of her daughters voice. "How are things over there, has there been any news?"
Brenda's voice betrayed her weary state. "Ramer is dead, he was killed by a fellow agent early this morning. She sacrificed herself to save Sharon."
"I..." Mary didn't know what to sat, as she felt feelings of relief and of sadness. "Is everyone else all right?"
"Other than being severely traumatized, we're just fine," Brenda replied bitterly. "How are the kids?"
"They came in and slept off some jet lag, and they are all set to go. We were just on our way out to the pub."
"Mother, you are not getting these children DRUNK, is that clear?" Brenda was chuckling but quite stern. "Don't WORRY love. I'm guessing that they will have a pint each, then stick to cola drinks or Seven-Up (TM) for the rest of the evening."
"See that they do. Listen, Mom, the crisis seems to be over ..but for the sake of prudence, keep them in Galway for the next couple of days. See if you can help them work out an enjoyable itinerary, they'll be flying back from Dublin on the twelfth or thirteenth."
The four made their way to downtown Galway, to Fienster Street. "Tell me Mary, how long have the two of you had this pub?" asked Heather.
"Just over seventeen years. Martin had been an accountant, and did quite well, but it just didn't have the same charm of running one's own business, especially one as traditional as this. We bought this bit of property, refurbished it, and as you can see, we're very happy with the results." They entered the pub, Rachel holding the door for her friends and grandmother.
A familiar face greeted the three girls, a face that was in the midst of downing a pint of a curious straw-colored liquid.
Dita smiled broadly, muttering to her friends with clenched teeth. "What the hell is Terry doing here, an' how the fuck did he find us?"
Heather was incensed. "No idea, but he'd better have a damned good explanation," she growled back. "Let's just ignore him and hope that he doesn't notice us," suggested Rachel. "By the way, Fiona is one of our barmaids; she's the one drinking with him."
"MARY!! RACHEL!!" Martin's voice boomed over the steadily increasing din. The burly man stepped briskly from behind the bar and embraced his wife and granddaughter. "Rachel love, good to see you again." Heather found her delicate hand and wrist enveloped by Martin's warm handshake. "You must be Dita and Heather. I'm glad you could stay with us and keep our Rachel company. He checked his wristwatch. "Well now, I see that our music will be starting up in a little more than an hour. Just make yourself at home."
Heather was thrilled at the chance to finally drink legally, but the bitter Guinness was too much for her to do more than sip a bit at a time.
"Soooo...Mom tells me that the crisis appears to be over, but we'll be staying the full time even so," Rachel informed them. "Both your moms and Wendy and Solange will go to Washington in a few days for a full debriefing." This last bit of information was surprising, seeing as how much a secret they wanted everything to remain. Dita asked, "Are our parents going to be here for...you know...THAT day?"
Rachael shrugged. "Dunno, I guess it depends on when they schedule everything."
Not wanting to analyze and debate that subject again, Heather turned casually towards Terry, hoping that he missed her glance. Terry appeared to be enjoying the conversation with Fiona.
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"Are you sure that you're only eighteen, you drink as if you've had plenty of experience." Fiona giggled. "No, honestly this is it," he answered. "You have good stuff." Fiona traced her hand over Terry's shoulder. "Terry, kin I ask you somethin'?"
"Sure, ask away."
"Why were you asking Marty," she turned to ensure nobody was listening, "about werewolves? You know I have a degree in folklore and cultural anthropology. "I'd be happy to help you, if you're interested."
"....How in the hell did you hear me, you weren't even in the room!?!" Fiona smiled, squeezing Terry's arm. "After working here as long as I have, you learn to pick up on conversations through all the noise. But answer my question please."
Terry swallowed hard, not knowing if it was the alcohol or Fiona's manner that set him at ease. "Fiona, I'd love to talk to you about Irish folklore, that kind of stuff has always sort of interested. Come to think about it, I'd be happy to talk about any subject you desire." He pursed his lips. "That story that Marty told me about werewolves, is that true?
"Mmmmm," Fiona sniffed deeply, closing her eyes. "Ah yes...that story. Well, the story is true as far as it goes, but the history of the werewolf extends far before the eighteenth century, even in Eire. Oh, and in case you are wondering, just about all the tales you've heard before: our leprechauns, the banshee, the pooka, demonic posession, vampires, etcetera, yes, you'll find that the reality is much stranger than the myths." She stroked his fingers. "I think you'll also find that the reality is much darker than you'd like to think."
Terry's mind reeled. "Do you know of any actual...er...creatures?"
Fiona gave him a gentle shove. "Hush now!" she spat, but she was smiling as she did so. "Look..Marty gave me a small flat downstairs for free so that I can keep working on my doctorate. Let's take the conversation down there."
Fiona took Terry down to the basement, past kegs and crates. "I just love these old European pubs," mused Terry. "Yep, this one dates back to 1790, and it's built solid as a rock ." Fiona opened a door at the end of the dimly-lit hallway, revealing another flight of stairs leading down.
"Jesus, does Marty not like you or something??" Fiona scoffed. "As deep as we're going, it's just barely enough to block out the noise once the music starts goin'. Trust me; I'm grateful for the added insulation. Fiona took out a set of ancient looking keys and opened the solid oak door into her flat. It was done up very nicely to display Fiona's interest in folklore.
"Marty won't mind my taking the rest of the evening off. Please, sit down on the bed; I'm going to change clothes." Fiona opened a small closet, then removed her blouse, slipping it onto a hangar, then her bra. She put on a white T-shirt and then exchanged her skirt for a set of gym pants. Fiona then grabbed tp books and a thick binder from the bookshelves that bent precariously from the weight of the amassed volumes and joined Terry on the bed.
"You were asking me if I know of any creatures. I know that Rachel's mother is a beastie, a werewolf, for one thing. We've had at least three sightings of leprechauns in this county alone over the past year; can be nasty little things if you aren't careful. The Wild Huntsman still roams the bogs of Cornwall. So yes, I'm quite familiar with the occult and crypto-zoology.
"And the Loch Ness Monster?" Fiona nodded sagely. "Nessie still lives, but she can just as well be seen in the Firth of Forth - or any protected body of water with access to the sea." "I thought Loch Ness was..er..landlocked." Again Fiona smiled broadly. "Not quite, there are a few seams on the lake bed just wide enough for Nessie to slip through to the sea and they're placed in a way that they aren't detectable with sonar or depth finders.
Now back to werewolves. Hmmm, guess this isn't exactly a werewolf, but a girl in Canada decided to meddle about with an old spell book just a few years ago. The poor child accidentally extinguished a key candle in a spell that was supposed to give her a wolf's strength, and now her body is permanently stuck between wolf and human.
“Good Lord! And why don’t most people know about it. Especially you, you seem to know so much more about these things. You could make a fortune, you know?”
Fiona shook her head sadly. “Terry, I want to show you a spell I tried four years ago with my cousin. I was twenty-two, he was twenty. We were..ach…curious about things.” She stroked his hair gently, smiling. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”
Terry nodded silently. Fiona went back over to the bookshelves, bringing back a green leather-bound tome. “This is dark stuff. We had tried quite a bit of the milder magick, some of the spells worked, most didn’t, but a friend of mine at Oxford had uncovered this book at an antique bookshop.” Her fingers turned the pages gently, trying to avoid damaging the fragile paper. “This is a summoning spell, designed to invoke the forest god Pan, you know, from Greek mythology?”
“Sure, we read about him in literature class.”
“Anyway Terry, because of what happened the last time, I won’t actually attempt to cast the spell, but I will walk you through it, so you get an idea of what we did. Er, we’ll need to take our clothes off, is that all right with you?” Terry shrugged and nodded, as he felt a rush of adrenaline in his stomach, he fumbled a bit pulling off his T-shirt. Already nude herself, Fiona helped him with his jeans and underwear. “You’re very attractive, Terry.”
Fiona walked over to her desk and took out a stubby piece of chalk. “According to the book, the summoning spell requires a circle, “she removed the Persian carpet covering the floor and drew a three foot circle on the hardwood floor, “in a square,” she drew a square around the circle, “in a triangle.” There was just enough room for the triangle to fit. “Um…okay, now lie down in the circle and I’ll join you.”
The two laid down in opposite directions, their right sides touching. Fiona slipped her right arm between Terry’s legs. “Now you put your arm between my legs like I’m doing, and hold my hand,” Fiona whispered. Terry did so. “Take my left hand.” Terry swallowed tightly, he could feel the warmth emanating from between Fiona’s legs, and her arm nudged his manhood.
“Okay,” said Fiona in a small voice. “Then we recite the words of summoning.” Her voice weak, Fiona chanted something in what seemed to be Greek or Latin, Terry really wasn’t certain. She then released Terry’s hands. “Right then, you can sit up.” Terry did so and found himself embraced by Fiona’s trembling arms. She kissed him deeply. “I’ll tell you what happened in bed. Terry, have you ever made love before?”
He shook his head. “It’s okay, come lie down.” Again, Fiona kissed him, massaging his chest, and Terry reclined on her bed. Fiona straddled him, hugging him tightly and rubbing her face against his. The warm moisture Terry felt on his arm in the circle became a torrent of ecstasy as she gingerly lowered herself onto him. Fiona gasped with pleasure.
“Feels wonderful, doesn’t it Terry?” He nodded. As they began to rock back and forth, she finished her tale for him.
“After the spell was cast, she whispered huskily, “something must have gone wrong. Rather than Pan, we summoned two demons, an incubus and a succubus. Do you know what those are?
Terry again shook his head. “Like I said, they are demons, demons that feed off lust. Most of the time, they simply drain their victims of their life and youth, but when they are in their more perverse moods, they change their victim into whatever their sick whims desire. The incubus possessed my cousin . Three weeks later, he threw himself from a cliff.
Fiona moaned, her body trembling. “As for the succubus…”
Fiona gasped. So did Terry as small black horns burst through Fiona’s forehead. Her skin took on a rosy tone
Fiona’s voice rasped, “As for the succubus, she possessed me!!” Fiona screamed as her fingernails grew into black claws and her teeth into lethal-looking fangs.
Panicking, Terry tried to bolt up and flee, but the demonic barmaid held him fast as her transformation continued. Leathery batlike wings extended from her back and her feet became black cloven hoofs.
“We’re not done yet, Terry. You’ll find this very very pleasurable, I assure you, but there will be a price to pay…”
Fiona drew a dark red, clawed finger down Terry’s cheek. “Now what shall I do with you, Terry Cramer?”