Celtic Dragons Read online

  “Maybe a few,” Ronan said, holding the door to the conference room open as he answered Kean. “But that side of things has been quieter lately.”

  “That never bodes well,” Kean pointed out, growing serious for a moment. Then Moira elbowed him again as she passed by him into the conference room, and his momentarily somber mindset disappeared as he chased her to her seat, almost tripping over Eamon and Siobhan in the process.

  Ronan sighed, rolling his eyes as he sat down at the head of the conference table. “Clearly we need to go flying out over the lake again soon,” he said to the room as a whole. “Several of you need to expend some energy.”

  Chapter Two

  Dhara

  Boston, Massachusetts was new territory for Dhara Swamy. The frigid weather and snow was a far cry from her childhood in New Delhi and her years of education and early career that she had spent in California. Two months ago, Dhara had moved into her oldBoston home, which she had placed a down payment on with money given to her by the new research firm she had signed on with, and although the house was much too big for her, she loved the antique feel of the statement staircase, the intricacy of the crown molding, and the stained wood that made up the fireplace and mantle. It was like no other home she had lived in, and the home and her new job as an epidemiologist, combined, made it well worth it to get used to Boston’s cold weather.

  Besides, it was early April, and summer would soon peek out from under its blanket of snow and warm things up. The realtor who had helped her find the home had warned her that Boston had two seasons—winter and construction—but Dhara wasn’t quite sure what that meant. She was confident, however, that construction season would have to be better than winter.

  Everything about moving to Boston seemed right to Dhara, and she was thrilled to finally be working in the field she had studied for so long. There was just one thing that sometimes, literally, kept her up at night. Something was wrong with her house, and she was having a difficult time continuing to tell herself that it was all in her imagination.

  That was why she had invited one of her new colleagues over for a quiet dinner in her old-fashioned kitchen. It was one of the reasons, anyway. Dhara also genuinely liked Bellamina, though the two women couldn’t have been more different. Dhara had been born in India to two full-blooded Indian parents, and she had inherited their swarthy skin, deep, rich, brown eyes, and full, thick hair. Bellamina looked like the little fairy that her name implied. She was petite, slender, sported an adorable blonde pixiecut, and had a perky nose so upturned that it made her look like a doll. Bellamina was hardly the typical image of a female scientist, which was something else that Dhara enjoyed about her. She felt a connection with the woman, and she trusted her judgment.

  “What a gorgeous home,” Bellamina said, as Dhara led her through the bottom floor, beginning in the foyer with vaulted ceilings and into the living room, which Dhara had decorated to maintain that antique, traditional feel that the house called for. The settee, with its undulating back and romantic, ivory cushions set the tone for the room, and the oriental rug that wove together creams, reds, and browns set the color palette that the draping curtains, candles, and art played into. Dhara felt at home in the room—at least she had until recently. After the past few weeks, what she mostly felt in the home was fear and self-doubt.

  “Thank you,” Dhara said, bringing Bellamina into the dining room, where a large cherrywood table sat surrounded by six chairs. “I’ve really enjoyed getting it all set up. This table isn’t new. I found it for sale online, if you can believe it. It was a sad story actually. A family’s matriarch had died and to pay off her debts, they were selling furniture that she’d been collecting for years.”

  Bellamina shook her head. “That’s terrible. Dying is so expensive now. It’s like the hospitals and funeral homes try to take as much money as possible, and I think it’s just terrible when an institution capitalizes on death that way.”

  “It is,” Dhara agreed. “But these were actually …gambling debts.”

  “Oh!” Bellamina’s mouth dropped open, and she laughed. “Well, at least she was enjoying herself?”

  Chuckling in bemusement, Dhara walked Bellamina into the open-plan kitchen with a stately island sitting in the middle, adorned with a bowl of fruit and flowers that reminded Dhara of spring. She walked over to the oven, pulling the door open and checking on her roasting vegetables. To the casual observer, she simply looked like a woman checking on dinner, which was a perfectly natural activity. In actuality, she was taking a moment to listen to the stillness of her house, her ears perked for any whisper of sound. She desperately wanted something—anything—to happen while Bellamina was there. Although she didn’t want her friend to be scared, Dhara was craving confirmation that she wasn’t going out of her mind. That these things were really happening.

  “It smells delicious in here,” Bellamina said, taking a seat at one of the stools that Dhara had placed by the countertop. “I’m envious of all of this. I’ve never gotten out of my first little apartment that I bought when I moved here a few years ago. It’s not that I can’t, obviously. I’ve just never been inspired to. I live all alone, and I’m hardly ever home—you know how that goes.”

  Dhara nodded, stirring the vegetables about on the pan and replacing them to cook for a few more minutes. She definitely knew what it was like to be on her own, considering she almost always had been. Not that she felt all that …alone these days. “I know. Since I have this lovely house, I do try to spend time here whenever I can. Luckily, as you know, I can work from home if I’m just doing data-set work.”

  “Well,” Bellamina said, waving a hand, “you’re also our resident PhD and program leader, so you can do anything you want, really.”

  Briefly, Dhara wondered if there was a hint of resentment in Bellamina’s words, but she dismissed the possibility, trusting that the woman was as open and frank as she had always appeared to be. “Not anything I want,” Dhara reminded her. “I have bosses to answer to as well, and they will certainly want answers from our research, given how much heat Boston has taken for its pollution issues. Studying how the population is adversely affected by exposure to Boston-levels of pollution is going to have a big impact on the city, moving forward.”

  “There’s a lot of pressure for us to come to certain conclusions,” Bellamina said, taking the drink that Dhara handed her—her own version of a Long Island Iced Tea.

  “We’re not going to cave to that kind of pressure,” Dhara assured her. She kept her response brief, not because she was unwilling to discuss the political implications of the work that she and Bellamina did together, but because she could hardly think about anything other than what might happen in the house with Bellamina here. It had been fifteen minutes since Bellamina had walked in, and nothing was happening. It was making Dhara question herself already, even though hardly any time had passed. It seemed like when she was alone, there was no end to the strange tricks that her house played on her, but suddenly the old structure was still and silent—could it all be in her head?

  “Are you okay?” Bellamina asked, sipping on her drink, as Dhara made one of her own. “You seem a little …thoughtful.”

  Dhara walked over to the crockpot, where the roast and potatoes were simmering away in a marinade thick with Guinness, a particular favorite of hers since she had celebrated earning her PhD with a tour of the Republic of Ireland. “I’m all right,” she told Bellamina, deciding that the roast was done and turning the crockpot off before grabbing a serving plate onto which she would put the meat. “I do have a lot on my mind, but I’m not sure what to think about any of it.”

  “That sounds intriguing.”

  Dhara glanced over at her friend, as she began to pull apart the meat that was so tender, it started to fall apart on its own. “It’s not intriguing so much as …embarrassing.”

  “Okay, now I’m even more intrigued.”

  “It might make you think less of me as a scientist,” Dha
ra warned her. She had come this far, trying to bring someone else into what she was experiencing. She might as well go all the way. “I was hoping that while we toured the house and talked, you would see it for yourself, but all is quiet on the Western front, apparently.”

  “See what for myself?” Bellamina asked, setting her drink down and leaning forward, her eyes alight with interest. “You’re being so mysterious.”

  As though answering for her, the kitchen lights suddenly flashed so brightly that they were almost blinding. Then they flashed off and on rapidly, then went completely dark with just the sound of a loud, hissing zap. As Dhara held her breath, her hands frozen on the counter in front of her, there was total silence. Then Bellamina let out her tinkling laugh.

  “Oh my God, you really got me. How did you set that up? I was all intent and eager, and I swear I jumped when the lights went out.”

  Dhara didn’t respond, her heart pounding in her chest. She’d had nothing to do with the lights. She never had anything to do with it when the water turned ice cold in the shower, when doors that were closed and locked and then suddenly swung open, or when unseen presences seemed to slide behind her in the bathroom when she was getting ready. She had nothing to do with the fact that she kept waking up at night, feeling pressure sitting on her chest. It wasn’t herwho kept rearranging the furniture in her bedroom or leaving what looked like drops of blood down the hallway.

  Her scientific mind rejected all of it, and yet she couldn’t deny what kept happening to her. And now something had happened, and Bellamina had felt it too. It wasn’t in Dhara’s head. It was really happening all around her. It was both a relief and an added terror to have the confirmation she had longed for.

  “I didn’t turn the lights off,” Dhara finally said, still standing where she had been, the roast in front of her on the counter. Her voice cracked. “I swear.”

  Bellamina was quiet, her uneasiness suddenly thick in the room. “Maybe …there was a short in the fuse?”

  “I’ve had all the electricity checked,” Dhara responded, staring into the darkness, every nerve on edge as she waited for a breath to whisper over her neck or a cold finger to move along her spine. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  But the lights came back on, flooding the room again, and Dhara turned around, looking directly at Bellamina, her own eyes wide and afraid as she waited for her friend’s response.

  “What’s going on here?” Bellamina asked, clearly picking up on Dhara’s utter terror.

  “I don’t know,” Dhara whispered. “But it happens all the time. Every day. There’s no explanation. No reason. No way to make sense of any of it. I feel like I’m going out of my mind. Except you saw it too. I know you did.”

  Bellamina stood up quickly, backing away from the stool. “I should go …”

  “No!” Dhara walked over to her, grabbing her hands. “Please—stay. I don’t know what to do here.”

  Pulling her hands away gently, Bellamina gave a regretful shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Dhara. I don’t believe in this sort of stuff—what you’re implying. Listen, all I can tell you is to look up Connolly Security.” She took another step back. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Okay?”

  Unable to stop her and not willing to beg, Dhara nodded briefly. “Yes. Thanks.”

  Then Bellamina was out of the kitchen so quickly that she might have been a ghost herself. And Dhara was left alone in her big old house—alone with whatever spirit was occupying it with her.

  Chapter Three

  Kean

  “Here, Mom,” Kean said, guiding the aged woman by his side into a chair in the front suite of Connolly Security. “Have a seat. I just need to grab some stuff from my office, and then we’ll head out to lunch, okay?”

  Colleen O’Shea nodded, settling into her chair, her bones creaking a bit. “Yes, yes. I’m here. No rush.”

  Kean waited until she was fully settled, then hurried back to his office to grab the laptop he had left there the day before. It was Tuesday, and he always took his mother out to lunch on Tuesdays, then, whenever he could, worked out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. If the weather was nice—which it wasn’t, despite the fact that it was early April—then he might go walking down by the pier with his mother after lunch and let her sit on one of the benches while he worked at a picnic table nearby. Today, they would probably head to the library, which was their cold-weather hangout of choice, and Colleen would devour at least one entire book over the course of the afternoon, as he worked.

  It was an important tradition to Kean. In his heritage, there was a strong emphasis on family. All the Dragon Clan had grown up knowing that the only people whom they could truly trust were each other. Ever since the day in 1623, when a witch under the control of the British Empire had placed a curse on a rebellious Irish village, cursing its people to wander as feared, isolated dragons for the rest of their lives, the Dragon Clan had formed a tight-knit group that didn’t easily accept outsiders. They protected anyone in need, but to have relationships with people outside of their clan was rare and dangerous. Now that there were so few dragons left, it was getting harder and harder for the older generations to have any kind of connection with the world. It was Kean’s responsibility to make sure that his mother didn’t get too lonely, living in the house where his father had died six years ago. One of the drawbacks of being part of the Dragon Clan was having a shorter lifespan, which meant that Colleen was one of very few left of her generation. She needed Kean to keep her active and healthy, or she would start to slip away too.

  In his office, Kean gathered up his laptop and other things that he would need to work away from the office for the afternoon, then headed back out to the main suite, juggling an armful of items that he would shove into the bag he had left in the car. As he walked out, it took him a moment to notice the woman standing there, talking to his mother, but when he did see her, his reaction was instantaneous.

  She was stunningly exotic, her wide, almond-shaped eyes a deep shade of coffee-brown, her skin both creamy and dusky, and her hair tumbling down her back in a straight fall of black shine. Her features were delicate, her lips full, and her body lush with curves. She was tall, standing there in a knee-length, mustard-yellow skirt, coffee-colored nylons, and shiny, patent-leather brown heels that made her long legs look that much longer. Her blouse was the exact shade of brown as her shoes, and she looked like she knew exactly how to put together an outfit for any occasion. She was one perfect package, and Kean’s mind was immediately filled with images of touching her soft skin, kissing her full lips, and slipping his hands beneath those perfectly-put-together clothes.

  Members of the Dragon Clan might not have relationships with outsiders, but they certainly bedded them any time they could, and Kean’s loins were already stirring just imagining what it might be like to wrap himself around this woman in a soft, plush bed.

  “Hello. Do you work here?”

  She was talking to him, and Kean had to clear his throat, jolting himself out of his inappropriate reverie, and focus on her perfect face. Though she looked foreign, there was no accent in her voice, and she spoke with a clear, pretty tone that only added to her appeal.

  “Yes, I do,” Kean said quickly. “I work here with four other people. I’m not sure where they are right now. I, uh—I’m not actually in the office this afternoon. Did you need help?”

  “I think I do,” she said, seeming hesitant. “I need to speak with someone about something very …discreet.”

  Kean’s heart sank. That meant a husband or a lover, no doubt. She was there, hoping that someone would look into accusations that he was cheating on her or stealing money from somewhere. It was a common request, and they even took such cases at times, though it was not Ronan’s favorite type of case for the agency to be associated with. He screened such cases very carefully, making sure they weren’t dealing with a paranoid wife or a jilted lover.

  “Uh, sure,” Kean said, nodding. “I can get someone
to talk to you. Mom—can you hold on for a second?”

  Colleen waved him off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Do your job. I’m just sitting here.”

  Kean chuckled at his mother’s pragmatic nature and then set his things down in the chair beside her. “Okay, let me see who’s here …” He stopped, intending to address her by name, but realizing that he hadn’t asked for it.

  “Dhara,” she supplied, reading his mind. “I’m Dhara Swamy. And you are?”

  “Kean O’Shea.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, very Irish. I should have known from the eyes.”

  “Very Irish,” he agreed, amused that she had picked up on it but could have no conception of just how very Irish he was. “Let me see if Ronan or Siobhan are here. One minute.”

  He walked back down the hallway, bypassing Eamon and Moira’s doors because he knew they were out on cases already, then knocked on Ronan’s door. There was a long delay—so long that he almost gave up and went to check on Siobhan—but then Ronan pulled the door open, sticking his head out.

  “What?”

  Kean’s eyebrows arched way up toward his headline, as it was clear what Ronan was doing in his office. All five of them had excellent hearing, and it had become a habit to block that out as much as possible, so Kean hadn’t picked up on the sounds coming from Ronan’s office, but now, faced with a clearlyshirtless boss, Kean opened his ears and picked up on the rapidly-beating heart and soft breathing of the woman who was inside.