Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Franco: Devon’s mad at me.
Colum: It wasn’t your fault.
Franco: This is why you’re my best friend. You’re always on my side.
Colum: But if you had done something… What was it you’d have been doing?
Franco: I brought home a box of really gross books and now there’s mites in our couch.
Colum: …
Colum: I’m thinking actually it is your fault.
Franco: Traitor.
“ W here are you staying?” Xavier asked Annie as they descended the stairs, the three of them standing in the empty main-floor office.
Colum never spent any time on this floor, the office merely there to give the archive a bland, boring appearance should any maritime aficionados show up, expecting to find old records. Because the plaque out front announced visitors must have an appointment, he didn’t have to deal with too many knocks on the door.
“The Davenport Hotel,” she responded.
“Oh, that’s just a wee bit down the road,” Colum said. “Behind Oscar Wilde’s house.” He pointed to the far corner of Merrion Square.
Annie smiled at Colum, and that shiver of…excitement he’d felt upon first seeing her was back again. Christ, but she had a pretty smile. And she wasn’t stingy with them, didn’t bother trying to hide her happiness or her sense of humor.
“How about you?” Annie asked Xavier.
“I’m staying with a friend from university who lives in the Liberties.”
Colum’s brows rose at the location, but Xavier was looking down at his phone.
“He’s on his way to pick me up.”
Colum let his eyes wander over the Frenchman, trying to understand what it was about the man that had his stomach clenching. Not in fear or nervousness but from something…
Well, something Colum didn’t know how to name. All he knew was he’d surely never felt it before.
When Annie and Xavier first arrived, Colum had been uneasy. Visitors to the archive were rare, and even then, it was usually just Eric, who’d begun coming by more frequently following Josephine’s death.
Colum understood the reasons behind Eric’s increased visits, though they weren’t something either of them had ever discussed aloud. How could they? Josephine had been the chatterbox, the one who always managed to guide them through conversations where emotions came into play.
Without her, the hard talks about Colum desperately trying to drown his sorrows in whiskey right after her death and the guilt Eric felt in regards to Josephine’s murder had never happened. Instead, during those visits, they discussed Masters’ Admiralty business, and lately, Eric had begun to talk about his tumultuous relationship with Nikolett, though what he expected Colum to offer in terms of relationship advice was beyond him.
The second the Hungary admiral’s name popped into Colum’s head, he shut it away, unable to let his thoughts linger on it. At some point, he would need to wrap his head around the idea that he was now in a trinity with her, but for the past ten days, ever since the Trinity Council meeting, he’d elected to bury his head in the sand.
Franco had insisted that Colum spend a few days with him and his spouses at their hotel immediately after the meeting, and it had been nice to be surrounded by the chatter and chaos of Franco’s trinity, though he hadn’t seen much of Juliette. And while he was there, they didn’t talk about what Colum had given up to make the Trinity Archive happen.
By the time Franco and his people left, Colum had successfully compartmentalized what had happened, meaning, he didn’t have to think about his marriage to the woman he suspected was the love of Eric’s life.
Given the fact Eric hadn’t contacted him since, Colum was sure the fleet admiral was most likely giving him time to resign himself to the idea of a marriage and his trinity, something Colum had never expected to have.
He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he’d been able to ask Eric what the hell he’d been thinking of, partnering him with Nikolett of all people. Sure, Nikolett was the only single admiral, but given Eric’s feelings for her…
Colum had sought his brother out, but Eric and Nikolett had both disappeared right after the meeting.
Colum’s entire reason for agreeing to join the Masters’ Admiralty was because Eric had offered him a role that would take the trinity marriage off the table.
He didn’t necessarily like being alone, but he enjoyed solitude. Relationships—friendships or romantic—were hard to start and took a shocking amount of work to maintain. It was why his friendship with Franco was such a gift—the brilliant, easygoing, extroverted man hadn’t been put off by Colum’s quiet. He had once heard Devon, Franco’s husband, tease him, saying, “I know you’re an extrovert, but you can’t just start adopting every introvert you meet.”
Colum wasn’t upset by that description—being the introvert who only had relationships when an extrovert adopted him. Josephine had been an extrovert. She’d never met a stranger and could talk for Ireland.
Unless he really thought about what he was doing or saying, Colum knew he came off as rude. Usually about ten minutes into a conversation, he’d be daydreaming about finding somewhere quiet to sit and read. How in the hell was he supposed to survive in a lifelong relationship with two strangers? He’d thought being the archivist would save him from that, but he was wrong.
He closed his eyes briefly and burrowed his head deeper in the sand.
“You’ll walk her to her hotel?” Xavier asked Colum.
Annie looked ready to refuse the offer, but Colum jumped in before she could, surprising himself when he realized he wanted to spend a few more minutes with her.
“Aye.” Then Colum started to worry that was a weird thing to say, or Annie would think he’d said it because he thought she’d get lost. “It’s a nice day and I fancy a walk.”
Wait, now did it sound like he would only walk with her because he wanted to walk anyway? Feck, he hated trying to figure out stuff like this.
Luckily, Annie grinned. “I’d love the company.”
Colum grabbed his old tweed gilet and pulled it on over his jumper. Josephine had given him the body warmer for Christmas close to ten years ago. She’d offered to replace it with a new one countless times, but Colum couldn’t see throwing money away on something new when the old one was still good. It was more than a bit worn nowadays, but his reason for keeping it was different, not due to financial issues but sentimental ones. How could he throw out a gift from Josephine?
The three of them walked out into the crisp air after making plans to meet at the archive again tomorrow morning.
Ordinarily, Colum preferred to work alone or with Franco, who—like him—could sit for hours on end, reading or researching without coming up for air. Colum had expected having others in his workspace to rub against the grain, but he hadn’t minded Xavier and Annie’s presence. The conversation had been intense, and he was more than ready for a bit of quiet, but he wasn’t dreading going to New York with them, which surprised him.
It was apparent the Trinity Council had chosen his partners in this search well, Annie and Xavier both able to bring their own unique perspectives to the table.
He heard the short honk of a horn as he locked up the archive, turning to see a ?koda Octavia pull up to the curb, the man behind the steering wheel offering a wave.
Xavier shot them both a dark, lingering look as he walked down the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
How did he manage to make that sound both sexy and like a threat? Colum had no idea. And what did that look mean?
“Alone at last,” Annie joked, reaching over to slip her arm through his.
Colum froze at the contact, then frowned. “You don’t like Xavier?”
Annie laughed. “He’s fine. Just a little joke.”
“Oh.” Colum tucked his elbow closer to his torso, pulling her more tightly to him, liking the feel of her hand on his arm more than he would have expected as they walked along the black iron fence that bounded Merrion Square.
“Is there any chance I can entice you into having a pint and maybe something to eat? I had breakfast on the flight, but you know how airplane food is,” she said, crinkling her nose.
Colum readily accepted the invitation, well aware there was nothing in his apartment except three-day-old Dublin coddle he’d been eating for lunches and dinners. He’d learned long ago that while he was a passable cook, he rarely made time to do it. So he had started making a big casserole or stew and eating it for every meal until it was gone, at which point, he’d make the next one.
They paused for a moment to look at Wilde’s monument, which had a place of honor on one corner of the square, then at the Oscar Wilde Museum, which was currently closed. And besides, a previous archivist had gone through and taken all the important things.
He led Annie around the corner, down the short block, and past the entrance to her hotel to a nice little pub.
It didn’t look like much, and she stopped outside, smiling at the gold-painted name. “Is there some law in Ireland that says all pubs need to look the same?” Annie joked.
“The same?”
“That font for a name, an outdoor seating area it’s too cold to use, and a big wooden door. Inside a wooden bar, rickety stools, dark corner booths, dim lighting, and an endless supply of Guinness.”
This time, Colum got the joke. “Oh aye, an old man pub. Miss any of those elements and the punishment is fifty years hard labor.”
Annie laughed, and he held the door open for her. This particular pub had all the elements she’d mentioned, but the wall behind the bar was glass and mirrors, which allowed light from the shop front window to reflect into the low-ceilinged space, and the dark wood furniture, bar, and trim was offset with cream-colored walls. It was a modern, updated version of an old man pub, and one of his favorite places to eat.
For a minute, he imagined bringing Annie here during Christmas. This particular pub was famous for its holiday decorations, and he was fairly sure the nearly overwhelming number of twinkle lights, Santas, and of course, gingerbread houses and men would make her smile.
Annie claimed one side of a dark corner booth. Colum would have preferred to get a snug, but they were occupied, so he slid in next to her. For a moment, he tried to recall the last time he’d been out with a woman. It had been long before Josephine’s death.
Colum sighed softly, as he considered the chasm that sliced through his memories, his life divided into two parts—before and after Josephine.
The bartender walked over. “What’ll ye be having?”
“I’d like a pint of Guinness,” Annie said, before looking at Colum. “When in Rome…”
He smiled and asked for a Guinness shandy. He didn’t drink much anymore, not since he’d woken up on the bathroom floor one night with a nasty lump on his forehead and a black eye from passing out in a drunken stupor. The two-day pounding headache had been a wake-up call, as had the banged-up sight of his face. When he’d taken a hard look at himself in the mirror, he’d been overwhelmed with shame, imagining Josephine’s reaction if she’d seen him looking like he’d been on the wrong end of a bar brawl. No doubt she would have called him a gobshite or an eejit and clicked her tongue in disapproval, same as Ma always used to do when they were being little shites.
The bartender left them to study the menu while he went to get their beer.
“What would you suggest for someone who is starving?” Annie asked, tipping her head toward the menu written on the chalkboard.
Colum silently kicked himself for failing to offer her and Xavier something to eat back at the archive. Not that he’d had much in his cupboards besides some stale biscuits. “Can’t go wrong with fish and chips.”
“That good, huh?”
He nodded. “It’s my favorite.”
“Then that’s what I’ll have.”
The two of them placed their orders when the bartender delivered their pints. When Annie lifted her glass, he did the same.
“ Slainte ,” he said, and she repeated it, attempting to mimic his Irish accent.
“So, how exactly does one become the archivist of a secret society?” she asked in an exaggerated whisper.
“Nepotism.” The word slipped out without thought, and the second he saw her confused face, he wished he’d held his tongue.
“Seriously?”
He shook his head. “No, well, maybe. The fleet admiral started renting a small cottage on the corner of my family’s dairy farm in Galway when I was fifteen. I, uh…” Colum ran his hand through his hair. “I broke into his house.”
“You broke into the fleet admiral’s cottage?” Annie asked, eyes wide, clearly delighted by his story.
“Well, he wasn’t the fleet admiral at the time. Just Eric.”
“Why did you break into his house?”
Colum stumbled a bit, uncertain which side of this tale to tell her, the real version or the lie Josephine created at the time to keep Eric from learning about his social anxiety.
The truth was he’d broken in to learn everything he could about Eric so that he would know how to behave around him. Social interactions weren’t his strong point. Josephine understood his struggles, and because she was her, she’d insisted on breaking in with him. Thank God she had because when Eric caught them, Colum had frozen, unable to speak.
“Colum,” Annie prompted.
Dear God, he was woolgathering again. He cleared his throat. “Eric is this huge, powerful, intense Viking, and I was fascinated by him. You have to understand, I grew up in an extremely rural area. The only men I’d ever known were farmers, like my da, so when Eric showed up, I…”
“You what?”
Colum swallowed heavily, then pushed the truth down, falling back on the lie. “I planned to borrow one of his books. My family, we were poor, so the only books available to us were from the library and that collection was lacking. I’d never known anyone to own as many books as Eric. He had shelves full of them.”
Annie shook her head in an amused manner. “Only fifteen and already drawn to books, huh?”
Colum nodded earnestly. “I’ve loved books since the first moment I learned to read.”
“Did he let you borrow it?” she asked.
The bartender returned with their food, leaving a bottle of malt vinegar on the table.
Colum was grateful for the interruption because it gave him time to swallow down the growing lump in his throat.
He was leaving out a huge part of this memory. He hadn’t broken into Eric’s house alone, and it hadn’t been him who’d tried to cover for their presence there by lying about borrowing the books. In truth, he’d said nothing at all, Josephine his voice. She’d always been his voice.
She should be a part of this story, but talking about her…
While Colum had pulled his head out of the bottle, he still couldn’t speak of his beloved sister. Not to Eric, not to Franco, not to anyone.
If he said her name aloud, to Annie, who was looking at him with such kindness, he’d fall apart.
Sitting next to her felt too good. No one had smiled at him like she was in a very long time.
He knew he made a terrible first, second, and eightieth impression, but apparently, he hadn’t stuffed it with Annie. She’d invited him to eat with her and she seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him. He couldn’t recall anyone—with the exception of Eric and Franco—ever looking past his awkwardness and finding something worth sticking around for.
Colum watched as she dug into her chips with vigor, sprinkling them liberally with vinegar. After eating each one, she briefly closed her eyes in bliss, her plump, pink lips tipped up in pleasure. What would he give to kiss those lips, to taste the salt and vinegar there? Would they be as soft as they looked?
Annie was a classic beauty with delicate features that she knew how to accentuate with just the lightest touch of makeup. Her cerulean-blue eyes were framed with long, dark lashes, her cheekbones high and tinged with the lightest hue of pink. Her hair was smooth, almost silky, resembling that of smoky brown quartz.
Looking at her, he felt a stirring, a pull, as desires he’d locked away for too long suddenly began rising to the surface.
It wasn’t until she glanced up at him with a soft, knowing smile that he realized he’d been staring. He hastily averted his eyes, his face hot with embarrassment at being caught ogling her.
“Er,” he started, trying to recall what they’d been talking about, but he came up blank.
“The book,” Annie reminded him.
“Oh, yeah. Eric let me borrow the book,” Colum said, continuing his story as they ate. “He gave me a week to read it. Said if I returned able to discuss it intelligently, he wouldn’t tell my da about breaking into his house.”
“I assume your father wouldn’t have been happy with you.”
“Da was a firm believer that any bad behavior meant you needed more farm chores. And Ma had a wooden spoon.”
Annie winced sympathetically. “So did you go back to Eric’s?”
“Two days later,” Colum confessed.
Annie laughed with delight. “Well, I don’t have to ask if you were able to discuss it intelligently because I have no doubt you nailed it.”
Colum grinned, pleased by her compliment. “After that, Eric let me borrow any book I wanted, always with the same caveat. I can’t begin to count how many books we’ve discussed over the years.”
“It sounds like you’re close to your fleet admiral,” she mused.
“He’s like a brother to me,” Colum admitted. “Without him, I never would have been able to go to university, never would have joined the Masters’ Admiralty. Without him, I’d still be on that sheep farm in Galway. And I would have hated every minute of it.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Annie said, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table. “How a chance meeting can change our course. How one person can make such a huge impact on our lives.”
It sounded as if Annie spoke from experience, and he was about to ask her about it. Until he heard the first chord of a song. The trad music the pub was playing had been unnoticed background noise until now.
The lump he’d managed to push down returned, clogging his throat completely, until he couldn’t breathe.
Mercifully, Annie didn’t seem to need a response to her comment, or she was distracted by the food and beer because she took another bite of her fish, washing it down with the Guinness.
Colum clenched his hands together beneath the table. Why the fuck wasn’t the unbearable thudding of his heart loud enough to drown out that damn song?
All along the banks of the Royal Canal , the Dubliners sang.
Colum shook his head, his vision going gray. He was no stranger to panic attacks, having suffered with them since he was a kid. Back then, Josephine would help him get through, rubbing ice on his temples and wrists, talking to him in that soft, lilting voice.
All along the banks of the Royal Canal.
He was vaguely aware of Annie speaking to him, but her words were garbled. Colum bowed his head, his dry, tearless eyes blinking rapid-fire as he sought to regain control, despite it being pointless. He knew what came next, knew he was too far gone. Too far down the rabbit hole.
All along the banks of the Royal Canal.
He rose, roughly bumping into the table in his haste to escape the booth, the silverware and glasses clinking loudly. Reaching into his wallet, he withdrew several Euros, tossing them down. He needed to say something, anything that might make him look less crazy. “Forgot to do something. Have to go.” Unwilling to see Annie’s reaction to his abrupt, rude escape, he turned away, rushing toward the exit. He almost made it when that fucking line came again.
All along the banks of the Royal Canal.
Once he was on the sidewalk, he quickly walked back to the archive, praying Annie didn’t follow him. He needed to get off the street, away from people, away from scrutiny, away from…
Just away.
Entering the archive, he slammed the door behind him, locking it. In his haste to get somewhere alone, he hadn’t considered his direction. If he’d been smart, he would have taken the stairs down to his flat below the archive, where he could crawl under the covers of his bed. Instead of backtracking, he forged forward, climbing the steps to his workspace, not stopping until he reached the desk.
Colum sank down on the chair, gasping harshly, trying to get air into his lungs. Bowing his head in his hands, he rubbed his forehead as if he could somehow erase those words, the cursed, fucking words of that song.
All along the banks of the Royal Canal.
It didn’t work, and all the things he fought to forget came back to him in a rush.
Josephine going out to pick up dinner for them.
Josephine teasing him, telling him he was going to miss her when she was gone.
The phone call.
That fucking call that never should have connected, the one that allowed him to hear her killer carrying her body along the banks before throwing her into the Royal Canal.
A sob escaped, the first sound he’d managed since escaping the pub. He tried to push the grief down, refusing to lose himself in the pain. For a split second, he considered fetching the bottle of whiskey in the liquor cabinet, the one he kept on hand for whenever Eric stopped by and the two of them shared a wee dram. Or, at least, they used to.
Before Josephine’s death. The chasm. The fucking chasm.
Before. After.
Colum lifted his head, his eyes locking on the framed photo he’d moved from storage to his desk just a few months ago.
After Josephine’s death, he’d taken down every picture of her, packed away all her favorite books and the few pieces of clothing she’d left behind—a couple of sweaters, a T-shirt, an old pair of tennis shoes. He had attempted to wipe out everything that reminded him of her, foolishly thinking it would ease the pain.
It hadn’t worked. In fact, it had made it worse. Not being able to see her smile, to flip through one of her books, recalling her voice as she talked about why she loved this character or how brilliant a scene was, to catch the tiniest whiff of her scent, had compounded the grief. Nothing except the whiskey managed to blot out the agony and even that was short-lived, only lasting until the buzz wore off.
He wasn’t sure what had driven him to pull the photograph out of storage. All he knew was he’d woken up that morning with an overwhelming desire to see her face again. So he’d dragged the box out from the back of his closet and pulled out the picture, placing it on his desk, the place where he spent the most time. And instead of being dragged back down into his grief, seeing her smiling face filled him with the strength he needed to plod through another lonely day.
Colum picked up the picture, clutching it to his chest, drifting over to the couch. Sinking down, he sat for several minutes, simply staring at Josephine’s beautiful, sweet face. God, but she looked like their nan.
Suddenly tired, he twisted, lying down, the framed photo resting on his chest, just over his heart, his arms wrapped around it as if he were hugging her.
“Josephine,” he whispered in the quiet room. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spoken her name aloud.
Closing his eyes, he imagined her wandering around the room, touching everything as was her habit, moaning about being bored. There were a million things his brilliant sister had been good at, but stillness hadn’t made the list. It had been physically impossible for her to talk without waving her hands, sit without that damn knee of hers constantly bouncing. The only time she managed to settle down was with a book and even then, she had a bad habit of stopping to discuss what she was reading, despite the fact he was reading his own book and she was annoying the hell out of him.
“Josephine,” he whispered again. “I miss you.”
That confession brought a sense of peace and within moments, he fell asleep.
Colum blinked several times in the dark room, trying to get his bearings. Rising, he had to act fast to catch Josephine’s picture. He’d fallen asleep with it on his chest. Remaining on the couch, he didn’t bother to turn on a light. There was enough light from the streetlamp outside the window and the moon to allow him to see, and he preferred the darkness.
He considered tromping up to the kitchenette to make a cup of tea, but even that short journey would take more energy than he had.
This afternoon’s panic attack had left him feeling completely drained. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Annie tomorrow morning after acting like a complete gobshite at the pub. No doubt she was sitting in her hotel room, wondering what the hell her Grand Master had dragged her into. If he was lucky, her sweet disposition would allow them to continue as if he hadn’t made a gigantic arse of himself.
He rubbed his temples, a headache pounding behind his eyes, and he considered heading downstairs to his flat. There was no staircase connecting the main building to his basement flat, which meant he had to go outside to enter it.
Colum dismissed the idea immediately. His flat was little more than a place to sleep and eat, while the majority of his life was lived up here, surrounded by artifacts, books, maps, all the tangible, lifeless things that brought him comfort and allowed him to hide away from the outside world.
Leaning back on the couch, he sighed heavily. He would pay for this afternoon’s long nap. Sleep was elusive most nights, so it was unlikely he’d manage to fall back to sleep tonight. Better he stay up here where he could put the wee hours to good use, working.
He considered taking another look at the portrait of Oscar or rereading the manuscript, wanting to be prepared for any questions Xavier and Annie might have tomorrow, now that they’d had some time to mull over everything he’d told them. He’d sent Xavier a digital copy of the manuscript to read, unwilling to let the original out of his sight.
Colum glanced toward both items, still on the large worktable where he’d left them this afternoon. He didn’t rise.
This listlessness had settled over him ten days ago, right after the Trinity Council meeting, making him absent-minded, leaving him distracted. Burying his head in the sand wasn’t working. Pretending his trinity marriage wasn’t right there was a mistake.
He needed to make peace with it.
But how?
He’d expected Eric to call him after the meeting, so these ten days of radio silence had him at a loss. Nikolett hadn’t wanted the union, and God knew she was a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps she’d convinced Eric to change his mind. Of course, even if that was true, it would only change her circumstance, not his.
Hande had insisted he be married to someone in a leadership position, and Nikolett was the only unmarried admiral. There was no getting out of it. Initially, he’d wanted to push back, to remind them—Eric—that the archivist wasn’t under his command, wasn’t required to marry.
But two things had stopped him.
The first was the archive that he’d dedicated most of his adult life to. He and Franco were right to combine the knowledge. It was not only a good idea but a necessary one. Failing to share information left both their societies vulnerable, and that was something Colum couldn’t allow to happen.
And while he felt strongly about that, the second reason he agreed had been the more compelling one.
Because, even as blindsided as he’d been, his brain had kicked into high gear, thinking that there was no reason he had to be truly married. His union could be on paper only, and Eric had unwittingly ensured that would be true.
As admiral, Nikolett would need to continue living in Hungary. He would have to remain in Dublin to run the archive. He didn’t know what Sarah would do. Stay in her own territory or move to Hungary to serve as a knight there? Sarah was also an active member of the Masters Protection Force, so there were many times when she was called away on missions.
Eric had created a trinity that couldn’t survive unless it was a sham, because he’d bound three people who were tightly tied to their own territories and roles.
So, the three of them would live their lives as normal.
Nothing would have to change.
He wouldn’t have to change.
He could have the archive and his privacy, and his life could go on as usual.
Solitary, quiet…lonely.
Josephine would have hated it.