CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The team arrived at Castle O’Shan just as the skies opened up once again. A steady, soft rain bathed the grounds, the hills and cliffs seemingly greener with the moisture.
“Maybe this is a sign,” frowned Julia holding tightly to Joseph’s hand. He smiled at his wife, leaning over and kissing her.
“If it were a sign, we’d never get anything done in Ireland,” smirked Sean. “He’ll be fine, lass. We’ll make certain of it.”
She watched as all the men moved toward the castle. They stopped at the main bailey gate, lined up like giants in the land of leprechauns. One by one, they entered the Bailey and then, took off like shots.
“What are they doing?” asked Rose.
“I’m guessing creating a distraction for Joseph,” whispered Julia. Through the binoculars she could Joseph walking steadily toward the tower stairs. Once through the doorway, she could no longer see him.
“Wait,” said Rose. “Where did they go? I don’t see any of them.”
“Oh my gosh! Of course!” laughed Julia. “A ghostly trick for a ghost. They’re using our stealth technology. They’re all there.”
Julia held up the tablet, pressing the buttons to see her family behind the stealth suits. Rose stared at the device and gasped.
“It’s magic,” she whispered.
“It is magic of a sort,” said Julia. “It’s actually incredible technology. It’s very smart. I don’t know if it will fool a ghost but it was definitely worth trying.”
Joseph walked steadily up the stairs, the stealth suit covering his long, lean frame. He was, after all, fifty-percent Caucasian. He wasn’t sure if that was too much or too little for the ghost’s liking but he was going to attempt to be safe no matter what.
As he hit the last landing, he glanced around the stone pillar and saw the tower room. Just as Sherilyn had said, there were goblets of gold and silver, bowls of the same. There were even mouse-eaten furs and blankets.
He took one more step, now standing at the doorway to the tower room. For one split second, the face of John O’Shan was visible to him. Gaunt and gray, his hollow eyes were filled with sorrow and pain.
Joseph wasn’t certain why he did it but he removed the suit and stood before the ghostly figure.
“You don’t have to kill any longer,” he said softly. “There is no one that can help you now. Your death is done.”
“How do you see me? Are you a sorcerer? Are you a witch?” asked the ghost.
“I see many things,” said Joseph. “You must stop the killing.”
“Or what, Indian,” he said with disdain.
“You know my kind?” asked Joseph.
“Others have come here before you. I can see those that are of no use to me. I need one rare human. One who can give me all their blood so that I can survive.”
“Who told you this? The Russian priest?” John’s low ghostly growl made Joseph take a half-step back and then he stilled. “It was him. He did not know what he was talking about.”
“And you do?”
“I might be able to give you peace,” said Joseph. “Although you surely do not deserve it. You were cruel and evil long before your illness.”
“That is not true!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the tower room. “I was a good master before…”
“Before? Before you knew you were dying?”
“Leave me, Indian. Leave me now or I will harm your friends downstairs.”
“Let me help you.”
“How? How can you possibly help a dead man? If I am truly dead and beyond returning to life, how could you possibly help me?”
“I need but one tiny bone. A finger or toe will do. We can test it and find what it was you died from.”
“I died from not having the blood I needed!” he bellowed. He stood with great effort and then stilled. “No! You brought many. No!”
His image disappeared but his bones remained as they were on the giant chair.
Joseph reached over, snapping off a finger and tucked it beneath his stealth suit.
He raced down the steps of the tower and saw his team racing to and from different locations, creating a disturbance that John O’Shan could not see or find.
He signed that he had what they needed and headed to the gates of the outer bailey. When the last man was through and safely on the other side, they removed their cloaks and then heard a sound they wished they had never heard.
The howl of pain and defeat released by John O’Shan made them all cover their ears, Liffey actually kneeling on one knee, crouched low to the ground. The women heard it as well.
Standing near the car, Rose and Julia covered their ears and winced in pain.
“It’s like a banshee cry,” said Rose. “It’s horrible. Filled with pain.”
When the cry stopped, the men returned to the cars, gasping for breath, exhausted from the event.
“He was everywhere,” said Rory. “I could feel him everywhere.”
“And yet he was standing before me, talking as if we were old friends,” said Joseph. “I exposed myself and spoke to him. He claims he was a good master before he knew he was dying. He reacted violently when I mentioned the Russian priest.”
“Interesting,” frowned Rose. “I’d say we need to find out who that priest was.”
“Did you get what we needed?” asked Julia staring at Joseph, the sweat on his brow dripping down his fast in spite of the cool wind and rain. He held up the finger bone and nodded.
“Now we get this back home. Once we know what he had maybe we can help him to move on.”