Stone Song: Book 1 in The Isle of Destiny Series

Copyright © by Tricia O'Malley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without express permission of the author.

“Those who do not believe in magic will never find it.” – Roald Dahl

Chapter 1

“‘And you, Children of Danu, shall go to the land of which shall be called Inisfail, the Isle of Destiny. It is your destiny to populate the earth and bring to it the great wisdom and direction that you have learned under our hands,’” Bianca intoned as Clare rolled her eyes and winked at her roommate, who was giving a mythological tour of Dublin to a group of eager Americans. “Look now, there goes one of the great beauties of the Children of Danu. A living goddess herself.” 

The group turned to stare at Clare as she rushed past them, shaking her head at Bianca. 

“I’m as much of a goddess as you are a delicate rose,” Clare shot back, and the group broke out in laughter. 

“And so the children of Danu came to the Isle of Destiny, which you know today as Ireland, with only the four treasures in their hands to protect them against those who were determined to rule the island in darkness.”

Bianca’s mythology lesson faded behind Clare as she tucked a rioting mass of auburn curls under a wool cap, her mind already focused on her dissertation project. It was her last bit of work to be finished before she could call herself an honest-to-god doctor. 

A person with a geology doctorate is nonetheless a doctor, she reminded herself as she pushed through the glass doors that housed the science wing of Trinity College. 

She’d been lucky to get accepted to the reciprocal geology program at such an esteemed college, and even luckier to have won a full scholarship. Her parents had scratched their heads in confusion – wondering what a farmer’s daughter from small-town Clifden, Ireland would want with a doctorate degree. 

To study stones, no less. 

She could still see her father striding out into the yard, his boots mucked with mud, as he bent over and picked up a rock from the ground and held it up to the light.

“This? This is what you’re wanting to be studying then? Sure and there isn’t all that much to learn about them now, is there?”

Though he’d been confused by her choice, Madden MacBride had quickly been found boasting about his brilliant daughter in Paddy’s, the corner pub he favored. 

Clare still remembered her first moments of panic when her parents had dropped her off in the city, their truck rumbling away from the college, looking conspicuously out of place next to the slick cars that cluttered the busy streets of Dublin. As she’d glanced down at her worn denim pants and faded button-down shirt, she’d imagined that she looked much like the dilapidated truck she’d been dropped off in. 

The better to dig in the dirt, she’d reminded herself and had lifted her chin high as she’d returned to the apartment she’d rented with a girl from a list the college had provided her with. And even though they’d spoken a few times on the telephone over the summer, she’d still felt like her stomach was twisted in knots as she’d waited for her new roomie to arrive. 

It had taken less than thirty seconds, and one glance at the tears streaming down the chubby blonde’s face, before Clare had instantly bonded with Bianca. 

They’d lived together ever since, graduating to a slightly better apartment, slightly better fashion-sense, and the worldly air that comes with finally navigating a city as an adult. 

Bianca, who’d majored in history with a minor in mythology, was currently in a year-long debate with herself over whether or not to pursue her doctorate. In the meantime, she worked full-time in the National Museum of Ireland, and part-time as a tour guide for those who had a yen to learn some of the Celtic myths that wound their way through Ireland’s rich history. 

Though Clare’s scholarship covered her tuition, she still needed some extra cash for certain essentials – like the camera she’d been eyeing for eons, and a full Irish breakfast after her nights out on the town with Bianca. Clare supplemented her income by working one or two nights a week at a pub down the street from their flat, and a few afternoons a week at a local crystal shop. 

Crystals were rocks, after all. Geodes, if she was going to get specific.  

Clare winced as she thought about her second job. She couldn’t really say how she’d ended up walking past the crystal shop one sunny fall day, but the pretty display of glittering stones had drawn her eye. Artfully arranged on varying tiers of lucite towers, interspersed with delicate jewelry and a few books, the window display managed to be both fanciful and tasteful in the same breath. 

Unable to resist, Clare had found herself stepping inside. Her skin had hummed with the energy pulsing from the crystals, and the warm lights and the bright smile of the woman standing behind the counter had made her feel like she was being welcomed home. 

It annoyed Clare that to this day she couldn’t figure out why stones spoke to her. Well, not literally talked to her, but she knew each of their signature energies, could tell what they needed or who they needed to be with, and could even gauge where they’d come from with just a glance. 

Sure, some of that was a result of her education. What was she getting a geology degree for if she couldn’t eye up a stone and estimate its age? But the energy and the power of stones? Well, she’d yet to understand how she could physically feel that. 

Not that she’d brought it up to any of her professors. Getting an education in a scientific field – especially as a woman – didn’t much lend itself to flights of fancy. Instead, she’d proven herself to be a rational, brilliant, and committed scientist. Once a week, Clare taught an undergraduate class that was well attended – though some would say that was because the teacher was hot. 

Clare snorted at the thought as she pushed open the door to the science wing and waved at the girl working the front desk. 

It mattered little what you looked like when you were knee-deep in the bog, pulling out stones to be analyzed. The sooner her students realized that looks weren’t necessarily a benefit in this field of study, the better off they’d be. 

“Hey Seamus,” Clare called to the lab attendant as she entered the small lab dedicated to her field of study. Not that rocks and the formation of the earth weren’t an interesting branch of science – but Clare knew that the biomedical engineers and chemists rated much better labs on the top floor of the science building, not to mention better funding. Sometimes she felt like they’d sequestered her department to the far recesses of the dungeon. 

“Still blustering out?” Seamus called easily, popping a mint in his mouth as he crossed his wiry arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. At six feet tall, he was all arms and elbows, with a crop of dark hair that stuck up all over his head. He made up for his lankiness with an effortlessly cool street style. 

“Misting at best, I’d say. Bianca had a group out, so not all that bad,” Clare said as she pulled her knapsack off and hung it on the back of her chair. 

“Ah, maybe I should go say hi,” Seamus said, a blush tinging his cheeks. “She still dating that Conor?”

Clare glanced up at him. “Nah, she’s given him the boot after him staying out all night with his band a few weeks ago.” 

Seamus straightened, his feet hitting the floor with a thud.

“Maybe I should go say hi. Just, you know, to catch up with her,” Seamus mumbled as he grabbed his coat and hit the door at almost a run. 

Clare chuckled as she put her ear buds in and fired up her computer. 

Her dissertation wasn’t going to write itself.

Chapter 2

“Don’t you have to work at the shop today?”

Clare started as Seamus tugged the ear bud from her ear, the wail of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar sounding from the tiny speaker as it dropped to the table in front of her. 

“Shite, shite, shite, you’re right,” Clare swore. “I got caught up. I need to run.” She made sure to save her work, double-checked saving it on her jump drive, and checked saving it to her cloud account one more time before she jumped up. 

“Come have a pint later,” Clare said, pausing to buss her lips across Seamus’s cheek.

“Are you at O’Flannery’s too, then?”

“No, come by our place. You want to see Bianca, don’t you?”

Clare didn’t wait for his answer as she breezed out the door and headed for the crystal shop. She knew that one of these days she would need to get better at managing her time, but it was so difficult for her to turn her mind off when she was engrossed in a subject. 

Not that Branna minded all that much when she was a few minutes late. Among Branna’s employees, Clare held the highest record for sales, so Branna was content to give Clare some leniency on her hours.

Celtic Crystals was located about a fifteen-minute walk from Trinity College, tucked on a windy cobblestone side street. A few shops surrounded it, but for the most part, the shop was fairly isolated from the street traffic – which is why it was a constant surprise to Clare that the store did a steady stream of business. 

She had to admit, though, there was something entirely welcoming and, well, dare she say almost magickal about the shop. Clare pulled the cap from her hair as she pushed the door open, the small wind chimes affixed to the door letting out a gentle tinkling welcome sound.  

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Clare immediately called as she shook out her curls and tucked her cap in the pocket of her shearling-lined canvas coat. 

Branna smiled at her from where she stood with a customer by a shelf containing some intricate amethyst chunks. At fifty years of age, Branna could easily pass for years younger; few lines marred her smooth skin and her mass of dark curls hung almost to her waist. Silver and gold bangles clamored for space at her wrists, necklaces strung with crystals lined her throat, and pretty peridot earrings winked at her ears. Branna waved Clare on easily and continued her discussion with the customer. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Clare hung her coat and knapsack in the back room and poured herself a cup of tea from the electric kettle that was just beginning to boil in the back room. Without fail, Branna always had water ready for a cup of tea for Clare. 

Clare cupped her hands around a mug with the Celtic Crystals logo etched daintily on its side, and moved toward her nook in the front room. Part of the appeal of Celtic Crystals was that it wasn’t set up like a typical store. Instead, the shop was painted a rich honey color and divided into little conversation nooks and crannies, each area offering a place for someone to sit down, pick up a book, or pass the time with a cup of tea while looking at pretty stones. There were no glass-fronted display cases, no signs that said ‘please do not touch,’ and not even a checkout counter to be found. Instead, a small cabinet next to an armchair in a corner held all the equipment, bags, and boxes that the customers needed. When a customer was ready to check out, Clare would wrap their purchases in pretty purple tissue paper and silver bags bearing the store’s logo, and run their credit cards on a small hand-held device. 

Just because the shop looked whimsical didn’t mean that Branna wasn’t up on all the latest technology. Clare credited their steady sales to the highly engaged customer base that Branna maintained interactions with on Instagram and Facebook. 

Clare settled into her armchair, the worn leather enveloping her, and she felt herself begin to relax an inch at a time as the warm spell of the shop drifted over her. It was hard to be stressed out over her dissertation – or pretty much anything else in life – when she was in this store. It seemed to say, here, lay your problems at the door and just relax for a while. 

Which was one of the reasons she continued to work here. It was so far from her highly regimented schooling that it was almost like going to a yoga class every afternoon. Or so she thought – not like she’d ever taken a yoga class. Clare rolled her eyes at the thought as she began to flip through the inventory folder to make note of what they would need to order soon. 

“I got you a gift,” Branna said, and Clare tilted her head to look up at her smiling boss. 

“A gift? For being late all the time? Well, I’ll just have to be coming in later and later each day then,” Clare teased.

“Because everyone deserves gifts sometimes,” Branna said easily, pulling two small boxes from behind her back. One was beautifully wrapped in silver paper shot through with specks of gold. The other was just a plain white box. 

“Wow, like real gifts. Which one should I open first?” Clare asked. 

“You choose,” Branna said, a smile dancing across her pretty face. 

Deciding to save the best for last, Clare opened the small white box and snorted out a laugh. 

“Eye shadow?”

“Oh yes, they were having a sale on just the loveliest shades. I couldn’t help but get myself one in every color,” Branna gushed. 

Clare smiled up at her. “Sure, with your gray eyes you can pretty much wear any color. But, um, purple? For me?”

“Well, it’s really more of a deep plum, isn’t it? Trust me, just a light touch of this and those emerald green eyes of yours will pop.” 

“Like I need them to pop any more than they do?” Clare asked. It was true, too. Her eyes were the feature people commented on most, and next up was the riot of deep auburn curls on her head. 

“Trust me on this one. Just try it out. It would do you some good to primp once in a while.” 

“Are you saying I’m not stylish enough? I think I’m doing better than I once was,” Clare pointed out. 

“You’re lovely, inside and out. But a woman should use all the tools in her toolbox, if you get what I’m saying.” 

Clare shook her head and laughed at her boss as she began to peel the paper away from the other gift. She paused as she began to feel the thrum of power that radiated from inside. With a curious glance for Branna, she returned to peeling the paper gently off the box. 

They hadn’t spoken much about Clare’s intuition with stones. Branna seemed to recognize it, but gave Clare her space on the subject. It just wasn’t something that she was comfortable talking about – with anyone. 

Clare gasped as she opened the box. 

“Why, Branna, it’s quite lovely, it is at that,” Clare murmured as she pulled the necklace gently from the box. Hung on a smooth silver strand was an intricate Celtic knot, twisted into four loops with an intersecting circle. Clare now understood where the pulse of power came from. Hung suspended in the middle of the knot was a small but fiercely polished sphere of nuummite. 

“The Sorcerer’s Stone,” Clare murmured. 

“I thought the symbol would resonate with you as well,” Branna said, tilting her head at Clare, a knowing look in her gray eyes. 

Clare held the pendant up so that it dangled in front of her face. 

“It’s just a Celtic knot, right? I mean, it has the circle connecting the four corners, so that’s somewhat unusual, but otherwise, it’s pretty traditional, eh?” 

Branna said nothing, just smiled gently and pressed her hand to Clare’s shoulder as she turned to greet the next customer already walking through the door. Clare wasn’t about to admit that the symbol had left her shaken. For what reason? She considered the design of the knot and the pretty stone that swung in its middle. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been around nuummite before. It was a fairly popular – and fairly powerful – stone,  though far be it from her to actually admit to anyone that it emitted its own pulse of energy. It was one thing to talk up the legend of a stone for sales – and entirely another thing to admit that she had a very real and visceral reaction to the stone held in her hand. 

As she stared at the Celtic knot, a low pulse of something, almost as if she wanted to scratch an itch, pressed against the nape of her neck. Annoyed, Clare rubbed her finger over the spot. 

“Clare, could you assist Mrs. Miller with her order? I’ve just got to finish this internet order that I’ve started.” 

No time for fanciful daydreams, Clare thought, but she slipped the necklace over her head anyway, as it was a gift from Branna. The charm settled between her breasts, the metal cool against her skin, its touch both intimate and unsettling. 

And Clare swore she could feel the heat of the stone, dead center in the necklace, pulsing gently near her heart.

Chapter 3

The weather conditions hadn’t improved by the time Clare finished closing the shop, counting the till, and putting in the inventory order. Not atypically for a January night in Dublin, the wind whipped down the alley and threatened to snatch her wool cap from her head. Clare tugged it down lower and huddled into her coat, keeping her eyes on the slick pavement in front of her as she hustled to get home before the dampness soaked straight to her core. 

It wasn’t all that surprising that the streets still bustled with activity. A bit of wind and rain did little to keep people from their evening pints at the pub. A warm glow of light spilled from the front window of a pub and Clare caught a glimpse of a pretty woman laughing next to a man who was tuning the strings on a fiddle. It was a cozy scene and almost made Clare itch to go in for a pint. 

Until the man’s eyes shifted to molten silver and met hers through the glass. 

The moment hung suspended between them as Clare gasped for breath, the wind pummeling into her and whipping her curls across her face. When she pushed the hair back from her eyes, the man was just a man, his dark brown eyes gleaming in the light of the small fire next to him. Calling out, he lifted the fiddle to his shoulder and began to play, a chorus of voices rising to meet his. 

Tossing her hair, Clare turned and pressed against the increasingly insistent wind, her head bowed as she tried to shake the chill that had come over her – a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The necklace, still strung around her neck, seemed to burn into her skin. Digging into her coat, Clare grabbed the pendant and held it up, and gasped when she saw that the little stone dangling in the middle seemed to glow in the dull light of the streetlamp. 

Had she not gotten enough sleep last night? She knew she was stressed – wasn’t every graduate student stressed? Between the pressures of school, holding down several jobs, and still trying to maintain a semblance of a social life, Clare wasn’t exactly taking the best care of herself. She would let herself sleep in tomorrow, she decided, and hopefully the extra hours of shut-eye would stave off any further weird instances of glowing silver eyes. 

Her body gave an involuntary shudder as she thought about the man in the pub again. 

Clare pushed her way through the wind, turning down a side street that wound its way to her building. Hurrying now, the sounds of the busier part of the city fading, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. With a jolt, she whipped around and stared at the empty street behind her. For a moment, her eyes searched the areas where the light didn’t quite reach – crevices behind dumpsters, shadows cast by buildings. Was someone following her?

Finding nothing, Clare turned and ran headlong into a brick wall. 

Or at least so it felt. 

Clare shrieked as she realized that the wall was in fact a man – a very muscular, very leather-clad, and very menacing-looking man. Bringing her knapsack around, she moved to swing it at his head and gasped as he deflected her, his arm wrapping around her waist as he swung her behind him. 

Shielding her. 

Clare froze as the man’s arm struck out, a silver dagger gleaming in his hand an instant before it sliced through the person who’d appeared virtually from nowhere behind her. Clare choked as the dagger slid through the heart of the silver-eyed man from the pub. Her breath caught, and she squeaked as the man slipped to the ground in a puddle of liquid silver light before vanishing completely from sight. 

Locked in place by a muscular arm, Clare’s entire body began to shake as she tried to process what she had just seen. 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she finally gasped, and the arm released her. She stumbled forward a few feet and bent at the waist, retching a little. But only stomach bile came up; she hadn’t eaten in hours. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, Clare turned, faint trembles still shivering through her, and faced the unknown. 

“Better?” His voice, like a razor blade dipped in honey, sliced through her core. 

“Who… what are you? What is this?” Clare’s voice shook, but she stood straighter, looking around the alley for any other attackers. 

“I’m your Protector,” the man said simply. 

Clare tilted her head in question, her mouth dropping open. She gaped for a moment, but no words came. 

“And you shouldn’t be walking down dark streets alone at night,” the man continued, pulling out a rag to clean the blade of his dagger before sliding the knife into his waistband. Clare’s eyebrows rose. 

“Excuse me?” she finally said as she studied him. 

The man easily had a foot of height on her, his shoulders so broad he could have been a rugby player, and the leather coat he wore hugged his muscles like a second skin. Fitted jeans, dark boots, and midnight hair just long enough to tousle in the wind completed the look. Everything on him was sharp – and the energy radiating from him was like a tightly coiled spring.  Only when he angled his face into the light did she see that his eyes were a distinct and almost startling blue. 

Black Irish, Clare thought dumbly. 

“You should be paying better attention to your surroundings. Especially in this time.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about – nor do I know what you mean by ‘in this time.’ This time at night? Why, it’s not quite half nine in the evening. That’s positively early for a Dubliner,” Clare scoffed. 

A brief hint of a smile crossed his handsome face, the flash of his teeth slicing through the craggy features. 

“Your turn. Your time. Four months,” the man elaborated.

“Sure and you haven’t been drinking this evening?” Clare asked, making no sense of his words. Her mind still scrambled to process what she’d seen on the street. 

“No, no drinks for me this evening.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face again. 

“Nice dagger. Care to tell me about that little magick trick you just pulled?” Clare asked, gesturing to where she’d have sworn she’d just seen a man melt into the pavement in a silvery puddle. 

The man studied her for a moment and then turned and let out a stream of curses that echoed down the empty street. Turning back, he looked at her, those blue eyes burning into hers. 

“You don’t know, do you?”

Clare shook her head at him, raising her hands in confusion. 

“Go home.” The man cursed again, turning to leave. 

“Wait.” Clare jumped forward, surprising herself by grabbing his arm. Hot waves of energy seemed to pulse beneath her hand and she dropped it. “What’s your name? What do you mean you’re my Protector?” 

The man sighed and ran his hands over the stubble on his jaw, turning to look back over his shoulder at her, his eyes searing her to the spot. 

“Call me Blake. Stay out of dark corners, Miss MacBride.” 

And with that, he disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Clare staring at the empty street and wondering briefly if she’d been drugged. 

It didn’t stop her from running the entire rest of the way home.

Chapter 4

Blake followed Clare from a distance, slipping from shadow to shadow, his movements silent and precise. He knew every dip and curve, every hiding spot along this route to her home. He’d walked it for years.

He refused to let himself think about the fact that he had been instantly attracted to Clare from the moment he had first seen her years ago. And touching her just now? It was enough to drive him crazy. Blake cursed again. There was no time for dalliances and the distractions they could provide. Not when there was so much at stake.  

Blake watched as Clare raced to a brownstone apartment building, nestled in between two mismatched walkups. He waited as she shoved her key in the lock of the front door and in seconds she’d disappeared into the foyer. Blake didn’t need to see her to be able to track her as she raced up the stairs to the third floor. If he was within a mile of her, he could sense her exact location – even her mood. 

Some would say it was a gift – while others considered it to be a great curse. 

All Blake knew was that it was his destiny. 

Turning, he made his way to where his Range Rover sat parked in front of Clare’s apartment building. Climbing into the back seat, Blake pulled a tattered novel from a bag on the floor and began to read in the faint light of the streetlamp. 

It was going to be a long night.

Tricia O’Malley is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon etc.