Author/Uploaded by Caroline O'Donoghue
To the unlikeable main characters CONTENTS PART ONE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEE...
To the unlikeable main characters CONTENTS PART ONE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN PART TWO CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE CHAPTER FORTY CHAPTER FORTY-ONE CHAPTER FORTY-TWO CHAPTER FORTY-THREE CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE CHAPTER FORTY-SIX CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN THE END ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS About the Author Copyright CHAPTER ONE HERE’S SOMETHING THAT THEY DON’T TELL YOU ABOUT being cursed. The first thing you feel is fear. But the second thing – the thing you really notice – is beauty. The world is so beautiful when you don’t think you’ll have long to look at it. The colours shine brighter. Even now, in the December twilight, when it’s almost completely dark. The chilly mist from the river melds with the light of the city, and all you can see is a gold-and-blue blur. A box of jewels you need to squint your eyes just to look at. The sense of a city dancing in your blood. Thirty-six days have passed since I became responsible for the death of two women. One who tried to kill me; the other who died trying to save my life. “There you are,” Fiona says, flinging open the door to Nuala’s house. No matter how early I get to Nuala’s house these days, she’s always here first. “Come on, the Apocalypse Society is already in session.” She takes me through to the kitchen, and everyone’s here: Manon, studying a bound stack of paper; Nuala, taking something out of the oven; Roe, peeling an apple with a knife; Lily, sitting on the kitchen counter. The question: were we directly responsible for the death of Heather Banbury and Sister Assumpta, or was it all an accident? Does the Housekeeper even care about accidents, or does she swing the axe regardless of who’s guilty? “That’s the problem,” Nuala says mid-flow, gesturing with a wooden spoon. “The Housekeeper is revenge without judgement. She’s not a thing who can make her mind up. She’s a wind-up toy. Isn’t that right, Maeve?” I haven’t even taken my coat off. “How come no one ever says hello to me any more?” I say indignantly. “What am I? Dead?” “Not yet,” Manon muses, highlighting a line of text with a yellow marker. “But soon, perhaps.” “Well, joyeux Noël to you, too.” There have been three known Housekeeper sightings, spread out over the last thirty years. The first was when she was summoned by Nuala’s sister, Heaven, who traded her own life to bring on the death of their abusive father. The second was Aaron, when he called her to break out of his far-right Christian rehab centre. She took his friend then. Matthew Madison. A death that Aaron spent three misguided years trying to atone for within the gnarled fingers of the Children of Brigid. And the third: Lily. A botched tarot reading that ended in chaos, and that brought us all together. Who knows what a fourth visit might bring about? Who might fall victim, and who might be spared? Aaron hasn’t waited around to find out. I bend down to kiss Roe on the cheek, the movement unravelling my thick scarf. “Hello,” he says, nuzzling me. “You’re cold.” “Hey.” Lily is drawing on the window with acrylic craft paint, her knees under the sill, feet trailing in the kitchen sink. She appears to be drawing a very complicated pig, its face filled with red and green swirls. “What’s this?” “A boar. A yule boar.” “Of course.” Lily pushes a strand of blonde hair back off her face. “I didn’t want to do something boring like a Christmas tree. I thought we would do something pagan. For winter solstice.” “Hence the yule boar.” Lily starts to smile to herself and keeps painting. “Hence the yule boar, yes.” When Lily and I summoned the Housekeeper, it happened in days. And we hadn’t even meant to call her. She was just a spirit who was accidentally woken by a combination of my sensitivity, the Well of magic below Kilbeg, and the throbbing hatred Lily and I had for each other. Dorey told me almost a month ago that she was planning on calling the Housekeeper – surely she would have done it by now. Dorey’s warning to me was clear. She spoke like the Queen of the Fairies, offering foul bargains through a glinting smile. The Children wanted total dominion over the Well in Kilbeg, and would do anything to get it. Anything, that is, except kill us. Murder in the magical world is more trouble than it’s worth: everything comes back to you eventually. But if you have just cause for summoning something like the Housekeeper, you can let her do the dirty work for you. So where is she? “We must first understand,” Manon says, “whether they truly do have just cause.” “We killed Heather Banbury,” Roe says flatly. “No, we didn’t,” Fiona responds, her voice unusually high-pitched. “She accidentally died.” “While she was magically bound to our will,” Nuala corrects. “Although, if the Children hadn’t come to the tennis courts, it wouldn’t have happened at all. So they could be equally responsible.” “In the eyes of who?” Lily asks, still painting her boar. “I don’t know.” Nuala throws her hands up. “The great cosmic abacus that doles out fairness?” “Justice,” Fiona says, holding up the tarot card. I might be the sensitive, but Fiona’s eye for tarot is now every bit as good as mine. She shuffles the pack and straightens the cards, tapping the deck twice on the table so they’re neatly aligned. At that moment, as if in response, there is a tap