Excerpt

              My phone rings and an international number takes me by surprise. After several rings I hesitantly answer.

              A familiar voice says, “Hello, Maebh.”

              Brigid.

              My sister.

              The one I’m supposed to watch out for.

              A rush of pleasure battles with an unhealthy dose of guilt, along with a smattering of fear. My skin prickles and the hairs on my body stand at attention.

             Get a grip, Maebh.

              I look up to Brigid, admire her for following her heart and her storytelling abilities. She’s amazing with children and Andrew is a sweetheart. But as far back as I can remember we’ve never had a great relationship, and I doubt that will ever change.

              How did I get to this place with her? We were fine as kids—loving, friendly, talkative. Of course, there were times when she didn’t want me around, but that’s normal with siblings, especially ones who are four years apart. I wish we had one of those perfect relationships that you see on TV, all warm and comforting, where we could talk about anything and always be there for one another.

              But wishes don’t come true and I don’t know how to fix this.

              Still, I need to respond. Politely. I haven’t seen my sister in two years, not since Andrew proposed to her. Apart from the occasional happy birthday or holiday text, we haven’t spoken. So why now?

“Brigid,” I finally say, that one word the barest of whispers. I go to the back room again and fall into the velvet chair.

              “How are you, Maebh? It’s been a long time.”

              Not long enough.

              I shake my head at that rude thought. I want to love Brigid. But she and my brother Finn both moved to Ireland last year and absence, in this case, does not make the heart grow fonder.

              “Listen,” I say, “I’m at work. So now is not a good time. I have to close the store and tally the sales, so—”

              “Don’t you dare hang up on me.” There’s a pause, then her tone softens. “If you do, I’ll send Dad over and you know what he’s like with family matters.”

              Even though she’s teasing, my shoulders rise to my ears and I squirm. My dad’s charm and dogged determination have served him well over the years, especially when it comes to encouraging people to get along. Particularly with his own kids. He would relish an opportunity to get involved.

              “Alright, I won’t hang up.” But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for a cozy conversation. “What do you need?”

              I feel her love and frustration pour through the ether and wrap around me like a glove. Tight but soft. She misses me—she’s told me so in texts and emails, the ones I’ve bothered to read. And I’ve missed her, but so far avoidance has been working just fine.

She clears her throat. “I’m hoping you can solve a mystery.”

              Neurons fire in unexpected glee. I love puzzles.

              As long as it doesn’t concern my family.

              One warning from Colleen was enough.

              “It’s something old,” Brigid continues. “And it’s connected to a legend.”

              I don’t care about the legend. She hooked me with something old. “What is it you’re talking about?” I ask in a pleasant voice, doing my best to hide my excitement.

              “A heart-shaped emerald, about an inch and a quarter across.”

              A one-and-a-quarter-inch stone is large. Quite large. “Are you sure it’s that big?”

              “Yes. We’re working with a gemstone expert.”

              We’re? There’s an expert? Something strange is going on across the pond. My sister and her husband are focused on their writing. They couldn’t care less about gemstones. Unless Andrew is researching for one of his novels. That must be it. He always features an exquisite gemstone.

              “This is for Andrew, right? I’m sure whatever he’s studying will make a great story. But didn’t he already use an emerald in Queen of the Irish Seas?” I give myself a mental high five for remembering the title that launched his superstardom.

              “It isn’t for Andrew. It’s for all of us . . . women.” Her voice drops on that word and she bathes it with a protective caress that makes me lean forward.

              “What women?”

              “The Clearys. Or I suppose I should say the O’Cleirighs.” She puts an Irish spin on our last name with a trilled R and the vowels short and a little breathy. Irish comes naturally to her, and she probably practices now that she lives there. I, on the other hand, haven’t spoken it since I was a child.

              But she didn’t answer my question. I want to know about the women. “What about the O’Cleirighs?”

              “You remember my emerald ring? The one that allows me to see the future?”

              “I know that’s what you think.”

              “Well, Claire’s earrings do something similar. And we think there’s a third emerald that might be meant for you.”

              “Meant for me?” For some irritating reason my breath stops on those words, as if they have importance. “What do you mean ‘meant for me’?”

              “You’ll be the one to awaken its power.”

              The snort that comes out surprises even me. I’m usually more controlled. Then I break into silent laughter, my whole body shaking with suppressed hilarity. This is the grandest bunch of malarkey I’ve ever heard. When I’ve calmed down, I say, “Even if I believed you”—which I don’t—“why are you calling?”

              “We’ve found the emerald and we need you to try it out.”

              This has to be what Colleen was warning me about when she said to watch out for your sister. To beware of half-laid plans. To protect myself. “Brigid, it’s fine if you want to believe in magical stones and supernatural powers.” I thought she was smarter than that. More sophisticated. “But I don’t need to participate in your little games. Count me out.” Besides, what kind of power would this new emerald give me? The ability to read people’s minds? I shake my head in disgust.

              “They’re not games. These stones and their powers are real. My ring told me you’re coming to Ireland.”

              “Oh, it did, did it?” Now I’m getting mad. As if her stupid ring can predict my future. “Well, I’m telling you now as clearly as I can, I’m not coming.”

              “But we need you, Maebh. This is important. More important than you know.” There’s a brief pause. “You can stay at the resort. It’s a truly lovely place.”

              There might be a smidgen of truth in that last statement. I’ve heard that the resort is gorgeous. But for the life of me I can’t imagine why any of this is important. I’m not about to disrupt my life to go jetting over to the Emerald Isle to pursue some flight of fancy involving a mysterious emerald. I have better things to do. “I’m sorry. I have a store to run. I can’t just pick up and leave whenever I want.” Not that any part of me wants.

              “Please, Maebh. We’re counting on you.”

              Count on someone else.

              “I can’t. I’m really sorry,” I say and hang up. Then my body shudders for several seconds while a line of Shakespeare’s poetry springs to mind. “They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.” I suck in a breath and rub a sharp pain in my sternum. There’s no one to see my blame at the moment, but it clings and wraps and feeds on my conscience. I can’t remember the last time Brigid asked for my help, and not only do I turn her down, I’m rude about it.

              I’m her sister.

              I should be there for her.

              I should go.

              But Ireland holds the pain of my mother. She may have died here in New York, but Ireland was her home. The place she loved with all her heart. The place that will break mine.

              That’s why I stay away.