Celtic Evil: A Fitzgerald Brother Novel: Roarke

This is a work of fiction & any use of
names, characters, places or events are either from the author’s
imagination or used as fiction & any resemblance to actual
people, living or dead, businesses, establishments, events, etc are
totally acts of coincidence.

Special thanks to Tammy Suto for her
contributions to this book

Celtic Evil: A Fitzgerald Brother Novel:
Roarke

Copyright © 2009 Sierra Rose

Smashwords Edition E-book

Published by Sierra Rose at Smashwords

Front Cover Art
© Luca Oleastri from
Dreamstime.com

Editor: Megan
Cullor

All rights
reserved.

For information, contact
author at her website:

http://sierra-rose-books.webs.com/

I would like to thank everyone who has
helped in the creation, the growth and of course, the magic that is
my first book.

My family has always encouraged and suffered
through my imagination and the writing that it has created.

Mike and Larry at the shop, who have put up
with my crazy life and not picking things up on time. Also for
encouraging me finally to pick up all, or most things,
Bat-like.

Doug and Lisa who were kind enough to read
the first version of this book and not smack me with it.

Bridgid and Lawrence Butler from 13 Moons
Magick Shoppe who have been wonderful and so helpful with all sorts
of things. Especially if I had questions.

To the folks at the Jefferson County and
Martins Ferry Public Libraries who have helped me find the research
books to make this book and its series as accurate as possible.

Finally, to my Mother. She has been the most
patient and supportive of me in my goal of writing. Even when it
keeps me locked away for weeks on end or cranky as a scene doesn’t
go right.

May all of you and all that read this series
accept and keep the blessings that come your way everyday of the
year.

Blessed be.

Prologue

Deep within ancient walls of a stone
fortress long thought forgotten, a hand waved over wrinkled and
aged paper with text written in a tongue no longer used.

“‘
A circle of light, a
circle of five. Five into one, one becomes five to unite the circle
and protect the light.’”

The hand waved again and
pages turned to ash as the man sneered. “Rubbish. All it will take
to break the chain is for one to fall.”

Appearing in his sixties
with well-kept white hair and healthy for his age, the man walked
to a pool of water near a fire. Flicking a hand toward the pool,
images formed of the past and present.

“Fifteen mortal years have
gone by since the last time I stepped foot from this place, since
the last time the circle was almost shredded. My ancient foe gave
his life to save it then. This time, will those born from him and
his witch have the strength to stop it or will one of them
fall?”

Images flashed in the pool
before him until settling on five men, all sharing the smoky eyes
that came from their father. With a sneer, the ancient witch known
only as Sebastian took five stones from his pocket and cast his
spell before dropping them into the now swirling water.

“Let us see how strong the
sons of Toryn Fitzgerald have become since they’ve been apart this
decade and a half. Go, my minions.”

The water boiled and the man laughed as he
set in motion events that would kill him or those who he has hated
for years.

CHAPTER ONE

Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland:

“I don’t see how you can be
so calm. This is the first major rehearsal of the play, in front of
the whole drama club,” Molly Jackson, a freshman at Dublin’s
Trinity College, complained to her companion as they strolled
across the campus toward the outdoor amphitheater.

Originally from New
Orleans, Louisiana, but grew up in Boston, the perky, highly
energetic black girl with curly black hair and deep brown eyes
loved Trinity College and the city of Dublin but had a hard time
fitting in a lot of times because she had a tendency to be
over-talkative.

It often amazed classmates and teachers
alike that her best friend was the young man currently walking
along with her as he was a complete opposite in many ways.

“Been there, done that,”
Ian Fitzgerald loved the quote he’d heard on television once and
loved using it when he could, especially when he knew it annoyed
Molly.

At eighteen, Ian was a
junior at Trinity since he had entered a full year earlier than
most did. Majoring in drama while in college, he often felt he’d
been on stage since he was born, and in many ways he’d be
right.

The youngest of the singing
Fitzgerald Brothers, he’d been on stage with his older brothers at
the age of two but hadn’t sang publicly or even been united with
all four brothers in fifteen years. Not since the funeral of their
parents had he seen all his brothers at once.

Ian didn’t recall his early
years or much about his family. His basic memory was of growing up
in Dublin with distant cousins Sybil and Brandon
Sullivan.

As their only child, he
knew he had had more than most and even more than his brothers, so
he didn’t question too much.

At 5’6” with wavy blond
hair that the sun often turned to a lighter color and reached his
shoulders, he was used to the girls at school staring at him. In
fact, he was often making his classmates upset by turning away
dates but Ian just wasn’t ready for that. He dated when he wanted,
did well in his classes and loved acting.

His bright smile and smoky
gray-blue eyes were also another plus he knew, but he was happy
that Molly just liked him for himself. Ian was also happy that
Molly didn’t mind his little eccentricities and understood his need
to sometimes talk about other things.

“So, still having the
dreams?” she asked after they’d passed a group of
students.

Having grown up in New
Orleans with a grandmother who was a devout voodoo priestess, Molly
understood a lot about dreams and had understood the one thing
about Ian that very few others even knew.

Setting his satchel of
books down to pick up a fallen feather, Ian sighed. “Yeah, they
come every night now.” He admitted his Irish accent was still
present even though he could dispel it when he acted. “Don’t like
‘em.”

“Talk to the Sullivans
about them?” the girl asked carefully, being careful to phrase that
right since she knew that even though her friend had been a toddler
when his parents died, he never considered his foster parents as
his real ones.

“
Nope, they’d never
understand.” Ian blew the feather into the air but felt something
change close to them. “Sybil and Bran are great and they’ve given
me everything I could have wanted but they’re too modern to
understand things like that.”

Molly was about to reply
when something made her turn to look at the stage, and she barely
repressed the scream. “Ian!” she gripped his arm hard but knew
already her friend was looking.

His eyes had caught
something and when he looked, Ian nearly blinked his eyes right out
of his head. Staring at the outdoor stage as it burned and his
fellow classmates screamed or dropped to roll on grass running red
with blood, he stared.

“My God! We have to get…”
Molly started to run forward but soon found herself pulled back.
“Ian, we need to help them! Get…” She stopped when she had spun to
look and saw that her friends’ eyes had gone almost totally to
smoke. “Ian?”

“It’s not real, Molly,” he
replied quietly, already sure of that even as he felt the pain in
his head start to build. “Nobody but us is even seeing
that.”

Still not positive, Molly
stared harder at the stage but could still only see her friends
suffering, but deep inside she could also sense something else.
“What’s causing it?” she whispered, looking around but only hearing
the loud annoying cawing of a huge bird in a tree not far from
them.

Knowing her Irish friend
would understand her question, Molly didn’t have to explain it
since she was one of the few people on campus that also knew that
aside from acting and singing, Ian’s other interest was magic.
However, she didn’t know why a Dublin raised boy knew so much or
had such interests.

Ian had heard his American friend’s question
but was busy fighting the building migraine in his head and trying
to ignore the buzzing caw-caw from the bird when the bird’s tone
actually changed, yet he realized only he could hear the
change.

Looking closer at the bird,
Ian’s eyes narrowed as he focused deeper and his hand closed on the
claddagh medal he always wore.

Sitting high in the tree
while the stage appeared to burn, the bird’s burning yellow eyes
seemed to stare into the boy and his caws turned to words only Ian
could hear.

“You were born of the Five.
Five into one, one to become five but it only takes one to fall and
break the circle,” it seemed to crow, the voice harsh as the flames
below grew. “It only takes one weak soul to break the chain. Will
that one be you, Ian Brandon Callum Fitzgerald? Will it be you who
breaks as your worthless father did before you?”

Fingers clenched tighter on
the medallion he wore as it dawned on Ian what was causing the
vision and probably his dreams of late. Not sure of all the answers
yet, he was aware that this bird was a part of it and he didn’t
like it.

“Go back where you came
from, demon,” he spoke through the loud bird caws, feeling his hand
warm on the medal as he threw out his other hand, which had been in
his pocket, and the small stone he’d blessed in his mind hit the
bird in the chest, and it exploded with a scream. “And leave me
alone,” he finished in a whisper.

Staring at where the crow
was sitting, Ian finally shook himself back to reality when Molly
began shaking his shoulder harder.

“What the hell was that?”
she demanded, knowing she’d missed something just by how pale her
friend was. “Ian?”

Not sure how to answer, Ian
could recall his foster parents talking once about his real parents
and the real reason they had died. “Fifteen years is a hell of a
long time to keep something at bay,” he muttered looking at his
medal and feeling the warmth go through him.

Reaching for his satchel,
Ian looked at Molly and read her concern for him. “I need to go,
Molly.”

Blinking at his sudden
change and never hearing this tone from the usually easy-going
Irishman before, Molly frowned. “What? Why? Where?” she asked all
in one breath as she jogged to catch back up to him. “What about
the play?”

“I have an understudy.
Professor Yates can get Willie to do it, and he’ll understand,” Ian
replied, not ready to tell her the rest. But if Molly was one
thing, she was obstinate.

Stopping shortly from the
Administration building, Ian finally sighed. “I need to go to
County Kerry to Fitzgaren to see my brother.”