chapter 2 - Part 1

She timed the dance to be as slow as possible to eat the melon as slow as possible. Aside from the sticky juice drying out and the tension against her waistband, she also felt tired and sluggish. Whenever she stopped dancing to sit on his lap, she felt herself flop, heavily.

By the end of the melon, her stomach strained, she felt so heavy her breath became labored, but she still retained the stamina to keep the dance going. Her client seemed entranced albeit a little sleepy watching the show and kept smiling.

After a short while longer, she stood up and turned on the lights, to show she could no longer carry on. She felt too heavy, too tired. This was more punishment than her toned body could take.

With hands trembling slightly, he removed his wallet and paid her two hundred and fifty euros in a wad of neat, fresh notes. He seemed speechless, but managed to snap back to reality and regain his composure. “That was quite amazing. I can’t actually believe you managed to do that for me.”

Saoirse was too full to want to talk or do much beyond lie down, She smiled back politely, hoping to go home and possibly belch somewhere private.

He passed her his business card. "I'm in town for quite a while. Please, if you get another quiet night, call me and I'll come back okay."

"I'll just ask the bartender to let me out. Thank You, again. I will remember this for a long time." He left the VIP room, grabbing his jacket and quietly slipping out.

She listened to the footsteps leaving, before flopping to the floor, belching up the sickly sweet taste of watermelon. She clutched her swollen, aching stomach and tried to massage more burps out.

Jack knocked on the door. "Home time."

She was breathing deeply but forced words out. "Ten minutes okay? Just ten minutes."

Jack grumbled "I'm going home. Keys on the bar, lock up and bring it back tomorrow night. I've got a spare."

She slumped further down on the floor and rolled to lie on her side. The business card dug into her armpit, She took it out and read it. "Dr Christian Spender. PhD. Archaeologist" with a mobile phone number listed below.

It was very late and she could not get comfortable on the floor, she could feel her tummy from any angle she lay and she could feel that it hated her right now. There was no other option, she pulled herself to her feet and staggered out to pick up her jacket from the staff room. She took Jack's keys and let herself out to the cold, drizzly street outside. Home time now.

----------------------

Dr Christian slunk through the door to the Lios na Greine country hotel where he was staying. There were not many guests here during the off season and had to use the torch on his phone to find his passage through the corridors, up the stairs and to his room. He stifled a cough to avoid alerting night staff and followed the top floor corridor towards the penthouse suite and he swiped to let himself in.

The room was huge, usually meant for wedding nights, but now was packed with heavy pieces of ancient masonry, some Celtic, some unrecognisable. the coffee table was strewn with paperwork and unclaimed, empty mugs.

"Okay, where are you?" He said to the room in general.

"Did you find someone?" said a woman's voice, with an mild Irish accent. The voice was quiet, but not whispered and the tone was maybe a little excited.

"Yes... Maybe." He paused to look for the voice. "She might need a little work to get to our standard, but I suppose there is no rush."

There was no response.

"No answer? never mind. Maybe you could help me with my next book, tomorrow. We could use the income." He picked up a blank pad from the table and walked towards the door to the bedroom.

"I will, maybe she will let you take her picture for me, next time." The voice came from nowhere specific, but at the same time came from all around.

"Seems rude to ask really. Plus, I don't want you to get disappointed, there might be an uphill road to climb here."

He waited for a response, but none came. He slipped through the doors into a room with a walk-in wardrobe and four poster bed and hung his jacket over the face of the mirror before getting undressed.

//

Saoirse woke up on the sofa to the sound of her flatmate coming into the living room.

"Morning. Not make it to the bed again?" She said, cheerfully.

Saoirse quickly made sure she was covered and looked at her flatmate. She was a chubby figured, thirty-five-year-old, with wavy, brunette hair and dressed in a professional looking blouse with a black pencil skirt "Oh God, that bed is too lumpy, I don't need that after work."

"Fair enough." she sniffed the air. "Why does it smell like old melon in here?"

Saoirse made a noncommittal noise. "I wouldn't know.”

"Well, if they have you lot melon wrestling in the club, you need to shower before you ruin the sofa. Look, I'm going to get some breakfast then I'll leave you to sleep."

Saoirse felt groggy, but her stomach woke up and started growling.

"Girl, you need to stop starving yourself for that fecking place I can hear your stomach from here. Do you want me to make you some toast?"

Saoirse nodded. "Ah hush, but yes, I'll have some toast and butter." She shuffled to try and silence her stomach.

"Right, I'll bring it over in a minute, Did you get paid well at least?"

"No chance on a weekday. One Hundred and fifty euro after the owner takes his share."

"well, it's better than I'll make in a day for sure."

The toast popped out and the flatmate buttered it and left it on the table in front of Saoirse. "I'll get myself something from the kitchen when I get to work." She picked up her jacket and pinned on her name badge, it read Rachel Kelly, Lios Na Greine hotel".

When Rachel had left, Saoirse ate the toast and wondered why she was so hungry this morning, normally she would happily sleep until after midday on an empty stomach.

Even after the toast was finished, her stomach churned and growled for more, she felt a little ridiculous and tried to roll over to fall back to sleep, eventually succumbing after quarter of an hour ignoring the angry noises.

//

Christian walked along the country road from the hotel out of town, alone. He was wearing a dusty jacket, jeans and his hair pulled back into a small, high ponytail and he carried an oversized backpack. He watched the GPS on his phone, guiding him to a location maybe two kilometres away in what seemed to be a nondescript copse.


There was no footpath, but no traffic either, which was fine as He was not paying much attention to anything other than his phone. This quiet road had no obvious turn offs where he walked, but eventually he walked parallel to the fields to the small, wooded area and stopped. He jumped the fence into the woods and grouches behind some bushes. Opening his bag, He took out a tiny drone and slotted his phone into the controller slot, within seconds he carefully navigated it through the canopy and took it to thirty meters and looked around.

Biting his lip as he worked, he saw no farmers or tractors or any cars along the road and scanned the canopy looking for gaps to see underneath. It was all brown and green, bushes and dirt, but quickly a flash of gray appeared. He looked up to try and see or hear how far away the drone was and pressed a button to leave it hovering, then pushed his way through the thick gorse until after several minutes was below the hum of the drone.

Once again He very carefully navigated the drone back through the canopy and landing by his feet where he packed it up, put it back in his rucksack and looked around. He was standing in a partially collapsed stone circle.

He looked unimpressed and dialled a number on his phone.

"Hi, this is Rachel from the Lios Na Greine Hotel, can I help you?"

"Hi. Yes, this is Doctor Christian. Can you forward this call to my room please?"

"Okay, Connecting to the penthouse. Have a nice day."

The line beeped twice and rang to no answer. Eventually the voicemail message appeared.

"You were right about this place, I'm standing at the top of a stone circle, but this has to be too old. It's neolithic. I'll look around more, but I'm not equipped to dig. I'll talk to you later, ok?"

He hung up and sighed. "for anyone else this would be the discovery of a lifetime. Oh well."

//

Saoirse woke up feeling starved. She grabbed the toned skin on her stomach and felt the gurgles through her fingertips. "will you shut up!" she growled at it. She then had a panic look at her phone. 1PM. good, she was alone, Rachel wouldn't hear her talking to herself.

She felt well rested at least and got up to change. She put on a hoodie with jeans and tied her hair back. She still smelled like melon but sprayed herself with deodorant to hide it, picked up Jack's keys and left the apartment.

She walked down the street, puffing on her vape and watched the day workers getting their lunches. The queues were looking long through the windows, but they'll be quiet again in half an hour when everybody goes back to work.

She made it to the kebab shop, which was closed and pushed the door to the club open and went upstairs. Jack was sat at a booth talking to an elderly cleaner, who was mopping the floor.

"Hey hey, look who came to work early. Don't think Delores here wants to see the show." Jack shouted.

"Oh, if she looked like Kris Kristofferson from back in the day, I'd throw her a few euros." The old woman said.

Saoirse ignored this. "Just dropping off the keys, then I'm gone."

"Good girl. Oh, and next time you do melon stuff, put down a tarp. The old girl could have broken her back scrubbing down the VIP room." He spoke.

Delores chimed in. "Do I even want to know what melon stuff is?"

Saoirse blushed silently.

"Look, it’s going to be another wet night tonight. Maria can handle it herself if you don't want to be wasting your time. I bet your man won't be back anyway, not after how much he paid last night." Jack said.

"Melon stuff is expensive, is it?" Delores asked.

"Too much for what we pay you."

Saoirse quietly slipped back out whilst the two went back to the chat.

Outside she vaped again and wondered if she should call her client from last night and straight out ask him if he was coming back... or maybe doing that would sound greedy and desperate. What a pain in the arse this job is. He paid well, wasn't particularly creepy and something felt quite nice about dancing for an attractive, under fourty... He just liked something a bit crazy.

With the keys dropped off, she could finally deal with her hunger pains, once she was walking they didn't feel too bad, but now they hit again and hard. She knew this must be from the melon, it's either stretched her stomach or has played havoc with her blood sugar. She went to the main street and weighed up the few options. It's too early for one of the pubs and she can't sit in the supermarket. She picked Friar's Coffee and ordered quinoa salad, with a brownie and a cappuccino then sat by the window and played with her phone.

She finished the salad much quicker than normal as she browsed through the news and still felt hungry but was not going to be ordered about by her stomach, today and tried to keep her mind on the news as long as possible. She forced herself to slowly eat the brownie and sip on the coffee to try and keep her tummy satisfied for as long as possible, but it failed. Her stomach let out a terrible growl and she bent forward with another hunger pang. Hoping nobody in the near empty cafe heard this, she finished her coffee and dashed out, her stomach rumbling like an unclogged gutter emptying.

Outside, she tried to stay calm, took out her vape and took herself to the supermarket, she needed more food, hopefully plain, stodgy and not too fattening to try to keep her body satisfied. Next door was the SuperValu supermarket, time to get something else to eat and hide in bed again.

//

Rachel stood at reception, awkwardly standing still, waiting for customers to break the monotony, but no luck in the slow season. She was one of the few consistent staff who worked all year round. It was after lunch and now the totally dead period between check out and check in.

To stop her legs from wearing out, she slowly rocked back and forth behind the counter, casually squishing her belly into the desk and bouncing back out. Another boring, monotonous, underpaid day.

The front sliding door swished open, and Dr Christian slouched back. He was caked in dirt and clumps of mud and his backpack clearly weighing him down. Rachel looked at him, slightly concerned about who would be cleaning up the footprints.

"Good afternoon. Would you like some assistance with your bags?"

"Oh, no... I'll use the lift, that would be fine." He dropped his backpack on the ground with a clatter and stretched out his back, clearly aching. "Do I need to reserve the pool? or can I drop in whenever I like."

"The pool is booked between four and six, but any time after then is fine."

"Great." He looked at the clock. Half past three. "I'll wait a bit. I think I need to shower first."

Rachel nodded. "Have a good evening."

He dragged the dirty bag along the carpet and into the lift leaving a trail behind. Rachel pressed a button on the staff phone to alert the cleaner to come down, then snuck out for a cigarette break.

Behind the fire escape she sat on a milk crate and lit up a Marlboro and texted Saoirse.

"Free for a chat?"

a minute passed.

"Sure. I'm home."

Rachel called. "I finally managed to get on break. six o clock can't come quick enough today, in staring at the walls this place is so dead."

"I hear ya. I don't know what to do with myself at all, today."

"Are you working tonight? or will we go for drinks."

"Eh, Jack said he thinks tonight will be dead alright. Sure. Brook bar?"

"Yeah. I need it... good luck."

"Ye too."

Rachel hung up and finished her cigarette. She could cope with a hangover tomorrow if the hotel stays this quiet. She throws the butt down the drain and goes back to standing at reception, hoping someone might check in.

//

Christian dragged the bag to the room and locked the door, checking the do-not-disturb sign was still in place. He opened the bag and dragged out a muddy stone with Celtic style runes engraved into it. He had no idea what they read, they did not conform to any Celtic writing he knew, but He really did not expect to be able to translate them.

He brought the stone to the shower and began to wash off the remaining mud, hoping something might be clear in the writing, but as the grime flaked away, it was still just as indecipherable as He feared.

"So What did I find?" He looked around the room, a dark shadow flashed across the bathroom mirror, but nothing spoke back "I won't help you unless you help me."

"That stone wasn't carved by human hands." Came a voice.

Christian turned off the shower and stood back. "Are you serious?"

"Those letters aren't carved; they've been burned into the rock."

He stared at it trying to see evidence of scorching, but it was too old and worn to be obvious, He would need to get a sample under the microscope. "Who wrote it?"

"Their name is on it."

"So, you can read this?"

"Look at the cracks in the rock, not the runes."

Christian looked again, tracing his finger around the cracks. "It looks like the outline of a crow."

"You know who it was."

Christian looked directly at it. "Morrigan."

The voice appeared in front of him, from somewhere in the shower. "I guess you could say this stone is my grave."

Christian didn't feel too alarmed by this. "Well, at least we're in the right place. Tho it does make it sound like you were killed by The Morrigan. Should I be concerned about this?"

The voice didn't respond.

"Of course." He sighed and hung his jacket over the bathroom mirror, he looked around the shower, pulled off a sock and lay it over the shiny, mirrored drain guard, before getting naked and showering himself clean from the mud.