A Celtic Witch

Chapter 15



Sophie looked down at the soft skeins of yarn in her hands. They felt awkward—like a bribe, instead of a gift.

Perhaps, in the way of most complicated things, they were meant to be both.

She tugged open the door of the inn and spied Aaron arranging flowers in the hallway, a bright-eyed girl in a carrier on his back. “Morning. Hi, Aislin.”

The baby waved both hands and babbled gleefully.

Such a cutie. “Helping your daddy with the dusting, are you?”

“It was either that or take a nap,” said Aaron dryly. “Her brother’s sound asleep—apparently he’s allergic to dusting.”

Sophie laughed. “Smart boy.”

He looked at the yarn in her hands. “I assume that’s not for me.”

It most certainly wasn’t. Aaron was a man of many talents, and he’d sat in on Kevin and Sean’s knitting lessons more than once, but even Aunt Moira had looked at his sample and suggested it might make a lovely fishing net, with so many holes.

Fortunately, Aaron had a sense of humor.

“Is Cass here?” It was entirely possible she wasn’t—the villagers had taken to swiping her lately.

“I think so. Kevin brought by a stack of books earlier, so you might check the window seat upstairs.”

The inn’s bay window on the second floor had the best view in the village. Big rocks, crashing waves, and in the summer, a panoramic view of Moira’s gardens. Sophie slid out of her boots and jacket. “Can I steal some cookies on my way up?”

“Maybe.” Aaron grinned and jiggled the small girl on his back as he dusted already spotless bookshelves. “Elorie’s been in from her studio twice already, and I’m pretty sure I heard Sean and Lizzie sneaking in the back way. Yell if the canister’s empty.”

Not once in almost two years had Sophie reached into Aaron’s cookie jar and come up empty. The man might not be a witch, but he could have made a convincing case otherwise. “Thanks.” She leaned in to kiss Aislin’s cheek. “Do a good job supervising, sweetheart.”

She raided the canister and walked up the stairs to Aaron’s chuckles and more of Aislin’s wild babbling. When that one learned to talk, she was going to give Lizzie a run for her money.

Sophie made plenty of noise as she traveled down the hall to the nook with the bay window. She knew better than to surprise a witch deep in a book—the last time she’d done so, poor Kevin had nearly set fire to one of Moira’s precious history texts.

Alert green eyes greeted her as she came around the corner. “Good morning. Come to do some reading?”

Honesty won out. “Not really. I was hoping to talk with you a bit.”

“Sure.” Cass shifted pillows, making room in the cozy nook. “I’ve had enough tea this morning to be floating, but Aaron has some really good cookies downstairs. I’ll go raid the jar and be back in a minute.”

Sophie held out the small basket in her hand. “Already raided.”

“A woman after my own heart.” Cass spied the contents of Sophie’s other hand. “Oooh. Forget the cookies—what are those?”

“A small gift. They came out of my dye pot yesterday and dried by the fire overnight. It’s a lovely wool—polwarth and cormo and a little silk mixed in.” Sophie stopped her babbling—most people didn’t much care about the science behind the pretty stuff.

“The colors. It’s got every shade of green I’ve ever seen, all in one place.” Cass had the skeins in her lap now, stroking them like a kitten.

Now came the tricky part—the last thing Sophie wanted to do was chase away the simple happiness in her new friend’s eyes. “I talked to your nan, asked her to tell me about where you grew up. It was the hills she spoke of most, and all the many greens they become in spring.”

They’d put their heads together over her dye pot, too—this hadn’t been the first try, just the most beautiful one. The first batch had gone back to Ireland in the bottom of Nan’s handbag.

Cass sucked in a breath. “That’s exactly what they are, isn’t it? The hills of home.” She tipped her face into the yarn, and when she finally looked up, her eyes shone. “It’s a truly beautiful gift. Thank you. I’ll borrow some of Moira’s needles again and see if I can turn it into something worthy.” She held the yarn up to her cheeks. “One of those hooded cowls, maybe.”

There was more. “I washed it in some herbs that help bring clarity and peace. I was hoping you’d find them comforting.” Sophie pressed on, the rest weighing on her. “You’ve brought Adam such peace. I wanted to find a way to say thank you.”

“There was no need for that.” Cass’s eyes were slightly wary now. “I was happy to play for him.”

It was well past time for the hardest parts of what she’d come to say. “I know. And I want you to know I’m very grateful. I can’t help the wish that lives in my heart that you could stay here in Fisher’s Cove and play him to sleep every night. I’m his mama, and you make him so happy.”

She smiled, wanting Cass to believe the next part as well. “I used to live in Colorado. Grew deep roots there, the kind that feel permanent. I came here every summer, and I know it broke Moira’s heart a little every time I left.”

“Why did you go?” The words were quiet, and spoken mostly to the yarn.

“I needed space and time.” And other things more complicated. “My calling is herbs, and I knew it needed my complete attention for a while. I hid away in my house in Colorado and tried to learn everything there was to know.” To get ready for her real calling, although she hadn’t understood that then.

“They say you’re the best.”

Sophie squirmed. “They say that about Cassidy Farrell, too.”

Eyes met in understanding. Focus and sacrifice. Being the best in a generation didn’t come without a price.

Sophie paused, remembering the tearful partings at the end of each summer—and just how important it had been to go. “I know what it is to need to journey, as a woman and as a witch.” And she knew what it was to finally come home—but that wasn’t what she’d come to say. “I would never try to get in the way of that, not even for my son.”

Cass’s face crumpled. “I’ll come back. And when I do, I’ll play for him.”

“I know.” Hands reached for each other now, two friends who understood each other and the hurting of the other’s heart. Sophie looked hard into green eyes that matched every shade in the yarn. “I wanted to say thank you for your gift. And only thank you. Don’t let my wish be your burden.”

Cass looked down at the yarn underneath their linked hands. And spoke so quietly the words were barely heard. “I’m not sure what to wish.”

Sophie knew that part of the journey too. “Give it time. Not everything blooms quickly.”

“Okay.” Cass nodded slowly and released one hand to swipe at her tears. “Then maybe it’s time for a good old-fashioned Irish remedy for trying to move too fast. Let’s go find me some needles.”

-o0o-

Ah, things were afoot in Fisher’s Cove.

Moira closed the door behind her departing visitors. Sophie and Cass were leaving down her walkway, heads bent together companionably. It was lovely to see.

Friends—and ones who had come to borrow knitting needles for yarn that Moira had gone to some pains not to covet. A truly lovely gift from a wise healer who understood the soul of her new friend.

The tea kettle whistled, ready with its never-ending supply of hot water. Moira turned and nearly bumped into Nell. “Oh, my. Isn’t it a mite early for you to be up?” It would be the crack of dawn in California.

Her guest took a large swig from a cup that smelled of dark coffee. “Haven’t gone to bed yet. I was on Kenna duty last night. Thought I’d stop by for some gossip before I catch some sleep.”

Moira withheld her lecture on the evils of caffeine before bed—Nell was well aware of the biochemistry and old enough to have earned the right to ignore it. “Well, let’s see. Sophie and Cass have become friends, our lovely fiddler handles sadness in the way of all the Irish, and Marcus has declined the offer of an amethyst hairclip.”

Nell sat down, her eyes bright with laughter. “It sounds like there’s a story behind all of those, but the last one has the best punch line.”

They were nowhere near the end of the story just yet. Moira told the tale of Cass’s teasing.

“Hmm.” Nell contemplated a plate of muffins, still warm from the oven. “Do you think she meant anything by it, or was she just trying to cheer herself up?”

Marcus had a good friend in Nell Walker, even if neither of them admitted it most of the time. “I think he’s thoroughly caught her attention, but she’s wary yet. Morgan’s easier.” Which also had her nephew worried, even if he wasn’t admitting that, either.

“Everyone loves Morgan.” Nell brushed that off with the ease of a woman well used to having her children adored by a vast community.

“Aye. And Cass has had rather a shock these last few days.” It was often hardest to look in the eyes of those who loved you most. “We’ll know soon enough if she’s brave enough to round the bend.”

“She doesn’t seem weak.” Nell contemplated her coffee, musing. “Her music isn’t.”

It certainly wasn’t. “You’d know something of a strong woman facing an unexpected turn in the road. It isn’t always weakness that’s the problem.”

“Yeah.” Their resident warrior witch snickered, suddenly amused. “Especially if Marcus Buchanan is standing around the corner.”

Ah, they did such a good job of pretending not to have each other’s backs. And Nell wasn’t wrong—Marcus was a difficult man. “He’s not all that awaits around the bend.”

Nell slurped her coffee, thinking. “What else do you see?”

A heart squeezed. “Nan described Cass as a soul with a singular purpose. Music has been her whole life. You’d know something of that, too.”

Her guest stared, perplexed.

How quickly the young forgot. “I remember a woman obsessed with her computer. Day and night, nothing but lines of code and the world you were creating.”

“It’s how programmers work.” Nell was still confused.

“The best ones, yes.” Moira smiled gently. “And as I recall, you were none too happy when Daniel showed up.”

“Yeah.” Nell breathed out slowly. “It was hard to make room. Even harder when Nathan arrived.” Eyes filled with empathy over her cup of coffee. “Cass would have to let go of her music some.”

“Yes.” And to someone who had held on to only one thing for most of her life, that would feel a little bit like letting go of breathing.

Amusement hit Nell’s eyes. “Tell Marcus he will need to be persistent.”

Moira was quite sure that was a message better delivered by the warrior witch herself. Or possibly her husband. “Marcus and Morgan are not the only thing calling Cass to a different life.”

“Her magic.” Nell sobered. “Do we know anything more about that yet?”

Only feelings and instincts, and the quiet words of an old Irish healer who had known Cassidy from birth. “Her nan thinks more of her magic awakens. And that the time approaches when she will need to decide what to do with the gift she has.”

They sat in silence for a while, two women who knew well what it was to tangle with sharp bends in the road.

Nell cleaned up crumbs from her muffin. “What do you think she’ll choose?”

That was a question keeping Moira awake at night. “I don’t know. It will depend what her heart is ready for. A traveler’s discipline is in putting one foot in front of the other every day, whether you want to or not. A musician’s is much the same, I would think.”

“Yeah. This is different.”

It certainly was.

“Maybe Marcus is right to be cautious.” More desire to protect coming from the woman who claimed not to like the most cranky resident of Fisher’s Cove.

But she wasn’t right about what was needed. “Oh, quite the opposite, I think. It will be courage that wins this day, not caution.”

Nell’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

That was the beauty of it. Moira was pretty sure she didn’t need to be up to anything at all.

-o0o-

Marcus stared at his closing front door, bemused. It was the girl children on the meddling trail this morning—and so far, he couldn’t find a lot of reasons to be disagreeable.

Morgan had just teetered off happily, holding Lizzie’s hand, bound for greener pastures. Something about cookies and a sword fight. Mike was supervising, so it was probable that nobody would actually get run through.

And if they did, the man was a passable healer.

Marcus huffed and settled into his gaming chair. Two whole hours of freedom, guaranteed by a seven-year-old who generally meant what she said.

His laptop screen pinged. Sophie grinned at him from video chat, looking unreasonably happy herself. “You ready to go?”

Apparently the Realm duelers had recruited everyone. “They’re scraping the bottom of the bucket if they want the two of us.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Speak for yourself. My skills aren’t that rusty.” She dusted her fingers on her shirt. “And I’ve been practicing my bunny-slipper spells.”

He was never going to live that down. And would have suspected her of being in cahoots with Ginia, except that Warrior Girl was awaiting him in her castle. Strategy session. He frowned at his screen—might as well collect intel on the way. “Who’s your partner?”

Sophie laughed merrily. “You really are rusty if you think I’m going to spill my secrets that easily.”

Hmm. Nell and Kevin were the duo who had issued the global challenge, but most of the other partnerships were murky. “I hear Govin’s playing.” Smart tacticians concerned him, especially if they were teamed up with crafty healers.

“Mmm.” Sophie was reading her screen, which might be evasion—or honest distraction. “Do you know who’s working with The Hacker?”

Marcus grinned. Nell’s husband, Daniel, was easily the most fearsome coder in Realm. And what he lacked in magic, he made up for in plain sneakiness. “Yes.”

Sophie’s eyes got crafty. “And are you going to share that information?”

Not unless it was to his advantage. He was fairly certain Aunt Moira and Daniel were the team to beat. If he was very lucky, their elder witch was on babysitting duty this morning. Lizzie had seemed to think so.

Then again, Daniel could probably run circles around the rest of them single-handedly for days.

Ginia was paging him. “My presence is required at Warrior Girl’s castle. May the best witches win.”

He ported into Realm with Sophie’s laughter ringing in his ears. She was far too cheerful for his liking.

A warrior with blonde curls and pink armor awaited him none too patiently. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not wearing princess gear.”

“Hardly.” Her eyebrow mirrored his. “I expect yours is old, black, and rusty.”

Something like that. He tried not to be amused. “Beware those of us with a little rust on our joints, youngling. Your father is a fearsome competitor.”

Warrior Girl shrugged, clearly not all that worried about a lowly librarian. “Mama can take him.”

Maybe. Evidence over the years was somewhat divided on that account. “Regardless. A lot of Realm’s old talent is back for this duel, and you’d do well to respect it.”

Ginia giggled and stepped up to peer over her ramparts. “Silly. We invited you.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that was a form of respect, but he had better things to do than try to teach a preteen girl to mind her elders. “Have you been up to anything useful this morning? Defenses, perhaps?” A good warrior always protected himself first.

“Sure.” She waved negligently at a pile of spellcubes as tall as a house. “I’ve got force fields, rainbows, whackers, puffballs, silencers, sticky feeters, and glitter clouds. And a couple of new things.”

Marcus grimaced. Only a ten-year-old girl would have dreamed up a cloud of glitter as a defensive weapon. Sadly, it was extremely effective. The last time he’d had the misfortune to meet up with it, he’d sneezed purple glitter for a week. He hefted the bag on his back. “I have some nice tracker bugs and mobile ears. With this many teams, a little reconnaissance is in order.”

“Spying’s boring.” Warrior Girl was still peering over the ramparts. “Let’s just go find someone and have our first duel.” She grinned. “It will help get your rust off.”

He growled.

“Excellent. Kevin owes me three eavesdropping spells.”

Marcus blinked at the non sequitur. “And why would that be?” Trading with the opposition was generally a bad idea. Too many Trojan horses.

“I bet him I could make you growl at me in less than five minutes.” Her eyes sparkled. “Only took two.”

Marcus briefly wondered at his partner’s true allegiances. “And why were the two of you wanting me grumpy?”

Ginia leaned over and touched his cheek. “He said you were sad. Grumpy’s way better than sad.”

It nearly undid him. One kind touch from a child.

He squeezed her hand once and picked up his sword. “Let’s go pick a fight, fearless leader.”

She led the way and he followed, feeling substantially lighter.

There had always been people willing to reach into his sadness, and he had the sudden, uncomfortable urge to do the same. Because for all she hid it behind poking humor and purple hair clips—a certain Irish witch was still sad.

-o0o-

Life went on, even when you didn’t have any idea what bar or measure you were on. Cass looked over at the eager face of the boy standing in the inn’s kitchen and tried to simply be in the moment.

Kevin surely would.

“Ready?” She’d decided to move lessons to the kitchen. Aaron would enjoy seeing the innards of a musician in the making, and they might not get quite so much company this way. Besides, it was the way she had learned, and generations of Celtic fiddlers before her.

Kevin was already unpacking Samantha, with a care she’d rarely shown the poor violin. Cass looked over at the cook stirring pots on the stove. “Any requests?”

Aaron sent her an easy smile. “Nope.”

The best kind of audience. She picked up Rosie. The baby reel had been a standard starter piece, but young Kevin’s eyes spoke of a different kind of soul. She waved her bow at him. “Have a listen and see if this is the kind of thing you might like to play.”

The slow ballad appealed to her today, and she put a goodly dose of the Cassidy Farrell talent into her playing. Kevin was the rare youngster who might appreciate that a slow, quiet song was as worthy of skill as the trickiest reel.

Cass had been about thirty-five before she’d learned that lesson. A late bloomer on so many fronts.

She pushed that thinking away. It was a ballad, not a dirge. Both members of her audience listened raptly, a fiddle hanging from one set of hands, a dripping ladle from the other.

It would have been a waste of words to ask if the song pleased Kevin or not. She set Rosie down on her knee. “Ballads move nice and slow to give your fingers time to think. It will take some work, but I’m pretty sure you can manage this one.”

“It’s a lot to remember.” Kevin gulped, a little overwhelmed.

That’s what happened when the teacher showed off. Cass shook her head, ready to make amends. “It only uses the top two strings. You’ll be fine. We’ll go a little bit at a time.”

“Would it help to be able to listen to it whenever you wanted?” Aaron walked over to a shelf, looking vaguely embarrassed. He picked up an iPod and microphone setup—a very nice one. “I set it to record so I could remember Cassidy Farrell playing in my kitchen. I meant to ask, but I forgot before you got started.”

He looked like a small boy caught raiding cookies. She smiled, happy to ease his guilt. “You’re welcome to your memories, and it’s a fine idea for Kevin here.” He’d be able to listen after she left.

The rocks grumbled under her feet.

She refused to wobble. Leaving was the plan—and until she had a new one, the plan was darned well going to stay in place. A musician had to have some song to play, even if it suddenly hurt her ears.

She smiled at Kevin. “Let’s go bar by bar, shall we? And then we’ll make sure you have a copy of whatever Aaron’s captured on that toy of his.”

Both men blushed, Kevin far deeper. “He’s not going to record this part, is he?”

No. The student would hear only the mistakes—not his talent. She winked at Aaron and began, leading the boy on the stool through the music measure by measure.

He had a good ear, and she’d been right. The ballad suited Kevin down to the ground. Slow notes made the mechanics easier for a beginner—and let through something else she’d been positive was there.

He leaned into the notes. Felt them. Told a story with eight simple notes and a horsehair bow.

He was going to make a damn fine musician.

It would be worth the drive every year just to hear him get better. Maybe she’d even make the trek more than once a year. Come in summer. Smell the flowers.

Her fingers clenched around Rosie’s strings. You couldn’t be a musician halfway. And the temptation to stay would only get stronger.

Just as it did every time she visited home.

Cass set Rosie on her knee and let her student play alone. Hearing his tentative, stumbling notes fed something she hadn’t known was hungry—and it settled her. She could do this. And she could visit. Maybe even more often.

Life had more than two choices. She just needed to find them.

And whatever the tangle of her larger purpose here, this hour was pure magic. Cass waited until Kevin worked his way through the little ballad several more times. And then, fairly sure her student had his notes now, she shouldered Rosie and started picking out a gentle counterpoint to his melody. Simple harmonies. Quiet ones that wouldn’t disrupt a beginner and his playing.

Kevin grinned, listening as he played. And Aaron pushed a little button that Cass was quite sure had his iPod recording again.

She knew what he would capture. The shaky beauty of a new musician and a jaded old one, caught up in the insidious pleasure of making music together.

Today, she would revel in it. There were plenty of other days to play alone.