A Celtic Witch

Chapter 18



Ah, the joys of a kitchen full of women. And the pleasant quiet that landed when they departed.

Moira watched as the village contingent got on their boots and headed out the door with cheerful waves. One surprise party for Aaron underway, assuming they could keep all the chatter away from the ears of the man who had designated himself the quiet caretaker of Fisher’s Cove.

Sophie closed the door behind the last of the ladies and grinned wryly. “Well, that was interesting.”

Nell, Witch Central’s lone, but very capable, representative, snickered and swept cookie crumbs into a neat pile on the table. “Which part?”

It had been a bit of a rumble on all fronts. A compromise menu that included lobster stew and Jamie’s world-famous spaghetti sauce, fifteen different ideas about how to keep the most connected guy in Fisher’s Cove in the dark, and a rather vocal debate about who should provide the entertainment.

Or rather, what they would do if Cassidy Farrell wasn’t around in two weeks to do the honors.

Sophie sat down at the table with a sigh. “No one wants her to go.”

Nell dusted her neat pile of crumbs off the table. “This might be a crazy question, but has anyone asked her to stay?”

For warriors, the world was so very black and white. Moira cozied her hands around a still-warm cup of tea. “I think she knows she would be welcome here.”

“That’s different from an invitation.” Nell leaned back, frowning. Tilted her head back and forth, studying her two companions. And then started to laugh. “Hold on. You’re waiting for Marcus to ask her?”

They were, at that.

Their Berkeley witch had an attack of the giggle-snorts. “Hell will freeze over first.”

Moira smiled, well pleased with the nuggets of gossip tucked away in a quiet corner of her heart that said otherwise. “It’s often quite chilly in these parts. And I’ve faith in my nephew.”

Two sets of eyes looked at her, one wildly skeptical, the other afraid to hope.

Hmmph. Moira stared them down, hiding her amusement. “Men have asked such questions since the beginning of time. I’m quite sure he can manage.”

Nell shook her head, unconvinced. “Not the Marcus Buchanan I know.”

“Look more closely,” said Moira softly. It was time for the world to open their eyes. “You don’t think a man can change? He’s a forty-eight-year-old bachelor who can change a diaper as well as anyone in this room.”

“Yes.” Sophie nodded slowly. “But that’s a far cry from asking a grown woman to be a part of your life.”

It was. And yet…

Moira assembled her arguments. First, for the healer. Looking at Sophie, she reached out to cup the small bouquet of daffodils sitting by the window. Delivered by Marcus and a wee smiling girl just this morning. “He has new magic emerging. A man halfway through his life.” Magic just didn’t work that way.

Sophie touched a finger to bright yellow petals and exhaled. “True.”

Moira found a small bud, not yet opened, and pushed a tiny trickle of power. She smiled when it opened—these days, that was sometimes in question. “And what does a plant require to bloom?”

Sophie frowned. “Water, sunlight, good roots. Or a touch of magic.”

Exactly. “His magic blooms. He’s found his water and sunlight and roots.” Perhaps a little later than most, but blooming, nonetheless.

Sophie studied the flower. And as she did, hope slowly came to life in her eyes.

Good. One down, one to go. Moira looked over at their warrior witch. “And tell me, how is his gameplay these days?”

Nell blinked. “He hasn’t been around Realm for months. Well, except for the duel.”

Her students were slow today. “And, what have you noticed in his dueling, then?”

“Huh.” Nell was thinking hard now. “I thought it was Ginia’s influence. They’ve been a very creative team. Adaptable. Daring, even. A lot of shifting gears on the fly.”

Precisely. “And Marcus is allowing himself to be all of those things.” Perhaps pushed and prodded a little by a partner who embodied the word “adaptable,” but her nephew was more than capable of digging in his heels.

That he hadn’t spoke volumes, at least to one old witch.

Sophie and Nell looked at each other and shrugged. Considering.

Eyes half open—for today, that would have to be good enough. “Give him the benefit of the doubt. I think he might surprise us all.”

Nell looked down at her vibrating phone and grinned. “Apparently I have my first chance to find out. Gotta go. Marcus and that rabble-rousing daughter of mine have been spotted near our team’s spell cache.”

Well, now. Poking a stick at the warrior—quite the bold move. Moira turned for the teapot, hiding a smile.

She didn’t believe her nephew was done being bold just yet. If they were very lucky, he’d only just begun.

-o0o-

Sophie sat at the table, not sure whether to stay or go. And somehow hoping the wise woman who had always been her guide would make the decision for her.

Moira moved about her kitchen, taking care of the bits and pieces that company always left behind. And said not a word.

So much for someone else taking charge. Sophie sighed and refilled her tea cup. “Am I the only one worried that he might ask and she might say no?”

The old woman’s motions stilled. “No.”

“It takes two to bloom together.” Sophie felt her worry deepen, even as she assembled the words. “Cass wants to believe she’s a simple musician. A traveler.”

Wise eyes met hers. “Can you blame her?”

Not really. And that was part of what had Sophie tangled. “Magic comes with responsibilities.” So did families and small-town lives, but it was the first that haunted their itinerant musician the most. And that she acknowledged least.

“Aye.”

And Cassidy might have a bigger helping of those responsibilities than most. “Mike says he thinks she hears the planet.”

“Aye.” Said more softly now. “And those of us with small powers can’t ever truly understand the burden of those of you who hold something larger.”

Something clenched in Sophie’s chest. “I’m just a healer.”

“No, my girl.” Moira’s eyes ran over with love. “You’re the strongest healer I’ve ever known. The evidence of that lies inside my own head.”

Repairing the stroke damage had taken every healer the witching world could port on a moment’s notice. “I didn’t work alone.”

“No. You worked with the help of the child who will one day surpass you.”

Sophie gripped her tea—this wasn’t the oracle she’d come to consult. “Ginia.”

Moira nodded. “Our Lizzie will be a good healer. She’s talent and training and a tough mind and strong heart.”

But Ginia had all of those and deep, vast power. All wrapped in a steadfast desire to be a ten-year-old who loved glitter and hijinks. Sophie nodded, wondering, as she often did, just which way the teaching flowed. “We all want to be something simple.”

“Exactly.” An old hand reached out to touch her cheek. “A young girl. Or a woman who mixes potions on her stove.” A touch of humor hit Moira’s eyes. “Or perhaps even a grumpy old bachelor.”

The wise matriarch waited, and Sophie filled in the rest. “Or a fiddler.”

“Yes.”

Sophie considered the odd tapestry that threatened to weave the fiddler and the bachelor together. “For someone who’s usually bent on matchmaking, you’ve been awfully quiet.”

Moira smiled into her tea. “That I have.”

Sophie frowned—when a certain elderly witch chose, she could keep her cards very close to her chest. “You don’t approve?”

“What on earth would give you that idea?” Moira’s eyes fairly crackled. “She’s a lovely Irish lass with a sturdy heart and magic in her fingers. What could be more perfect for that boneheaded nephew of mine?”

It never paid to question the judgment of old witches. “So why no meddling, then?” Not even a good nudge that Sophie was aware of.

“We’ve meddled aplenty with Marcus.” Moira stared off into the distance, pensive now. “Each of us has a free will and we need to stretch and grow it, just like every other leaf and branch that keeps us healthy and strong.”

From oracle to wise one, all in one cup of tea.

“When wee Morgan arrived, our Marcus was still so very hurt. A plant rent asunder from its soil, the roots dry, the petals withered.”

Marcus would have a fit at that description, but the healer in Sophie understood. “He needed nursing.”

“Aye. When a plant’s that close to death, it’s the gardener’s job to be making decisions. My nephew still had some kick in him, but he needed good, strong hands showing him where the growing soil lay.”

“And now?”

“Now he’s healing.” Moira’s voice wavered even as she smiled. “He’s found good soil, and grown some sensible roots and leaves. Collecting sunshine, he is.”

“Blooming.” Sophie looked down at her hands, remembering his shock as the first daffodils had come up from the dirt under his palms.

“Yes. And that means it’s no longer our place to do the watering. That will be up to him.” Moira’s eyes twinkled. “And there’s a good Irish lass with her hand on the watering can too, I’m thinking.”

One who couldn’t figure out what she wanted to water. Quite the pair they were at the moment.

Moira picked up the teapot, her voice carefully casual. “It’s perhaps not our Marcus who needs a gardener at the moment.”

Cassidy. “I can’t.” The words ground past the sudden lump in Sophie’s throat. Fear. And guilt.

“A good friend is often the one who best does the nudging.” Said very gently, by one who was a very good friend.

“It’s so hard for me not to be selfish. To want her to stay just for my sweet boy.”

“A good healer is selfless,” said Moira slowly, empathy pooling in her eyes. “Pours herself into the care of others. A truly wise healer knows how to add in her own needs so that the healing not only empties, but also fills.” She reached out a gentle hand. “You, my dear, are well on your way to being a truly wise healer. Not all that feels difficult and complicated is wrong. Let go of your guilt.”

Sophie stared at the old woman who was anything but empty. And felt something thirsty inside her soul reach out for the water.

-o0o-

Marcus dusted off his sword and restrained himself from joining Warrior Girl’s dance of victory. Barely. The Wizard’s army of illusion spells faded, cut off from their maker.

Ginia hadn’t outmagicked her mother—she’d outhacked her. And Nell’s sidekick, suddenly alone and in way over his head, had been unable to cover all their flanks.

Kevin stared at the spellcube that had failed him, face inscrutable.

Oh, hell. Marcus leaned over, speaking quietly. The last thing he needed in Realm was a reputation for kindness. “It was a damn good idea. Would have kept her hopping if it had worked.”

“I know.” The boy looked mournful. “I’m not so good at coding on the fly yet.”

He was better than all but a handful of people in Realm. “You’ve been in this level what, six months now?”

“Seven and a half.”

Good. Pride would carry him far. “I’ve been here longer than you’ve been alive.” Sadly, not an exaggeration. “And you’ll note how often I take on Warrior Girl in code-to-code combat.” As little as he could manage—even when he won, he ended up sporting something pink and furry.

Kevin grinned. “She totally got The Wizard.”

Ah, the fickle loyalties of youth. “Yes, she did.”

The grin went supernova. “I’m gonna go get a really good seat.”

Marcus frowned, trying to follow the lightning change of subject. “Why?”

“Because.” Kevin was already reaching for his very-depleted rucksack. “You’re going after The Hacker next.”

Not without restocking their spell cache and having a long conversation with his partner. She might have outcoded her mother, but The Hacker was legend for a reason. Marcus shook his head. With parents like that and superboy for a brother, you’d think the girl would be growing up with an inferiority complex.

He was pretty sure Ginia had never felt inferior in her whole life.

Marcus leaned over Kevin’s spell and took an educated guess. “You have a trigger in there?”

“Yeah.” The face was back to mournful. Defeat, snatched from the jaws of something amazingly close to impasse. “More than one.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. The number of people who could finesse multiple triggers was very small. Perhaps he shouldn’t be offering the boy any advice.

Kevin frowned. “You think that’s what broke?”

“That’s where I’d look. Check that your layers aren’t twisted.”

“Thanks.” Kevin’s eyes gleamed, his fingers already pulling up lines of code. “And good luck.”

They would need it. Marcus signaled his partner in crime. “Morgan could wake up any minute. Perhaps we should consider how to defeat our next foe.”

Nell snorted, amused. “Not the same way you got past us.”

“No. Not that way at all.” Ginia’s voice had the distant sound of someone thinking far too hard. She rounded on Kevin, nose still stuck in his lines of code. “I’ll trade you all my game points for the stuff in your rucksack.”

The boy stared, dumbfounded. “It’s practically empty.”

“I know.” Warrior Girl picked up the rucksack, dusting it off. “But I need to get rid of my points. I want Dad and Aunt Moira to ignore me.”

That was insane. “You’re the one with all the firepower left.” They’d blown most of Marcus’s stash trying to distract The Wizard from her daughter’s coding stunt.

Ginia shrugged, fingers already initiating the trade. “We won’t need it.”

His partner was out of her pink and glittery mind.

She grinned. “Dad says that when you’re fighting a superior enemy, it isn’t your strongest stuff that matters. It’s your biggest surprise.”

They were going after The Hacker with his own advice and a puny rucksack of weapons? Good grief. Preteen impudence was going to get them both ground into dust. “And what exactly would our biggest surprise be?”

“You.” Gina grinned. “You have earth magic now. You’re going to bloom some sparkly pink flowers. Really pretty ones. They take hardly any game points.”

He was not. Marcus glared at Nell and Kevin as they slid down a convenient tree trunk in a tandem fit of mirth. The Wizard took one look at his face and laughed harder.

Warrior Girl reached into Kevin’s bag, tossed out a simple rope spell, and walked off, singing.

Marcus looked at the two suddenly sober witches tied to a tree. Considered Daniel and Moira’s penchant for the absurd. And hurried to catch up with his swaggering partner. “I’m not making them pink.”

Ginia grinned. “You could make them green, like Cassidy’s eyes.”

The growl that came out of his throat would have subdued a phalanx of dragons.

His puny companion giggled. “She’s really pretty.”

The next growl sounded more like a strangled cat. “Watch your step, youngling.”

“Are you going to kiss her?” Warrior Girl danced away, waving a bunny-slippers spellcube in warning. “If you want to, you should. Mama says she first wanted to kiss Dad behind server number three, but she didn’t, and she’s always regretted it.”

That was far more than Marcus had ever wanted to know, past, present, or future, about Nell and Daniel’s love life.

And more than any child of ten should know about anyone’s kisses. Or servers, for that matter.

Ginia opened her mouth one more time, her mind a bundle of questions that all had Cassidy’s name attached.

“Let’s go.” Marcus jumped at his own sudden bellow. “I’ll bloom the damn flowers.”

It suddenly seemed the lesser of two evils.

-o0o-

Cass listened to the end of Kevin’s ballad, well pleased. “You practiced hard.”

His cheeks flushed. “I like it.”

He a lot more than liked it. “Are your fingers sore?”

“Not too bad.”

That was a screaming lie, but she let it pass. “It will get better—you’ll build calluses soon.” She handed him a small tube. “This is something my nan mixes up for my fingers. You only need a tiny bit, but you might ask Sophie to see if she can make more before it runs out.”

The boy examined the tube, curious. “What’s in it?”

Cass just raised an eyebrow—anyone raised around healers should know the answer to that question.

He grinned and shoved the tube in his pocket. “Right. We don’t want to know.”

Smart kid. Cass reached over and picked up Rosie. “Want to learn something new?”

“Yeah.” One word, said with eyes bright enough to light up half the village. He picked up a worn backpack tucked behind a chair. “Marcus let me borrow some of his recording stuff. He said it’s old and he doesn’t need it anymore.”

Cass raised an eyebrow at the top-of-the-line equipment that came out of his bag. She’d seen it the day before, sitting in its brand-new packaging in a certain grumpy witch’s kitchen. The man was a total fraud. “Do you know how to use it?”

Kevin nodded seriously, plugging all the bits and pieces together. He tapped the touch screen a few times and nodded again. “Okay, it’s ready. You can play now.”

Quickly, she ransacked her mental repertoire. Another ballad, maybe—but one with a sense of humor this time. “This one tells the story of a slightly clumsy knight errant, gone off to save his princess.”

Her student rolled his eyes. “How come they always want to save the princess?”

She’d asked Nan that very same question once. “Because poets and songwriters love to tell three kinds of stories.” She paused a beat, enjoying his quick attentiveness. “Our best moments, and our worst ones.”

He didn’t wait long. “And?”

It was always helpful when a musician could count. “And our dumbest ones.”

Kevin’s giggles still held the delightful remnants of little boy. “This is about some of the dumb ones, right?”

At his age, she’d definitely thought so. These days, it was something else she heard in the knight’s quest. Something bright and important, managing to shine through human foible. She shrugged and shouldered Rosie. At twelve, she would only have heard the stumbles. Maybe Kevin would be different.

She played the ballad, enjoying the determined, awkward efforts of a man who had picked up a sword only because he loved. And the wisdom of the princess who had seen beyond the errant knight’s bumbling. It had always been one of her favorites, written by a bard with an uncommon sense of humor.

Nan had always insisted it must have been written by a woman.

Watching Kevin’s eyes glint with amusement in all the right places, Cass wasn’t entirely sure. She finished the ballad and waited for him to turn off the equipment.

He flashed her a grin. “I’m going to use that for my new keep in Realm. Maybe next time we’ll win.”

She’d heard bits and pieces about the online game. “The Irish have used music to fuel victory for centuries.” Although generally not ballads of bumbling knights. “Lost today, did you?”

“Yup. Got our butts kicked by a girl.”

He sounded awfully impressed by said girl.

“She had a little help,” said a voice dryly from the doorway.

Kevin grinned down at Samantha and said not a word.

There was a story here—she could smell it. Cass set down Rosie, curious. “You won, did you?” Talk of the Realm duels had been leaking through the village.

“Yes.” She’d never seen anyone look quite so embarrassed about victory. Marcus nodded at her student. “Kevin acquitted himself quite well, however.”

“They were awesome.” Kevin grinned—clearly in on the source of the embarrassment. And close enough to manhood to know he wasn’t supposed to admit it.

Cass sat back, enjoying the interplay between the man and the boy who clearly worshipped him. Not all knights were as bumbling as they thought. Or as grumpy.

Mischievous eyes turned her way. “Maybe you can write a ballad about it, Cass.”

Given the many shades of purple Marcus had suddenly turned, she was sorely tempted.

“Kevin.” Something odd tickled Marcus’s voice. “Why don’t you take your recording and plug it into my computer? You can use the composing program I showed you to save it.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, but cautiously. “Can I use it after my lesson? I want to try to play the new song.”

Cass knew a dismissal when she heard it. “Go ahead, Kev. I’ll get some tea and be right here when you get back.”

The lure of the electronic gadgets was strong. One last look and the boy flew down the hallway, wires dangling in every direction.

Cass grinned and hoped he remembered to put his boots on before he hit the outdoors. And then she looked back at the man with something to say. “What’s on your mind?”

Dark eyes watched her for a while. “He’ll be hurt when you leave.”

Guilt coated her words and made them harsh. “He’ll have had lessons from one of the best fiddlers on the planet.”

“I know.” He paused, looking at Rosie and Samantha, resting together on the parlor’s table. “I didn’t know you taught.”

“I don’t.” An automatic answer to a question asked a thousand times. Cass sighed—the automatic didn’t seem to be true any longer. “Who I am appears to be a bit of a moving target this week.” She avoided looking his direction. “I don’t suppose you’d know what that feels like.”

The silence lasted a very long time. “I had a twin brother. We spent every waking hour together. He died when I was five.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ve heard.”

“Of course you have. There’s no privacy here.” He didn’t sound angry—only resigned. “When he died, he took who I was with him. I spent the next forty-three years imagining myself to be someone else.”

Gods. He could strip her heart in a second. No one else could do that.

“I know what it is to stand between worlds. And I did some damage before I figured out where I was headed.” The fierceness in his voice had gentled. Some. “Take a care. He’s only a boy.”

She stared, shaken, hearing words beneath the words, as he backed up into the shadows and was gone.

There was a moment in all music. A pause, right before the finale, that warned the audience to find their balance.

She knew, deep in her gut, that this had been one of those moments.