A Celtic Witch

Chapter 9



Her fingers were creaking. Cass ran Rosie through some light scales, trying to loosen the tightness.

She was getting old. Once upon a time, all that ever hurt the morning after was her head.

The inn was quiet as a mouse and clean as a whistle—not a sign of the previous night’s entertainment. Or of any living soul. But Aaron had left out a plate of muffins and a note about cheese, fruit, and fresh orange juice in the fridge.

The innkeeper was sleeping in.

Cass wished she could do the same, but she’d been haunted her entire life by an internal rooster bent on getting up at the crack of dawn no matter what time she’d crawled into bed. She should be grateful that dawn came so late at this time of year.

Her fingers had switched to random noodling, wandering over Rosie, picking out pleasing notes and little riffs of sound. Ready to play.

Remembering Ellie’s glorious teenage musical angst, Cass let her hands continue to noodle, but with purpose this time. Telling the story of Fisher’s Cove and the magic that resided here.

She resisted the harmonics that wanted to sound. She didn’t want to hear about the man with the craggy eyes. The light, bright notes that were Morgan, she allowed—the child wasn’t dangerous.

The rocks seemed amused.

Cass snorted and kept playing.

“That’s really different.”

Quiet words from the doorway nearly got Rosie dropped on her head. “Good morning—you’re up early.”

“Sean was snoring.” Kevin grinned. “And Aaron always leaves out breakfast in the kitchen.”

Ah. That explained why the muffin plate held enough to feed half a village. Likely it often did. “Want to go scrounge? I can probably scramble some eggs without poisoning either of us.”

“I can cook eggs.” He shrugged diffidently. “Maybe you can keep playing.”

Cass knew that look. Almost-teenage boys weren’t the usual ones wearing it, especially when food called—but she knew when someone was smitten by the music.

And he’d been a steady audience at her feet the night before.

“How old are you?” She sized up Kevin’s frame.

“Twelve.”

And not hit his teenage growth spurt. Too small for Rosie, yet. But it would be enough to give him a taste. Cass held out her violin. “Give her a try.”

Kevin practically stopped breathing. “I don’t know how.”

“Of course you don’t. Just try sliding the bow on the strings for a bit.” Tucking Rosie under her chin, Cass demonstrated. “See if you can get a pretty sound out of her. Music’s just one pretty note connected to the next.”

Kevin took the proffered violin. Set it carefully on his shoulder and reached for the bow. And still holding his breath, laid it on the strings.

The first few notes sounded like a tortured cat—they always did. Kevin giggled.

Cass grinned. “Try again. Loosen your hold on the bow this time. And be brave—Rosie likes a good, strong hand.”

Kevin tried again, his touch slightly less tentative. The cat only sounded a little strangled. Buoyed by progress, the boy kept sliding his bow across the top string. One, single monotone note, reverberating in the inn’s silence.

Cass waited, patient—urging on his inner musician.

Slowly, Rosie began to sound less like a cat and more like a fiddle. Awakening. And Cass saw what she’d already guessed was there. Kevin’s posture was atrocious, his grip on the bow the stuff of teacher nightmares. His arms were too short, and if he stuck his chin out any farther, he was going to drop snot into Rosie’s f-holes.

But his eyes were falling in love. The rest could be taught.

She waited for a couple of passable notes, Rosie’s rich tones making the very best of a beginner’s first steps. And then held out her hands. “Here, let me show you how to change the notes a bit.”

Moving slowly, Cass laid her fingers down on the top string, working five notes up a scale and back down again. Kevin’s eyes were glued to her movements.

She settled Rosie in his hands again. “You try.”

He sorted out arms, bow, and fiddle and played a passable first note. The second was flat enough to make them both wince. Kevin yanked his finger up like he’d been shot.

Cass grinned—at least her impromptu student didn’t have a tin ear. “Move your finger around a bit. Can you find where it sounds right?”

It didn’t take him long—and his smile of satisfaction told her about more than his innate grasp of pitch. Carefully, he set down a second finger, and this time, found where it belonged with impressive speed.

Slowly he worked his way up the five notes she’d played, straining a little on the tricky pinky finger. Cass smiled and edged her way toward the door. She wasn’t needed for a bit. He had good ears—Rosie would teach him.

Her rooster had woken her well this morning.

Up the stairs she went, listening to Kevin’s painstaking notes. And headed into her room, straight for the phone. It was milking time and nobody answered, but she could leave a message. “Mum? Pack up Samantha, would you? I think I’ve found her a new home.”

Her three-quarter-sized student violin would be just right for Kevin’s lanky arms—and she was chock full of young-teen dreams.

-o0o-

Nell leaned back in her chair, fascinated. And amused that no one in Fisher’s Cove was responding to her Internet pings. Apparently they were all still sleeping.

She’d woken up early, courtesy of a sniffly little boy who’d needed tea, hugs, and a lullaby to send his germy self back to sleep. Which had left his mama wide awake and bitten by the research bug. Time to learn about their new witch.

Moira might ask the faeries—Nell was sticking with Google.

Cassidy Farrell was impressive. A long and very successful career. She’d won every award, charmed every head of state, Irish and otherwise, headlined every place worth playing.

They said she had the most talented fingers in a generation—and the hard-driving guts to take them where no one else could go.

None of which really told the story of what Nell had figured out in three minutes on YouTube.

Cass was magic. Her music, even the grainy, tinny version on the Internet, was wild. Deep. The kind that yanked on you and made you dance and cry all at the same time. And then teased you into laughter and started all over again.

In person, she would be irresistible.

“Researching the Sullivans?” Daniel leaned over her shoulder and peered at the Irish genealogy site as he delivered an early-morning sandwich.

“Nope.” She munched down the first bite of hoagie. “Doing a little digging on our new witch. Moira made some comment about her being well named, but I have no idea what she meant.”

“Beats me.” Daniel stole half of her sandwich. “You coming back to bed?”

“Nope. Too many dragons on the loose.” The new release had been relatively uneventful so far, but Jamie had taken the night shift. It was her turn, at least until the child labor woke up.

“Want help?”

She smiled—he’d always been happy to pitch in and code circles around misfiring witch mischief. “I’ll let you know.” Besides, he needed to save his strength—the great Realm Ides of March Duel kicked off in about three hours.

She pulled up YouTube again. “Listen to this.”

It took four notes for the video to have her husband’s complete attention. And she felt the same thing in his mind as her own.

Captivation.

From two people who rarely gave violins a second glance.

“That’s her?” Daniel squinted at the screen, trying to make out the performer’s face.

Nell switched to a tab that showed Cassidy Farrell in high-pixel glory. Wild brown curls, green eyes, and a face that demanded you look.

Daniel’s summary was more succinct. He whistled at the screen, long and low.

Yup. By any objective standards, their Irish witch was hot. Which kept threatening to give Nell a case of the giggles. “Moira thinks destiny has delivered her for Marcus.”

Her husband nearly choked on stolen hoagie. “What?”

“She’s seeing Irish stars and wedding bells.” Or something like that. “Figures we’ve fetched the perfect witch to live with our grumpy bachelor happily ever after.”

She’d expected amusement. Instead, Daniel just stared at the screen, contemplating. “Huh. That could be interesting.”

Interesting? Nell gaped, hoagie and dragons forgotten. “Are you nuts? Marcus would make any woman crazy in ten seconds flat.” Even her daughters wanted to brain him with a two-by-four most days.

“He’s changing.” Her husband’s eyes tracked one more time to the woman on the computer.

No way. “He’s still a sexist curmudgeon.” Even if he loved one little girl beyond measure and made pumpkin eggnog for another.

“Yup. He is.” Now the amusement hit Daniel’s mind. “Wanna take a vacation? I hear Nova Scotia’s beautiful this time of year.”

She pulled his head in for a kiss—he was irresistible, even when he was being an idiot. “We have plenty of spies in place to let us know when the explosion’s coming.” Nell glanced at Cass’s face. “Somebody should warn her.” Woman to woman. It was only fair.

“I don’t think so.” Daniel flashed a grin and clicked play on the YouTube video. For several moments, he listened to the magic floating out of her computer speakers. “I’m pretty sure somebody should warn him.”

Nell listened to Cassidy Farrell’s genius weaving a spell over the impersonal interwebs. And wondered if her husband just might be right.

-o0o-

Sophie walked through the door of the inn, witch on a mission. And laughed at herself as she shed her wet boots by the door.

She wasn’t here as a witch—she was here as a mama. Magic might be the topic, but it wasn’t the reason. Long into the night, Rosie’s songs had held Adam enthralled. Called him into a place of contentment and ease that Sophie so often wished for her son—and so rarely saw.

And then he’d gone home and slept ten hours straight.

A woman could change the world on ten hours of sleep. Or at the very least, try to solve a mystery tinged with magic and grace. It had been such a gift watching Adam happy.

Outer gear finally shed, she headed back toward the kitchen. If Cass was in residence, the smells coming from Aaron’s oven had to have her drooling. Sophie sniffed appreciatively as she walked down the hall. Orange and sweet egg and a hint of something a little more spicy.

She heard Cass before she saw her. The traces of a lilt, so strange to hear from someone else. For most of the people in Fisher’s Cove, Moira was Ireland.

“Good morning.” Aaron smiled in welcome and then turned back to his pots. “I have scones coming out in just a minute, and some Thai curry if you’re staying for lunch.”

She was now. The single thing she missed most about Colorado was the hole-in-the-wall Thai place down the street. “I didn’t know you could make curry.”

“Twice in one week now. There’s a new Asian market in Halifax.” He picked up a spoon and sniffed. “I got some things to try, and Cass here likes Thai food.”

Ah, that explained it. Most visitors to Fisher’s Cove were looking for slightly more local fare. Which was a crying shame, because Aaron was an apron-clad genius. Sophie smiled at their visitor. “In that case, I’m especially glad you came to visit, and I hope you’re staying a couple of months.”

Cass chuckled, clearly already at home in Aaron’s kitchen. “Last night was pretty good incentive. You were one of the last to leave, I think—you and the babe with big brown eyes.”

Well, that got to her topic of the morning pretty quickly. “Yes, Adam’s my son.”

“He’s gorgeous.” Cass poured a second mug of tea from the cozy pot sitting in the middle of the table. “He seemed to like the music.”

Sophie felt a lump rising in her throat. “He loved it. He’s never that peaceful in a crowd. Usually we’re outside walking the road with him.” She could sense Aaron’s attention—still stirring his pots, but he was listening now.

So many people quietly worried about her little boy.

“Lots of babies like the music.” Cass smiled. “My mum says my nan used to play me to sleep when I was teething. Says it worked better than bourbon.”

Well, those were two things they’d never tried with Adam. Sophie wrapped her hands around the warm mug, debating how carefully to tread. “Perhaps there was magic in your nan’s music, too.”

“Maybe so.” Cass smiled, taking the words at face value and missing the question underneath. “Or maybe your Adam will play the fiddle one day.”

She was pushing too hard. Sophie took a breath and tried to relax. The mystery didn’t need to be solved today—it was enough of a gift that it existed at all. “If you play again while you’re here, I hope you don’t mind if we sneak in to listen.” Probably with half the village in tow. They had a few locals who could put together a passable evening of music, but Cass had grizzled old fishermen talking of angels.

“I play every day.” Their visitor stood up, her eyes glued to the scones Aaron had just pulled out of the oven. “Particularly if it earns me one of those.”

Aaron chuckled. “The Sea Trance Inn feeds you whether you play or not.”

Cass winked at Sophie and shrugged. “And I play whether anyone listens or not, but you and the babe are welcome anytime. If he’s restless, bring him on by and I’ll see if I have my nan’s touch.”

The easy generosity was irresistible, even to someone who normally made friends slowly. “If it does, can I sign my husband up for violin lessons?”

“Not in my inn.” Aaron’s eyes were merry as he set two plates down on the table. “I’ve heard Mike sing. He’s as tone deaf as a rock.”

“Rocks aren’t tone deaf.”

It was an offhand comment, said by a guest staring in deep pleasure at a steaming scone. And it tickled the small hairs on the back of Sophie’s neck. Sometimes healers had to venture into the unknown with nothing but those tickles guiding them. “The rocks like your music?”

“Mostly.” Cass looked up, eyes less glazed by baked goods now. “My nan says the planet listens better than most people, at least if you’ve got something worthwhile to say.”

A lifetime of conversations with Moira, and Sophie had learned to hear what hadn’t quite been said. “Your grandmother is an earth witch.”

A noncommittal shrug. “That’s a word that means something different on this side of the waters, I think.”

Maybe not as much as their guest thought. With casual hands, Sophie reached for the vase of flowers tucked behind the sugar bowl and teased out a bud that was still closed. A little morning glory needing just the lightest touch of magic to open its purple face to the sky.

Sophie smiled and sent it a gentle apology—the sky wasn’t so hospitable at this time of year.

“Ah.” Cass breathed out quietly. “Yes, my nan can do that, but most of our other healers can’t.”

“Not all healers are earth witches. Lizzie is primarily a water witch, although she’s got enough earth magic to bloom a flower or two.”

“That fits.” Cass nodded. “She doesn’t dance like an earth witch.”

That was interesting. “She’s unusual. We think she might yet develop earth magics. Often one kind of power developing can tug on others, especially when the witch is young.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.” Their guest looked at her uneaten scone. “I’ve been away from the magic a long time.”

Sophie wasn’t so sure of that. But her instincts were tickling again. There were times to push—and times to back away gently. Whatever flowed beneath the surface here, it wasn’t a simple conversation over scones. She topped up both their mugs of tea. “I think we can eat without burning our tongues now.”

Cass grinned. “It would hardly be the first time I’ve scalded a body part or two. Nan used to say I had the patience of a three-year-old boy in a mile-long line for the outhouse.”

That was the most apt description of Sean that Sophie had ever heard. “We have one or two like that here.” Fortunately, Fisher’s Cove no longer sported very many outhouses. She smiled at their guest. One more thing to find out before she put up her detective shield for the day. “How long are you staying?”

“Not sure. A few nights, maybe a week.”

The casual words of a traveler. Sophie tried not to protest—ten hours of straight sleep deserved better than that. She picked up her scone and took a bite.

And watched bliss hit Cass’s face as she did the same.

Sophie grinned and made a little wish. It wouldn’t be the first time Aaron’s cooking had turned someone’s short visit into a much longer stay.

-o0o-

Someone had cleared out all traces of pink bunny from his keep. Marcus looked around—only one Realm player had that kind of power.

The one who had created them in the first place.

“She’s still eating lunch,” said an amused voice from over by the tree.

Marcus raised a reflexive shield and then relaxed it again. If The Wizard had meant to behead or bespell him, it would have happened already. In the gaming world, Nell Walker took very few prisoners. He glared her general direction. “I thought we were dueling.” Morgan was napping under Lizzie’s careful watch. He didn’t have all day.

Nell’s eyes flashed, mostly with humor. “Want a fight, do you?”

No. He was simply here to honor his commitments. “I heard the old guard was coming out to play. Someone has to teach the younglings to keep their shields up.”

The Wizard’s robe glittered.

Marcus snorted—some things never changed. Nell had always been more than willing to blow game points on flagrant displays of nothing useful. “Parlor tricks.”

“Says the guy whose game points have probably molded from lack of use.” The robe was doing something fancy and swirly now.

“Some of us have children to raise.” Belatedly, Marcus remembered who he was talking to. “All of yours know better than to eat carpet fuzz or feed dirt to the kitty.” Morgan had been very insistent and Hecate had been very unimpressed.

“Yup.” The Wizard leaned back against a sturdy tree. “My life is all leisure and sunshine.”

He didn’t want to know what trouble they got into past the age of two. “You’ve got time to duel.”

She grinned. “Kevin asked nicely. What’s your excuse?”

He had no earthly idea. “Who recruited Daniel?” There weren’t that many kids in the witch-only levels, and most of them weren’t nearly smart enough to find the tough old librarian, much less convince him to don his gaming shoes.

Unease entered The Wizard’s eyes. “Moira.”

Oh, hell. “How is it she’s become one of the more frightening denizens of Realm?” A couple of years ago, his aunt had needed assistance to find the Internet at all.

“Never underestimate the Irish, I guess.”

Or old and sneaky witches. Marcus leaned against a neighboring tree. And hoped like heck that his partner had a plan.

The Wizard dimmed her robe, parlor games over. “How’s it going with your visitor?”

Marcus turned a sharp eye on the fields of his keep. “Where?”

Nell snorted beside him. “Brown curly hair, green eyes, small talent with a fiddle?”

Oh. That visitor. “She’s not my anything. She’s a guest at the inn.” One whose music had the entire village chattering and his daughter trying to dance like the fleet-footed Lizzie. Which so far had only bruised her bottom and her ego.

“There really is life beyond parenting,” said his companion quietly.

Marcus blinked. That had sounded entirely too much like empathy. “I’m aware of that.”

“Good.” Nell pushed away from the tree. “Then let’s head to town so I can crush you and that upstart daughter of mine into dust.”

That was more like it. Marcus grabbed his sword, suddenly very glad to be back in Realm.

A world with simple rules. And empty of Irish witches who walked through life with a head of easy joy.