A Celtic Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 6) (14 page)

Ah.  Moira had wondered.  “It calmed wee Adam.”

“He slept all night.”  Sophie’s breath hitched.  “I need to know what she’s doing.”

Nell’s eyes narrowed.  “Wait, you mean she calls real magic?”

“Yes.  Mike felt it most strongly, and his tightest affinities are rocks and metals.”  Sophie’s eyes held aching sadness now—and hope.  A mother pleading.  “She knows how to help my son.”

Moira wished it was the hope she could feed.  “Our Cass was named for her grandmother’s clan.  The Cassidy bloodline has the old magics.  Some hear voices in the wind.  Others can sense the sun or the rain.”  And had been tormented for their inability to control any of it.

“Old magics?”  Despair leaked into Sophie’s voice.  “Those are unpredictable.  Hard to control.”

And very rare.  “Aye.”  Moira would have given her soul for it to be different.  Adam was hers, too.

“I don’t understand,” said Nell quietly.

“Well then, you didn’t pay enough attention in witch history.”  Moira knew her voice was overly brisk—something had to fight back the tears.  “The ancient powers are fickle.  Hard to possess and very difficult to call to your bidding.  They can’t be taught—a precious few are simply born with them.”

“Cass’s magic likely doesn’t respond to her in the way we’re used to.”  Sophie sounded almost bitter.  “And she’s only here for a few days.”

“Ah.”  Warrior light jumped into Nell’s eyes, but her words stayed gentle.  “Then do what you do best.”

“What do you mean?”  Sophie’s fists clenched under the water.

“Take small, persistent steps.”  Nell’s kindness filled the tub.  “And be brave enough to hope.”

Tears dripped from Sophie’s eyes—but the words had been the right ones.  Moira felt her heart fill.  Her time might be waning, but the witching community was in very good hands.  And she wasn’t entirely done yet.  “I do believe you’re not the only one who wants Cass to stay a while.  Young Kevin is enchanted with her violin, and I’d venture the faeries have whispered in the ear of my nephew as well.”

The mention of Marcus and faeries had the desired effect—her two companions glanced at each other, amused and skeptical.

Nell rolled her eyes.  “I don’t think he’s going to be much help.  Kevin can be quietly persuasive, though.”

He could indeed—and they had one other very powerful card to play.  “She’s also lonely.”

Sophie frowned.  “I didn’t get that from her at all.  She makes friends as easily as she breathes.”

“Aye.”  An old witch knew that sometimes even a wealth of friends couldn’t block a lonely heart.  “She’s walked the road alone for a very long time.”  Just like the Irish bards of yore.  A soul with a singular purpose.  And like her soul’s ancestors, maybe her feet tired—and turned toward hearth and home.

Something Fisher’s Cove had in abundance.

Sophie was quiet, thinking.  “She is tired.  I thought she just needed a little downtime.”

“Perhaps.”  Honesty forced the simple acknowledgement.  “But she came to us and we’ve welcomed her.  I’m very much wondering what Cassidy Farrell will do if we keep holding out our hands.”  Moira smoothed the rocks beside her, conscious of the magic that lived in their depths.

A magic their Irish visitor heard very well. 

And then she felt something odd under her fingers.  Moira looked down and gladdened—perhaps the rocks weren’t entirely done with their efforts just yet, either.  “Ah, well now.  Isn’t that interesting.”

Sophie looked confused.

It was a small crack—but a crack nonetheless.  Moira traced the fracture line running down the granite that shaped her pool.  “I do believe my wee tub has sprung a leak.”

Nell leaned over to look.  “Huh.  I’ll page my fire witch—he could use something to burn off his energy.”

Moira adored her small boy of the mighty magic, but he wasn’t the answer this time.  “Thank you, Nell, but not today.  This is for us to fix, I think.”  Earth magics ran strong in Fisher’s Cove, and they could use a good day’s work.

Perhaps aided by a visitor who knew how to hear the rocks. 

Nell’s eyes clouded—and then she caught up. 
You’re a very sneaky witch. 

Moira only smiled.  Not nearly as sneaky as whatever force in the universe had managed to crack her pool. 

-o0o-

“Come on, Uncle Marcus—it’s an emergency!”  Kevin tap-danced on the edge of the porch, a rare level of urgent in his voice.

Marcus scooped up Morgan, still bundled in fifteen layers from her morning walk, and pulled the door shut behind them.  He hurried to catch up with his scurrying guide.  “Who’s hurt?”

“No one.  Sorry.”  Kevin slowed down, looking shamefaced.  “It’s not that kind of emergency.  There’s a leak in Aunt Moira’s pool.  Mike says one of the rocks wiggled and we need all the earth witches pronto.”

Hecate’s hells.  Marcus scowled down at the unfortunate messenger.  “I have about three whiffs of earth magic.”  Until last winter, he’d been entirely unaware he had any.  “I can barely bloom a flower.”  Perhaps a little more than that now, but still.

Kevin looked concerned.  “Mike said everyone.” 

“Then tell him to send for help from the west.”  Marcus turned in the gate of the inn, sighing.  “I’ll go see if I can help with Adam.”  Both his parents were earth witches of some repute—
they
might actually be useful.

“Lizzie’s got Adam, and  Aaron said you can drop off Morgan, too.”  Kevin hopped from one leg to the other and then held out his arms.  “Here, I’ll take her.  You’re kinda slow.”

Marcus sighed again.  Why did the young ones always think life had to be negotiated at light speed?  He handed Morgan over and headed for Moira’s garden, steps quickening.  Maybe Mike needed a full circle to fix whatever had broken—and however loathe he might be to admit it, that pool was the best thing in Fisher’s Cove.

He rounded the corner and ran into Sean barreling in from the beach, eyes huge.  “What’s going on, Uncle Marcus?”

Marcus caught the speedster just before he leaped over the fence.  “Jump there and you’ll squish Aunt Moira’s prize roses.”  And as he remembered from long-ago experience, her roses were well equipped to fight back.

“Oops.”  Sean looked mildly abashed.  “I guess we should use the gate.”

Given that it was only about four feet away, that seemed prudent.  Marcus gave the rickety old boards a push and followed Sean through at a somewhat more sedate pace.  He could already see the collected group at the pool, and no one looked to be panicking just yet.

Then Mike stepped to the side—and Marcus spied their Irish visitor’s dark hair.  Loose in the cold wind, her shoulders already hunching up. 

Silly woman. 

He yanked the thick wool toque off his own head, marched over to the gathered witches, and jammed it down on hers.  “Canadian winters require a little more care than whatever you’re used to.”

The mental reactions of the small group ranged from dismay to giving him a good swift kick in the head.  Cass had none of those.  She tipped her head, watching him with her murky green eyes.  “Thank you for that.  Your daughter took a liking to my hat, and I haven’t had a chance to replace it yet.”

Damnation.  Morgan had come home wearing a new one several sizes too big.  He’d assumed one of the women of the village had knit it for her.  “She doesn’t need it—I’ll have it back to you as soon as we’re done with whatever infernal emergency this is.”

“It was a gift, freely given.”  Now the green eyes chastised.  “A bit big just yet, but she’ll grow into it.  I already have some lovely yarn to knit another.”

She knit, she meddled, and she stood her ground.

All wildly undesirable traits in his world, no matter what his innards thought.  But the last year had forced some modicum of manners into his life, wanted or not.  “I’ll apologize, then.  And thank you for keeping my girl’s ears warm.”

It warmed his own overly much when she grinned, clearly forgiving him.  Marcus shoved his hands in his pockets and wished for a transport spell.  Anywhere else would do.

Anywhere at all.

“Ahem.”  Mike cleared his throat, clearly amused.  “If you two are done discussing wooly hats, perhaps we can get on with things?”

Embarrassment crept farther up Marcus’s neck.  “What exactly has gone wrong?”

“A wee crack.”  Moira spoke up from closest to the pool.  “One of the foundation rocks has shifted a stitch, according to young Sean here.”

The boy in question looked fairly sure of himself.  Then again, he usually did—and several-ton rocks weren’t in the habit of wiggling.  Marcus eyed the witch who was generally in close orbit to trouble.  “Any idea why it moved?”

Sean looked blank.  “No.”

“It’s a good question, though.”    Mike looked over at Cass.  “I don’t have a really solid idea of how your magic works—is this something you could figure out for us?”

“You can talk to rocks?”  Sean looked wildly impressed.

Cass looked gobsmacked.  “I—”  She stopped and stared down at the pool.   “I don’t really know.  I’ve never really tried to focus on a specific rock.”  Her shrug was a bit helpless.  “I hear a lot of them.”

“I can show you which rock.”  Sean’s earnestness shone through—the boy might be a somewhat cavalier witch much of the time, but he was taking this situation seriously.  He looked over at his brother.  “Maybe Kevin can help—he reads minds.  He can link us together better.”

Marcus tried to duck Moira’s pointed look, which worked about as well as trying to outrun the rain.  “I can assist with that.”  His powers were far stronger than Kevin’s.

“A quick circle, then.”  Mike reached for Sophie’s hand, and then Moira’s. 

Their elder witch met his outstretched fingers.  “I’ve not a lot to give you.”

“Not a problem.”  Mike’s voice was totally casual—and had Marcus jumping to Moira’s other side.  Their leader wasn’t entirely convinced this was going to be an easy fix.

Sophie already had Sean’s hand, uniting their three strongest earth witches.  Kevin joined with his twin next and reached for Cass’s hand. 
I’ll link with Sean, Uncle Marcus.  You help Cass to hear.

Marcus kept his growl silent.  The boy couldn’t possibly know of the awkward currents in the air—and he was certainly the best person to be connecting to a totally unknown quantity.  He took their guest’s mittened hand.  “Have you ever mindlinked before?”

Green eyes met his—curious, but not at all afraid.  “No.  What do you need from me?”

Absolutely nothing. 
Just relax your mind and give me a warning if you’re feeling at all overloaded.  I’ll be able to hear anything you want me to hear.
  And he’d be going to very great pains to hear absolutely nothing else.

Her eyes opened wide, but nothing more. 
Okay.

He reached out a simple link, just as he’d done hundreds of times.  And felt her precise, disciplined mind simply… melt. 

Feather soft, she let his link float into place. 
Will that do?

It took four decades of rigorous training to get a single word out. 
Yes.

Hmm.  It’s much like listening to the rocks.
  Her mind waited, alight with interest, curiosity, and a basic openness to whatever was about to come that was utterly foreign to him. 
What is it I need to do now?

He wanted for her to simply hold still.  To be.  To somehow shine on him for long enough that he, too, could have a mind full of such grace.  Such ease.

Uncle Marcus?
  Kevin sounded uncertain. 
Are you ready for Sean to show Cass the rock now?

Gods.  His brain had picked a fine time to wither into insanity.  Marcus yanked his discipline back into place and threw a mindlink across to Kevin and his twin. 
Go ahead.  Slowly.  She’s new to this.

And he wanted just a moment more in the light of her mental sun.

-o0o-

He was so very gentle.

Cass felt as if her hands were the only parts of her body that were real.  That and the mysterious hook in her mind that let her feel the man behind the craggy eyes.  She had somehow assumed he would be like the rocks—strong and sturdy.  Weathered with time.  And perhaps full of the sadness that would explain the lines on his face.

There were all of those things.

But mostly—he was gentle.

Even when it was the last thing on earth he wanted anyone to see.  She smiled.  A lifetime of music had taught her to hear
all
the notes, not just the ones that sang the loudest or gamboled through the prettiest tune.

Whatever Marcus Buchanan’s life had made him, he had been born gentle.

Can you hear us, Cassidy?
  Two boyish voices pushed into her reverie.

She held steady, just as she always did for Rosie.  This speaking to minds was strange—and very cool. 
Loud and clear.  Going to visit a rock, are we?

No, silly. 
Sean’s mind patted her on the head like a cute toddler. 
The rocks are right here.  They’re always here.

Cass tamped down on her surprise.  That matched her experience—but the rest of the world tended to think the rocks were hidden way down under the grass somewhere.  She opened her mind, letting the steady presence that was the rocks move to the forefront. 

Wow.
  Sean’s voice was barely a whisper.  A very awed whisper. 
Mike, do you see that?

Yeah.

Cass was pretty sure grown men didn’t usually sound that flabbergasted.  Damn.  She turned down the volume on the rocks some.  And confronted the challenge at hand. 
I’m not sure how to find the rock we want to talk to.  Maybe I’m not hearing the right ones.

Uh, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. 
Mike’s mindvoice still sounded wobbly. 
Pretty sure you have contact with the mothership, Cass.

She had very little idea what he was talking about.

You hear the planet, I think.  I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

That didn’t seem grounds for shock and awe. 
I just listen to the rocks.
  Her head was squeezing uncomfortably. 
Can we get on with this?  I don’t think my magic is used to this kind of linking.