A Celtic Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 6) (27 page)

Five people had waylaid her on her short trip to Moira’s pool.  Sophie shook her head as she stepped through the back gate.  Things were on the move in Fisher’s Cove, and a lot of people were worried about a certain Irish fiddler.

Starting with a wise boy holding his beloved violin—Kevin had knocked on her door at the crack of dawn.  She’d barely sent him back home when Moira had shown up, bearing breakfast scones and concerns of her own.

And Aaron had flagged her down from the inn’s back porch, perturbed about his favorite guest.

Sophie slipped through the flower beds, easily imagining the wild beauty they would become in spring.  And saw Cass, sitting in the warm water, her head tilted back against a handy rock.

She debated—and then left her robe at the edge of the pool.  Cass wasn’t going to find privacy today, not with so many worried about her.

Fisher’s Cove was taking its stand.

Cass opened her eyes at the gentle splashing as Sophie entered the pool.  “Good morning.  I figured I’d have company soon.  I have no idea why there aren’t twenty people in here every hour of the day.”

Sometimes there were.  And it told Sophie what she wanted to know—Cass hadn’t really been seeking solitude.  She took a deep breath and prepared to give a friend a push off a cliff.  Guilt be damned.  “Adam slept through the night last night.”

Cass smiled, a bit perplexed.  “That’s good.”

“He fell asleep in his own bed, listening to Aaron’s recording of those lullabies you played in his kitchen.”

Green eyes widened.  “That worked?”

“It didn’t at first.  Whatever happens when you play, whatever Mike and Adam feel, it isn’t there in the recording.”

“Maybe they just like live music.”

Sophie hid a grin—apparently Marcus’s grumpy face was contagious.  “Maybe.  But I have a different theory.”

Cass raised an eyebrow.  “You’re sure you’re not Irish?”

All witches were, a little bit.  Sophie settled deeper in the waters.  She’d had a lot of hours to think, watching her son calmly sleeping in the night.  “When babies are first born, it’s a bit of a shock.  They live in this nice, warm, dark, regulated world, and then suddenly it all changes.”

Green eyes on the other side of the pool squinted, less wary now.  “You think Adam had trouble with the change?”

She’d always thought so.  “For most babies, we wear them on our chests, let them listen to our hearts, and they slowly learn to regulate themselves.  To adapt to this new world.”

“To breathe, and sleep, and be happy.”  Cass nodded.  “Nan’s big on wearing babies.  She said I wouldn’t sleep at all unless I was curled up against someone’s heart.”

The answer shimmered in the light mist of the pool hanging between them. Sophie hoped her friend was ready.  “When we talked about listening to the rocks before—you told me they were like a heartbeat.”

It took a moment.  But then she saw rightness bloom in Cass’s eyes.  Recognition.  A witch finally understanding what moved in her veins.

And then she saw fear.

Sophie willed her fists to relax.  Healing was a hard road to walk—the witch had to be willing.  “I think your music is like a baby carrier.  It helped Adam hear the rocks.  Hear the heartbeat.” 

Shock bloomed on their Irish witch’s face.  However much she felt their truth, hearing the words shook her.  Hard.

Sophie pressed on, needing to get to the part that mattered most.  That might make it easier for all of them.  “I think he’s learning to hear it himself.  And maybe Aaron’s recording helps him to remember how a little.  It didn’t at first, but now it does, because he’s getting better at listening.”  She breathed, letting the pure joy of that sit for a moment.  “You’re healing him.”

“I’m just a fiddler.”

A mother’s love kept pushing the guilt away.  “And I’m a gardener and someone who enjoys making pretty yarn in a pot.  But that’s not all of who I am.”  Which had probably been a lot easier to accept at eight years old.  She’d grown up knowing what lived inside her.

Cass wrapped her arms around her knees under the water, a woman curling away from truth.  “Nan would know if I was a healer.” 

Maybe the language was wrong.  Sophie dug for something that might sit better.  “That’s my word.  What do you call the person who can help others find the center of the music?  Its meaning?”

“A genius.”  Amusement flitted across Cass’s face.  And then understanding.  “Ah.  A good performer can do that.  And the best teachers.”

Now they were getting somewhere.  Sophie cursed herself for not starting there in the first place.  “Exactly.  Like you did for Kevin, showing him how to feel that ballad from the inside.”  Aaron’s recording had babies now—every house in Fisher’s Cove had one, much to Kevin’s enduring embarrassment.

“He’s got nice talent.”  Cass’s face was easier now.  “I was only unlocking what was already inside him.”

“Exactly.”  Sophie spoke quietly, waiting for Cass to hear her own words.

Green eyes were still wary—but they saw now.  “You think I did that for Adam.  Helped him learn to hear the rocks.”

“Yes.”  Him and so many others.  But that much was only a feeling.  An inkling.  Sometimes a witch had to think things out for herself.  Even if she might have the power to help her audiences feel the planet’s very heartbeat.

Cass sat motionless on the other side of the pool, chin propped on her knees.  Thinking.  And still not entirely convinced.

But Sophie also saw what she had most hoped for.

A witch no longer entirely afraid.  And, perhaps, a friend no longer stuck.

“Music has always been the core of me.”  Quiet words, spoken into rippling waters.  “I don’t know what happens if I let that go.”

The healer had no good answer for that.  But the mother did.  “So don’t let it go.”  She waited for Cass’s eyes to meet hers.  “I don’t love my husband any less because I love my son.  The core of who we are can grow.”

Cass set her head back down on her knees again, staring at the rippling waters.

A seed.  Waiting.

-o0o-

It hadn’t been a soothing visit to Moira’s pool—but it had been a sleep-inducing one.

Cass slid farther down the inn’s most comfortable couch and tugged the throw up under her chin, quite certain she wasn’t the first person to be tempted into a nap in its cozy depths.

So many things to think about.  Later.

Gentle sounds bubbled in the room, much as they had when she’d napped on Nan’s daybed as a little girl.  Moira and Lizzie sat at the table, huddled in quiet conversation over several jars of crumbly green herbs.  Aaron did the accounts for the inn, keeping an eye on his twins over in the corner.

Sean sat with them, constructing an endless, looping train track and patiently rebuilding what the babies destroyed.

Cass opened her eyes all the way.  There had been three babies with Sean just a moment ago.

Small hands tugged on the edge of her blanket. 

Ah.  Baby number three.  Cass smiled at the roaming girl, noting her surprisingly droopy eyes.  “Tired, are you, lovey?”  In her current state, Cass had no trouble understanding that.  “Want to come cuddle with me?”

Morgan held up her arms and waited for an assist.

That required more energy than Cass had planned to expend on the way to sleep, but she finally got the two of them settled, Morgan a comfortably heavy weight on her chest and already well on the way to dreamland.

The sound of the rocks humming contentedly in her ears, Cass pulled up the hand-knit blanket one more time and closed her eyes.

Morgan’s quiet whiffling was adorable.

Or perhaps she was already dreaming.

-o0o-

Marcus had no idea how parents survived without mind magic.  Even on a good day, he lost Morgan somewhere in the bowels of Fisher’s Cove at least once.

A problem made larger by the number of people willing to let her in their doors, and a child who would toddle anywhere for a cookie and a hug.

He’d left her playing in Moira’s house long enough to go help Uncle Billy carry a new net down to his boat and had since tracked her whereabouts through half the village.

However, he had her now.  He’d been strolling past the inn when he’d caught the edge of a sleepy little mental sigh—the ones she made as she stirred in her crib just before rolling over and settling back in.  Probably curled up in the parlor again.  She was like a cat, always headed for the nice, warm fire.

Her mind was melting back into incoherence.  Sound asleep again.

He closed the inn door gently.  Not that it mattered—his girl slept through earthquakes, sword fights, and home invasions on a regular basis.

Lizzie spied him first, grinning from the table where she sat with Moira.  Herbal studies.  It always amused him that Lizzie could recite the properties of hundreds of green things, but wouldn’t eat a single one of them.

Aaron was scowling at his computer, which could only mean it was time to do the inn’s books again.  The results were always good, but getting to them generally caused considerable pain.

Aaron’s twins played in the corner, happily deconstructing a train track.  The track’s chief engineer had his head on a pillow, eyes drooping.

Marcus shook his head—it was a strange day indeed when Sean O’Reilly was about to take a nap.

Morgan must be on the couch.

Marcus moved forward, angling around the end of the biggest piece of furniture in the room.

And felt his heart stutter.

His daughter was asleep—curled up in the arms of the woman who shared her riotous curls, love of daffodils, and utter disregard for his bad moods.

They looked as though they belonged together.  Possibility caught fire in his gut.

He reached out a link to Cass’s mind.  Needing.  Wanting.

And crashed headfirst into her dream.  A stage.  A bright and glittery one, with people stretching as far as the eye could see.  She played for them, and for the invisible people beyond the edges of the light.  A wild and delirious song, one that screamed of battles won and souls lost and held thousands captive with every note.

He’d known she was a star—but he’d never
felt
it.

And in her dream, Cassidy Farrell reveled in it.

Marcus backed away, watching the dream go black.  Looked down on his girl, utterly content in the arms of a woman who lived for the stage.  And felt anguish rip him in two. 

He scooped Morgan into his arms, deaf to her instant protests.

And glared down at bleary green eyes.  “You can’t be halfway here.”

Confusion looked back up at him.

“Go.  I won’t have you breaking her heart.”  An impossible bravery fought to the surface and pushed out two more words.  “Or mine.” 

-o0o-

His eyes weren’t gentle anymore.

Cass struggled to wake up, brain still clogged with music and dreams and the cries of a bereft small girl. 

And then his mind punched again. 
Go.

Pain slicing her soul into tiny shards, she stumbled to her feet.  Blood drained as she ran, his eyes chasing her out into the cold, biting wind of the village where she no longer belonged.

Boots two sizes too big slapped at her feet.  Not hers.

Cass stumbled to a stop, agonized, underdressed, and still dazed from sleep.  Stood in the middle of the only road of Fisher’s Cove, blanket pulled tight in helpless defense against the wind.

And raged.

She had no words.  Only fury and torment. 

Chapter 20

It hadn’t taken much work to find their wounded Irish witch.  Lizzie and Kevin had been sitting sentry duty at the bottom of the stairs, their eyes hurting.  Respecting the privacy of a witch whose heart was cracking.

So many had fallen in love so quickly.

And if Moira’s instincts told her right, she was about to add to the hurt.

She paused at the top of the inn’s main staircase, catching her breath and checking in with the healer’s wisdom that had guided her path for so many years.  Sometimes pain was necessary to make things right—but it still made her shudder to do it.

She made her way along the hallway on the second floor, reaching out to touch the bits of beauty Aaron had adorning walls and various nooks and crannies.  He was a man who understood the value of nurtured roots.

It was time another soul heard that message.

Moira rounded the corner to the reading nook, a great gray expanse visible through the panes of glass.  Cass sat huddled in a corner of the window seat, a picture of misery.

And covered in three wooly blankets, all knit by witchy hands.

Moira touched the top one, a swirling mix of lavender and teal.  “Sophie dyed the yarn for this one.  I knit it up myself last winter.”  Good and warm, which was useful after you’d fled out into the winter’s cold half-dressed.

The eyes that tipped up to hers had long since run out of tears.  “I screwed up.”

“Perhaps.”  Moira took a seat—close enough for comfort, far enough away not to push on a fragile heart.  “Or perhaps not.”

Cass stared out the window, her eyes as bleak as the landscape.  “I make friends easily, everywhere I go.”

It was the way of the bard.  “That’s not a failing, my lovely girl.”