Spiritbound (16 page)

‘Me too.’

***

Her students were very cooperative that day. The smell of fresh-baked bread filled the classroom. They had made No Prove Bread and fresh butter. Not waiting for the bread to rise a second time meant they could complete the lesson during class. A bit of help from Grace in speeding things up also made sure the families got to taste the freshly prepared food. The butter had been churned with sour cream and joy; the bread kneaded with good health balm, enough to lift the eater’s spirits. It was all gentle magic and fun for the class.

Although she wasn’t looking forward to bumping into Declan, she was a bit surprised that he wasn’t teaching the older children that day. As usual her pupils took all her attention, and she was quite surprised when the first parent came to collect their child. For the next twenty minutes she was saying goodbye, chatting to parents and tidying the room.

Pat Leahy, the head witch, came in before she left. ‘It’s good to have you back, Grace. The children missed you and your gentle magic.’

Grace looked up from groping in her cavernous handbag for her keys. ‘It’s good to be here. They were particularly well-behaved today.’

She picked up her handbag from the desk, the sack of leather that held a goodly portion of her possessions, and shook it, hoping to dislodge her car keys.

‘Declan won’t be around for a while.’

Grace stilled and lowered her handbag to the desk. ‘Why? Has he given up teaching the children already?’ She didn’t mean for that to sound waspish. She chewed her lip and faced Pat.

The head witch shook her head. ‘They’ve taken Delores to the Blue Mountains. There’s a healer up there. Apparently, she had a bit of a meltdown at the joining celebrations the other night.’

With raised eyebrows, Grace nodded, trying not to let on that she was hurt or surprised by the news. ‘I’m sorry to hear Declan’s mother is not well. I hope things improve. The children liked his lessons.’

Grace turned back to her bag and used a little spell. The keys leaped into her palm. Pat moved toward her, hand outstretched, pausing before actually touching her. ‘Declan asked me to relay to you his regrets about anything his mother might have said to you. He asked me to assure you that she wasn’t herself.’

Grace’s eye widened. ‘I…er…I’m not—’

The other witch smiled. ‘I best let you go. Pierre will be here soon to run the adult class on medieval magical history.’

Grace cast a glance around the room and then said goodbye. By the time she reached her car, her knees were shaking. Hearing a message from Declan had disturbed her calm and she wasn’t sure why. Did he know what his mother had said? Or was his mother really ill? The only way to find out was to ask her own mother, because as one of the council, she’d know an important detail like that.

Grace sat in the car, watching the leaves jostling in the wind. Patchy cloud blocked out the sun now and then. She hadn’t put the key in the ignition. Declan’s message had unsettled her and she didn’t know how to react. She’d been so damn sure that it was over, that there was nothing and no point. Yet, his message blasted that surety as if he’d driven a pellet through a target. Did it mean that his mother was mentally deranged (quite believable) and that everything she’d said was a distortion of the truth? Did that mean he wasn’t joining with Danila the bitch-witch?

Grace couldn’t let go of the hurt long enough to believe that. But why else send her a message, if not to communicate something? It was none of her business if he was teaching or not. Pat had said the message was for her, not gossip, letting her know that he wasn’t around and why.

There was no help for it. She’d have to talk to Elvira, confide in Elena and then sort herself out emotionally afterward. Unfortunately, her mother and Elena were out when she arrived home.

Grace paced around the house, full of nervous tension. That wasn’t getting her anywhere so she went into the kitchen and decided to cook dinner. She’d completely forgotten about the Mexican feast she was going to make. She’d do something better. She flicked through her favourite recipe book and checked she had the necessary ingredients. Then she flicked on some music and sank into her food preparation, peeling small onions, chopping bacon and chuck steak, and sautéing the meat in olive oil and garlic. The aroma filled the room and Grace inhaled, closing her eyes. It seemed like an age since she’d last cooked from the heart. She put the meat on to simmer with some thyme and stock, then she started on the bread. She was a little late for the bread so she had to use magic to help it along. The butter was left over from her class and she stole a taste with some cheese on a cracker.

A smile broke out on her face. The butter was full of joy. Quite an intense spell because she’d had to imbue it several times during her demonstration. She laughed so hard as she buttered another cracker, and nearly choked. Hilarious. She was already full of happiness; any more butter and she’d burst.

There were some Kipfler potatoes handy so she decided to slice and bake them. With that all sorted, she still had the creative urge. Checking the cupboards and the refrigerator again, she decided a fruit crumble was just what she needed so she set herself to peeling, stopping to add mushrooms and wine to her beefy concoction.

By the time the others came home, Grace had cooked up a feast. Her mother’s eyes widened and then she smiled, giving a small, knowing nod.

‘Feeling better, are we?’

Grace grinned. ‘Better is a relative term. Let’s just say that my earth mother came back with a bang and I had an overwhelming need to cook. You are hungry, aren’t you?’

Elvira’s grin grew wider. She headed down the hall. ‘I’ll just wash up and then set the table.’

Elena breathed deeply and then inhaled. ‘My god. I think I’m in heaven. What is that heavenly smell?’

‘Actually, it is the goddess you should be thanking and it’s Beef Bourguignon with fresh-baked bread, asparagus with fresh hollandaise sauce, baked Kipfler potatoes, and a pear and apple crumble for dessert. But you’ll have to pop up the road for double cream.’

Elena licked her lips. ‘Right then. I’m off to get cream. I don’t know what’s gotten into you but I like it.’ Elena picked up her handbag and darted away.

The front door shut, then items flew off from the table, the flower arrangement repositioned to the coffee table, the unopened mail to its holder by the door. Then the dresser trembled as plates shot off the shelves to glide gently onto the table-top and cutlery duelled across the room. Grace smiled. Her mother certainly had style.

Grace added her own touch, opening the back door to pick a single rose for the table. Her mother signalled that she was almost ready. Grace hailed Elena, who said she was on her way back. It was time to serve up.

Back in the kitchen, she ladled the Beef Bourguignon into a ceramic serving dish and the potatoes on a side dish. She popped the ingredients in the pot for the hollandaise and carefully monitored the steaming of the asparagus. Her mother took the bread to the table. When she came back for the beef, she saw the small dish of butter. ‘Is that homemade?’

‘Sure is. I taught my class today. Don’t overdo it though. It is full of joy.’

Elvira laughed. ‘I’m already full of joy, seeing you like this—so full of love and happiness in life itself. You have a wonderful gift.’ She came over and kissed Grace’s forehead. ‘I’m blessed to have you in my life.’

Elena walked in. Elvira wiped her eyes. ‘You are both so dear to me. Know that I love you with all my heart.’

‘Here’s the cream. You promised me food.’

‘Go and sit down then. The asparagus is ready.’

‘Wine?’ Elena asked.

‘Let’s break out the bubbly I was keeping for a special occasion,’ Elvira suggested.

‘Let’s not,’ Grace said. ‘I’ve already opened the red and we’re eating red meat. Let’s save the bubbly for something important.’ She paused. ‘Didn’t we drink all the bubbly?’

‘I bought more for another special occasion.’ Her mother winked and Grace shook her head.

Elvira went into the kitchen to fetch the wine and Elena the glasses. Grace put the dish with the asparagus on the table, inhaling the butter smell of the hollandaise sauce and stopped to admire how prettily it was all set out.

Her mother poured wine, then took her seat. Elena lifted her glass. ‘To Grace, the most important person in our lives. We love you.’

Grace lifted her glass. ‘I love you back.’

Declan pushed out of the French doors and inhaled the mountain air. The private hospice was very picturesque, combining old-world charm and nature. A large, rambling weatherboard house, it was set within an acre of garden with bush surrounds. Birdcalls and the fragrance of wisteria and jasmine filled the air. At any other time, he would have found such a setting soothing. Now it reminded him that he’d been here for more than two weeks and he’d had enough.

He chewed his lip, restlessness creeping up his legs and into his spine. The urge to move was overpowering. His mother wasn’t any better; the healer witch, Beatrice, hadn’t been able to do much to cure his mother. He’d just walked out on a conversation where traditional human methods were being discussed and consideration given to them being beneficial. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust human methods—drugs, shock therapy and counselling—it was more to do with his mother.

If he thought objectively about her, the traits that had led to this meltdown had always been a part of Delores. They’d protected her, he and his father, and her family before that. In essence, his mother was flawed. Whether she’d been born that way, or was made that way by life, he didn’t truly know. He doubted she could be cured, but with time she would return to the person she was, more functional but still as flawed. That he had let his mother hurt Grace wounded him deeply. He had to decide who came first in his life. It was a hard choice but one he had to make.

With clenched fists, he began to pace the garden, moving from sunlight to shade that made his sight flicker. What if he was flawed like her? He examined himself and could not see the signs. He needed an objective opinion. It was not without embarrassment that he recollected the stand-up row he’d had with Elvira. He hated what she’d said but he realised now that it was true. No family was perfect, least of all his. Had Elvira’s brother triggered these traits in his mother? Maybe, but they had been there below the surface.

In the late hours, his father and he had shared a few beers and talked. It all tumbled out, the life his father had lived with a woman he was bound to through duty and not love. It wasn’t that his father had no fondness for his mother; it was more about choice. His father was seeing his own life through the spectrum of Declan’s desires. Declan sensed that he would be willing to let Declan do as he pleased and bugger the consequences. He was willing to give his blessing to Declan’s freedom, a freedom he’d never had.

His mother, though? That would never happen. He’d have to accept that. She was unhinged now, and him not joining with Danila wasn’t going to change that. Thoughts of Grace arose, her light spirit, her infectious laugh, her beautiful body and her joy in sex. If he had to settle down, Grace would have been the right choice. Except it wasn’t what he wanted. He just wanted to run from his life right then. His mother’s and other people’s expectations were crowding him until he thought he would drown.

His father called to him. It was his turn to sit with his mother. He did his duty, but the need to run free grew in him. He had to get away. Had to ride his bike and taste the wind. He wanted that endless road in front of him, the future a mystery to be discovered.

His father patted his shoulder as Declan entered the room. His father looked haggard and as soon as Declan sat down he knew why. His mother was in a state, eyes wide, mouth moving, words falling out in random order. In an effort to calm her, Declan took her hand and squeezed it. He talked to her softly about the weather, the trees and the house, which had been converted to a hospice. Incense burned in the room. It worked to calm him but did nothing for his mother. Beatrice came in.

‘Your father asked me to come in to see what I could do.’ The healer placed her hands on each side of his mother’s head, her brows furrowing in concentration. ‘There’s something there. Some thread of something that I can’t unravel. It’s not a hex but it’s something foreign.’ She spoke quietly, more to herself with her eyes closed. Declan studied his boots and then looked up when he heard his name called.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘We need someone stronger than me. It’s not something I can deal with. It’s not just healing. A special talent is required.’

‘Who do you recommend?’

‘Well, the witch I have in mind is not a healer, but she is a very strong witch. I think her talent maybe useful. I was thinking of Grace Riordon.’

Declan stood up so fast his chair fell over. ‘What? You must be out of your mind. My mother hates her, hates the whole family.’

‘What about her mother, Elvira?’

Declan shook his head and bent to correct his chair. ‘If it was up to me, I’d say yes in an instant. But I worry that we could make her worse by bringing them here.’

‘Then we can try more calming potions, more rest, but her essential illness grows.’ Beatrice worked on his mother, made her drink one of her potions. It made him angry that it was the best the older witch could do. It made him even angrier that she’d suggested Grace or her mother as witches who could help her.

He’d been away for many years, but nothing he’d heard or experienced himself would lead him to believe that Grace could help. Her ability with spirit, perhaps? Was there something wrong with his mother’s spirit? Grace was very talented; who knew what she was capable of? After what she had suffered, he doubted Grace would even agree to help. He shook his head. Of course she would agree. Her generosity of spirit wouldn’t allow her to do anything short of her best.

Declan dozed while he sat by his sleeping mother. His father came in and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘You can take a break now.’

Declan yawned. ‘Dad. I was speaking to Beatrice. I’m going to ask Grace or her mother to come and help.’