Heart's Blood

by Calinda B

  “So you’ve said. Truthfully, I’m not sure how I feel about never growing old. I’ll never get to experience what everyone else goes through as the body changes. I’ll be at a disadvantage in caring for the elders. They’ll regard me as an ‘impertinent young-un,’ something the father of one of the women whose baby I delivered called me. I showed him when I saved her baby from choking to death when his cord was wrapped around his neck in the birth canal, and none of us could reach it.” She puffed out her chest.

  “Ah, lass, you could never be dismissed. That’s where you’re wrong.” A smile crossed his face. “You’ve already got more wisdom than most. You’ll simply be wise beyond your years.”

  They both fell quiet for a time.

  Seamus’ deathly groans punctuated the silence.

  “Oh, dear,” Lassi said, her gaze skittering toward the hall.

  “His time is near, I fear,” Cillian said, crossing himself. “Anyway…” He cast a hopeful glance in her direction.

  She stayed silent, her mouth working as her mind’s wheels turned. As she stewed, she sensed her preggers hormones gathering in her throat like bullets in a gun barrel, preparing for another irrational attack. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, she let loose.

  “Your ironclad sense of duty hurts me. I don’t care about your three hundred years of priestly celibacy and fooling the public. I care about you. Now.” She punctuated her words with a sharp stab with her forefinger. “But I guess that’s not enough, is it? All you care about is continuing this pretense. If the Leviathan spell can modify how people see you, why can’t it modify your role in the community?”

  His head pulled back quickly in a retreating turtle kind of maneuver. “I don’t know, I guess I never thought about it.”

  “Right. You didn’t think about it. So, dear Cillian, if it's too hard for you to make a choice, I’ll make it for you. You're an insensitive wanker about this latest development. I’ll give you all the time in the world to sort things out.” She pushed from the couch and scrambled to her feet.

  He bolted to standing. “Wait.”

  Seamus let out another deep, rattling gasp.

  A clatter came from outside the front door.

  “What’s that?” Lassi hurried toward the door and opened it. “Oh, dear.” Her hand flew to her mouth.

  The mermaid lay in pieces on the stoop.

  “Father Ward, get in here. It’s time,” Bres called.

  Lassi and Cillian hurried down the hall.

  When they entered the bedroom, Ciara sat silently weeping, tears streaming down her face. She rocked back and forth. “Oh, Seamus. Oh, Seamus. Dear Lord, take him home safely.”

  Bres’ head whipped toward them. The stethoscope hung from his neck. He gave a subtle shake of his head. “All his vitals are dropping. I’ve done what I could.”

  Cillian slipped beside him to perform Last Rites.

  Seamus seemed to linger as Cillian’s resonant voice filled the room. After several minutes, with one last shuddering breath, Seamus left his body.

  Bres pressed his fingertips along Seamus’ neck. “He’s gone.” He lifted his wrist and looked at his watch. “Time of death is 4:55 p.m.”

  Lassi strode toward Seamus and gently closed his eyelids, shuttering access to his poetic, dreamy-eyed self for the last time. “Go with the angels, dear friend.”

  Clearly, something dark and evil had consumed him. And Lassi was going to find out what it was before any more people died.

  Chapter 8

  Day 3, Thursday evening/night - Lassi

  A glimmering mist hung in Seamus’ bedroom, directly over his body. As sure as Lassi was about anything—which wasn’t much if she were honest with herself—Seamus’ spirit seemed to linger in the bedroom, unwilling or unable to leave.

  Determined to access her magic, maybe to bring Seamus back to life, or scoot him on his way, she sent Ciara to the bathroom to wash off her tear stained face. She needed privacy to practice her magic. And, she simply had to earn some of her confidence back. Losing her abilities to perform even the simplest healing spell had shaken her to the core. While Bres and Cillian were conferring with their backs to her, she sidled next to Seamus’ cooling body. She placed her hands on his torso and conjured an image of healing electricity streaming through her hands.

  Nothing. Lassi sighed and tried again. Again, nothing happened.

  It must be stress. That, and I haven’t eaten for hours. Her stomach grumbled in confirmation. I’m afraid you’re on your own, she conveyed to Seamus’ ghost. And I’m flummoxed as to why I can’t access my magic.

  “I’ll head out to the car and call the coroner,” she said to Bres. She avoided Cillian’s eyes. If she looked at him, she feared to lose her resolve to let him sort things out in his own time. “I’ll meet you out there.”

  Bres studied her face, turned to look at Cillian, then brought his attention back to Lassi. The corners of his eyes were creased with lines of obvious concern.

  “After I deal with the coroner, I can walk to Siobhan’s with Father Ward to retrieve my Land Rover,” he said, as Ciara shuffled back into the bedroom.

  “Certainly,” Cillian said, nodding eagerly. “We can make it in thirty minutes, tops.”

  “If you’re certain you’ll be all right, that is,” Bres said to Lassi.

  “Me? I’m fine,” she said, with a swish of her hand. “I’ll head back to the office and see to the afternoon patients. Take your time.”

  She pivoted and strode away before anyone could see her cry. She hastened out the door toward her car, avoiding the broken mermaid. Once she stood by the Skoda, she opened the door and slid inside. Then, she dropped her forehead to her steering wheel and let a few tears escape from each of her eyes. She counted them as they plopped on the seat.

  “That’s enough,” she said, lifting her head up. “No sense crying over Cillian Ward’s lack of decision making. I’ll be the one to be strong for you,” she said to her baby, giving her stomach a pat.

  After calling the coroner’s office and arranging transport for Seamus’ body, she called Mary Conway.

  “Hello, Lassi,” Mary answered, three rings later. “Everything okay?”

  “No,” she said. “Everything’s not okay. Can you meet me at my house later? I need your help.”

  Without pressing for answers, Mary said, “Absolutely. I’ll be there after supper, around seven. Will that work for you?”

  “Perfect. See you then.” She disconnected after Mary said good-bye.

  Several hours later, after finishing work at the clinic, she stopped by the storage facility where all of Roberta’s stuff was kept. Inside her unit, she rummaged around for the bags, boxes, and containers holding all the Finn women’s writing, and any other historical documents that might provide clues as to why she couldn’t access her magic. She toted them back to her vehicle, placed them in the boot, and headed home.

  The dirt road leading to her house had new potholes from the recent bad weather, slowing her progress. She turned this way and that, trying to avoid them. Her hip banged against the steering wheel more than once.

  After she arrived at the cottage and unloaded everything into her foyer, she glanced out the window.

  Mary drove her vehicle down the driveway.

  Lassi stepped out onto the front step to greet her. The sky celebrated another end of the day with brilliant clouds, in hues of red and orange, offering a hint that the rain might move on. Pausing to study the clouds, Lassi felt stirrings of hope. Maybe all this madness will die down following Seamus’ death. But as Mary exited her blue sedan and approached the house, dark nightmare clouds rolled across the heavens and smothered the colorful display. Oh, well. A woman can hope, can’t she?

  “Hello, Lassi,” Mary said, as she closed the gap between them. Her salt and pepper hair hung in a ruffled cascade around her face. She hobbled slowly as if her muscles ached. “What a day, eh?”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Lassi said, usheri
ng Mary into the house. “Seamus died today.”

  Mary let out a gasp. “Oh, Lord. I just saw the lad. What happened?”

  Lassi filled her in on the details as she and Mary dragged the boxes, bags, and containers into the front room. “Something’s going on, Mary. You told me to pay attention to when my bones speak. Yesterday, I woke up with a skeleton-jangling intuition that more freaky shit has arrived in Ballynagaul.” She sunk to the green and gold wool rug in front of the sofa, settling into a cross-legged position. Patting the space next to her, she leaned against the couch.

  “Or, maybe the freaky shit never left,” Mary said.

  “You’re probably right. Maybe Bally is ripe for the unexplainable. Maybe that’s the appeal. I’m the perfect example.”

  “What do you mean?” Mary said, carefully lowering herself to the floor.

  “Well, you know I never wanted to live here. I wanted to stay in Dublin. But there’s something magical about this place. Something that draws the soul. Perhaps it draws the weird, as well. And, Mary…” She pursed her lips, hesitating.

  “What is it, dear?” Mary placed her warm hand on top of Lassi’s.

  Lassi gave her an appreciative smile. “I’m pregnant. Me, the Finn magic woman who’s also a Leviathan, has done and got knocked up by her Leviathan lover.”

  “Oh, my.” Mary beamed. She clapped her hands together. “How exciting.”

  “Is it? I don’t think Cillian and I have arrived at that point. We’re both afraid and at odds with one another.” She paused, redirecting her train of thought. “Before I fill you in on why I asked you to come over, I have to ask. Was it a problem having Petra stop by the house?”

  “No, not at all. I gave Siobhan a sleeping-draught, and she slept the sleep of the troubled dead. She was already deep in slumber when Petra arrived. Petra helped clean up all the debris while I tended to Paul. I’d sent her back to the pub by the time Siobhan woke up. Why?”

  Lassi tugged a box of letters, journals, and papers between her legs. The box had been labeled as Finn Women Historical Accounts in Mary’s neat handwriting. “Because Petra has recently returned from Australia. She’s Ailis’ sister.”

  “Oh, dear. We seemed to have skirted disaster.” She smoothed her gray woolen skirt. “When it rains, it pours.”

  Lassi glanced out the window. Night had descended. The rain resumed its relentless downpour. “Right. Anyway, we need to scour these papers and such to see if there are clues as to why I can’t seem to access my healing magic.”

  “What do you mean?” Mary’s face crumpled in confusion. “You don’t remember the spells, or…?”

  “I tried a healing spell on Paul. Nothing. I tried a little magic on Seamus when I perceived his ghost lingering in the room. Again, nothing. I’m shooting blanks. Is it stress? Could be. But I suspect something more.”

  “Let’s see what we can find, then,” Mary said, reaching for a pile of fragile papers. She began leafing through the documents.

  Lassi found a journal from Thea Finn, dated 1801. She opened the leather-bound book and ran her finger across the parchment. “Oh, this is good. Listen to this.”

  “I’m listening.” Mary placed her pile of papers in her lap.

  “This is written by Thea Finn. She says, ‘Master Ward likes home-cured bacon at breakfast with eggs. He’ll eat most anything I put in front of him and is always polite, but bacon and eggs are his preferred meal at day’s awakening.” Lassi swung her attention toward Mary. “He’s never indicated that, but he seems pleased with most things I do for him. Which isn’t cooking breakfast most of the time. He’s far more capable of cooking than me.” A small pang of regret forked her heart.

  Note to self. If we make up, cook Cillian bacon and eggs occasionally.

  She lowered her gaze to the page. “Here’s another favorite. Fatback Rabbit Stew. Apparently, Thea had a knack for hunting. She’d take her bow and arrow out into the woods and return with supper. And, here are detailed instructions for skinning the poor beast. ‘Slit the rabbit’s belly. Remove all the entrails, being careful not to pierce the gallbladder else you’ll taint the meat. Chop the head off. Peel the skin away down to the paws. Chop the paws off. Dry the paws for charms. Boil the rabbit over a low fire until tender. Add the fatback and dandelion greens.” She wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t sound appealing to me, what about you?”

  Mary shook her head and resumed scanning the stack in her lap. “Wait. Here’s something on pregnancy.”

  Lassi leaned over excitedly. “What’s it say?”

  “It’s written by Rowena Finn, circa 1825. She says, ‘Whilst pregnancy can best be prevented by a closed leg policy, the second-best method involves drinking water procured from the blacksmith.’” Her eyes roamed the page. “That’s it.”

  “I’ve heard about that,” Lassi said. “The lead in the water was supposed to prevent getting knocked up. I’ve read that women volunteered to work in lead-smelting factories all the way up to World War I to prevent pregnancy. It’s a pretty toxic method. I’ve also heard of women drinking urine, copper sulfate, arsenic, and strychnine.” She shook her head as she thumbed through the papers.

  After two hours of detailed examination of every document, Lassi’s heart sank. “Nothing to be found.”

  “It seems you’re right. Were there other documents left behind?” Mary pushed a few errant curls out of her face. She shoved her box of documents out of the way, and then used the sofa to help her to stand.

  “I believe I got them all.” Lassi’s shoulders sagged.

  “Have you ever wondered if any of the other Finn women toyed with the idea of becoming a Leviathan?” Mary asked, out of the blue.

  Lassi bristled. “I doubt if any of the other Finn women changed themselves into a Leviathan else they’d still be with Cillian.” At the thought of another woman performing the painful magical ritual to be with Cillian, jealousy shot through her belly. She kicked one of the boxes. “Any other ideas about why my magic can’t be accessed?”

  “Let’s call my son. He's a good lad with a good head on his shoulders. Always sees to the heart of things. Come into the kitchen. I’ll make us some tea, and you can relax a little. I’m sure we’ll find an answer.”

  Lassi followed Mary down the hall into her kitchen. With a thud, she plopped into one of the chairs at her small teak table, while Mary busied herself with tea preparation. Usually, she felt cheered by the cozy yellow kitchen, but not today. Depression weighed against her shoulders, causing her limbs to feel heavy and lethargic.

  “All this crap is making me weary, Mary. Cillian and I are having a giant ongoing argument. He’s worried about how the parishioners are going to take to his knocking me up. I told him to go sort himself and get back to me. Neither of us is happy.”

  Mary clucked her tongue sympathetically while she filled the kettle with water. “I think you’ll be fine, but I’m sure it hurts in the meantime.”

  “Boy, does it.” She propped her chin in her hands. “And then Seamus. What a tragedy. He went from fine to frail virtually overnight. You should have seen him. He looked like he’d been ensorcelled. Pale as the clouds. When he departed, his caterwauls could make even an atheist believe in the existence of the Devil. And all the kids getting sick. And Paul. He should be showing signs of improvement. And what do you think caused all those photos at Siobhan’s house to be placed face down? Do you think it’s Ailis’ ghost?” She shivered.

  “It’s a possibility.” Mary bustled about the kitchen, gathering milk, tea, honey, and mugs festooned with cartoon sheep and shamrocks.

  Crusty McKitty sashayed into the room. He weaved around Lassi’s legs a few times, mewing softly.

  “At least my relationship with Mr. McKitty here is showing signs of improvement.” She leaned over to pet him.

  He backed away but didn’t hiss.

  “I can see that,” Mary said. “I told you he’d come around.” She crossed the tile floor and stood behind Lassi. Placing her warm hands
on Lassi’s shoulders, she gave them a soothing rub. “You’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Everything will be all right.”

  Lassi let out a sigh, savoring Mary’s touch. “Thank you. I hope you’re right.”

  The kettle began to whistle and rattle on the burner.

  Mary scurried to turn the heat off. She filled both mugs with water, added honey and milk, and then retrieved a spoon from a drawer to stir. Then, she placed the two steaming cups on the table.

  Lassi wrinkled her nose and pushed away. “Ugh. Even the smell of tea makes me want to puke.”

  Mary’s eyes widened. “Pregnancy does all sorts of strange things to a woman’s preferences. It’s such a magical time. It could be that the baby’s spirit is helping to uncover issues between you and Cillian that need to be addressed to strengthen your connection.”

  A surge of lightness bloomed in Lassi’s heart. “Do you think so?”

  “Perhaps. All sorts of changes take place which is beyond the scope of modern medicine. It’s like an amplified menstrual cycle. Instead of an emotional purge on a monthly basis, your body is cleansing your soul and making a clear channel of light for the baby to enter.” Mary slid Lassi’s mug away from her.

  “That’s an interesting way to look at it. I’ve worked with enough women to consider that as a possibility. But it’s one thing to watch pregnant women get all emotional, and it’s another to be experiencing it my own self. In the former, I view with clinical detachment. I can’t seem to do that with my own moody self.” Lassi sighed.

  “It will get better.” Mary pushed to standing and took both mugs of tea to the sink.

  “You shouldn’t deny yourself of a cuppa just because I can’t stomach it,” Lassi protested.

  “There’s no denial here, love.” She poured both cups of tea down the drain and washed the wretched smell of tea away with the spigot. Then, she poured some of the remaining hot water from the kettle into each glass and crossed to the cupboard holding Lassi’s liquor. Picking a fine Irish whiskey, she poured a splash into each cup, added a dollop of honey, and stirred.