Witches of Skye

by M. L. Briers

  “You off?” Moira asked, and I sighed at her stupid question.

  “No, I thought I’d cuddle my bag, it looked lonely, the poor wee thing.” A stupid question deserved a stupid answer in return.

  “Speaking of lonely…”

  “I am not lonely. I am not moping. I do not need Ross to go howling mad numpty on Jack’s backside, and I’d kindly like it if we could get back to normal around here and stop talking behind my back with the pitying eyes.” I exploded, not in the spontaneous combustible way, although, that would have been fun to see Moira’s face if I had, but in the leave me alone before I press the nuclear button way.

  Boy, did it feel good to finally get that off my chest? Moira had not been herself. Lately, she was being – nice. It was kind of creepy, like a Stepford Wife or a pod person had taken her over.

  “I was going to say that Gran seemed a little down, but you go ahead and have your pity party…” she grinned, and I eyed her with suspicion for a long moment. She was always good at thinking on her feet.

  “Really?” Didn’t I feel like an eejit?

  “No, sad eyes.” She gave me her best pitiful look, so I zapped her.

  “Witch.”

  “And then some.”

  She beamed me a teasing smile, so I gave her a zinger of a sting like a wet towel being flicked against her double-wide backside before I started for the back door.

  I was gone, out of there, and yea.

  “There you are, I must have missed you,” Isla said, coming in, and I groaned as I turned on my heels and pleaded with Moira to save me from Isla, because I was starting to rethink that whole killing thing as something that might be good for me after all, like stress relief.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ~

  In truth, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to throw myself face down on the floor and pound my fists against the tile while wailing, or, headbutt the nearest wall until I managed to give myself a full frontal lobotomy. In the end; I didn’t do either of those things, just plastered a smile on my lips, turned back to my cousin, and waited for the news of the day from the self-appointed public service provider.

  “That’s like missing the cruise ship when it docks at the pier,” Moira said.

  “How am I like a cruise ship?” I knew I shouldn’t have asked, but anything to make my cousin wait longer to tell me her gossip was alright by me. One day she just might spontaneously combust. Wouldn’t that be a spectacle to behold?

  That thought was strangely comforting, and I wasn’t going to wish for it, being a witch and all, but, you know? Maybe it was something to look forward to in life.

  “Those hips…” Moira tossed back.

  “I do not have large hips, Miss Pot-kettle.” I scowled back at her. “You’re the one that takes an hourglass figure to extremes. It’s like Jessica Rabbit, and Marilyn Monroe morphed into one, you even have Jessica’s hair.”

  “That pointy nose…”

  I admit that I couldn’t help reaching up and covering my nose with my hand, it was a gut reaction, and she’d got me there. “I do not have a pointy nose…”

  “You kind of expect there to be a wart growing hairs on the end of it.”

  “Witch!” I grumbled.

  “Speaking of, mirror, right at ya,” she said holding her palm in front of my face, and I slapped her hand away.

  “Did you hear?” Isla said, butting in. Obviously she was fit to burst, no comment on that one from me.

  “Don’t know yet, go on,” I huffed.

  I knew I wasn’t getting out of there without hearing what she had to say. I felt as if I wanted to claw my way out with my fingernails until they were bloody stumps, but I really couldn’t rally the energy that I would need to do it. So I just gave up.

  “Dougie’s going to surprise Angela by whipping her…”

  “Excuse me?” Moira said, and there was the kind of look upon her face that was a mixture of pure unadulterated mischief and so much glee filling her eyes that they were brimming over like a pan of gran’s spuds on the stove. “And I would never have thought that Dougie was that way inclined.” Yep, mischief, pure and simple, much like her.

  I couldn’t help but groan, if only for the fact that Moira was dragging out my misery.

  “Moira McFae!” Isla exclaimed, feigning shock and horror that Moira would have come out with such a thing, while her eyes sparkled with amusement. Oh, the hypocrisy. All that I can say is; der!

  “You’re the one spreading talk, Isla…” Moira shot back, and our cousin slapped her hands against her chest, eyes wider than the first time that Moira saw Ross’ werewolf, and she let her mouth drop open. I thought it was a little bit overkill, but that was our Isla.

  “Catching flies,” I said, just because I was there and it hit my mouth before my brain got in gear to the fact that I was just extending my torture by engaging.

  “That can be useful in the summer months, Isla. If you’re looking for a job you can come back then,” Moira said with a wicked grin. “Bonus points for finally finding a talent though.”

  “I did not spread that as gossip, Moira McFae, as you well know, and I’d kindly ask you not to go telling people such…lies.” She sounded shocked, a lot broader with her accent than normal, and I could practically see the cogs ticking in her mind.

  “You did, I heard ye with my own ears,” Moira shot back.

  “I didnae!”

  “You did. I heard you, Isla McFae McInnies!”

  As per usual when someone said our full name, Gran’s voice echoed in our memory like a whip to the backside and we immediately felt guilty, and not always for something we’d done, but just because. Isla was no different, she stood frozen for a long moment, and I admit, I did want to chuckle.

  “Well, gotta go!” I said, while my cousin was still caught in the headlights of accusation and guilt. I reached for the handle of the back door just as Isla’s mouth went back into drive.

  “I said; he was taking…”

  “Whipping…” Moira put in.

  Isla ignored her to continue. “Angela away for a romantic weekend break – to propose.” She tipped her head to one side at her news, like she was expecting a fanfare, or Billy to come in blowing his screeching-cat bagpipes with a stream of tourist behind him, and behind them, kilt wearing Highlanders all painted up screaming – Freedom! You’ve probably seen the movie, try living with the consequences.

  I offered her a bored look, and Moira nodded in understanding.

  “A wedding, you two killjoys!” Isla announced like a bitter and twisted old cat-woman.

  “Yea!” I tried to rally myself, but it felt a little limp, much like yesterday’s lettuce. “Well,” I said again, and my hand wrapped around the handle and I yanked the door open.

  The rush of the wind took my breath away, tossed my hair around my face, and gave me a wakeup call. We were in for a severe storm, so the weather report said – Pah! This was the West coast of Scotland, and if the news service in England warned people not to go out for threat to life and limb, we knew we needed to put on an extra layer.

  An inch of snow brings our English cousins to start panic buying food and emptying the shelves of those important things that they needed to survive the apocalypse of winter – such as stir fry vegetables, hummus, and wine, while we Scots will still try to sunbathe at the first sign of the winter sun. I suppose if the end of humanity as we know it were to arrive tomorrow, we were pretty good for Coo’s, Sheep, and Deer on Skye.

  I couldn’t quite fathom why I had gone from thinking about a wedding to the apocalypse, but there you have it – the mind was a strange thing.

  “And of course, the mainland is sending someone to the Isle to cover for Dougie while he’s away…” Isla left that little nugget just sitting there tapping away at my brain like Woody the blooming Woodpecker on steroids.

  I found that my mind and body didn’t seem to want to take another step. I couldn’t force my throat to do that swallowing thing it normally performed
so well. My mouth felt dry, my heart was pounding against my ribs, and there was a rush of something inside me that felt like excitement.

  I must have been sickening for something, or maybe it was volunteering to try Moira’s attempt at making my cookies earlier – yuck – but, other than that I couldn’t see why I was panicking like a sheep that had spotted Ross coming down the road. And trust me, since Ross’ werewolf gene had triggered, he had absolutely no problem in getting those little ninja demons to move out of the way for him – the stubborn little beasties.

  “Who?” Moira snapped out, maybe because I was doomed to silence, maybe because my sandpaper tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, or maybe because she was a nosy witch.

  I didn’t want to know…who was I kidding, of course, I did.

  “I heard that the man requested it himself, so he did.” Isla teased out my patience, and I tightened my grip on the door handle rather than her neck, but I was close to changing tactics, and she only had a little neck – that would be really easy to snap, no?

  “Isla!” Moira snapped out, and I heard my cousin jump in place. I shot her a glare, and she swallowed hard, looked nervously between Moira and me, and I think she might have been planning to run like one of those stupid sheep from Ross’ path. “Now!”

  “Jack Mackie!” Isla shrieked as if she was in fear of her life. I don’t know why – I’d never hurt a fly. Shame that demon that Isla mentions so casually didn’t recognize that fact.

  “That’s – I…” I wondered if I’d just developed an allergic reaction to Moira’s cooking because it felt as if an elephant was sitting on my chest.

  Breathe – it’s what you’ve been doing for the last twenty odd years you eejit, why stop now?

  “Maggie?” Moira rushed out. The touch of her hand on my arm seemed to snap every inch of my body into that manic-speed phase.

  “Aye, good for him, gotta go, bye!” I rushed out, throwing myself out into the winds and just wishing that they would pick me up and sweep me away to a foreign land where nobody spoke my language and I wouldn’t have to speak to anyone ever again – England, maybe, or Wales.

  “Maggie!” Moira’s shrew-like tones were dulled by the wind whistling in my ears as I leaned into it and made my way toward my car, and I knew one thing for sure at that moment in time – if the wind stopped blowing I was sure to face plant the ground. Other than that, I felt at a loss to know exactly what to think, or feel.

  “Maggie,” Ross called, and I tried to keep my eyes on the prize of getting to my car, but it didn’t work, basically because that stupid boy-band wannabe, and bloodsucking leech swooped in and yelled in my ear.

  “Ross is calling you.”

  Who does that? Who swoops? Who gets close enough to a person to yell like a Banshee in their ear? Eejit.

  I had a good mind to strike him down with a flamethrower of a magic bolt that would burn his unnatural, and already corpse of a body, to ashes at my feet.

  Hmm, thinking about it, perhaps I was just a wee bit testy these days.

  “What?” I snapped at Ross, while ignoring the popstar vampire, and hating the fact that I was taking valuable moments away from my escape and my me-time.

  “Moira’s calling you,” Ross said, lifting his hand and pointing back towards the bistro.

  I sighed inwardly; perhaps I should just have answered her in the first place. Gran was right, it never pays to be rude, unless you just really can’t stand the person, and then that nice glow of satisfaction makes it all worthwhile.

  I turned and eyed my sister with annoyance as I lifted my arms and flapped them around like a blooming seagull fighting the wind as I stomped my foot in annoyance to hurry her along.

  “Are you alright?” Moira called over the howling of the wind, or maybe Ross was singing to himself in werewolf speak.

  Gee, her question was worth the effort that we’d all gone through. Not.

  “I’m fine! Little windblown, Satan’s made me deaf in one ear, but hey,” I yelled back. She gave me the thumbs up, and there was a finger I wanted to offer back but didn’t.

  “Satan?” Duncan offered me the one-raised eyebrow look as he folded his arms and looked at me like I was a curious case.

  “Dweeb?” I offered back with a shrug.

  “So, why wouldn’t you be alright?” He asked as he strolled along beside me when I just up and walked away from him. I put my whole body into beating those winds at their own blooming game just so I could get to – and I hate to say it, being Scottish and all, but – freedom!

  “Sisters worry about sisters.”

  “But, it’s – Moira,” he offered back with all of the tact of a – vampire, and I turned a dark glare on him. “Oh, someone’s still touchy.” He recoiled as if I’d grown fangs and he was a horror movie virgin, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Don’t you be worrying your pretty little head about my mood, or lack of…” I stopped and eyed the man as the wind tried it’s best to knock me back the way I had come. Not likely! I was escaping, just as soon as I put the annoying bloodsucking leech in his place. “Don’t you have a hair out of place that you want to rush to a mirror and sort out?”

  “Very good…”

  “Oh, no reflection,” I said and overdid the grimace. “My bad.”

  “Usually, but I make an exception for your wicked ways only because you’re…”

  “Eileen’s sister?” I beamed him a very fake smile because I don’t think I could rouse a real one if I tried.

  “Fiona’s granddaughter,” he corrected me with a look that was way beyond his physical years.

  Yeah, right! You say potato, and I’ll say shove it up your backside. The man was following Eileen around like a puppy dog.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed and lifted a hand in warning, pointing off in the distance and distracting him as I used my magic to rip a bag from inside the rubbish bin. Splat – right in the kisser the moment that he turned back toward me.

  Timing is everything.

  You know, I was wholeheartedly wrong – I could raise a smile.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ~

  Dinner – sigh. The best thing about dinner in our house was that Gran usually cooked it. The woman could cook up a storm, and that was just in her cauldron, but in the food department – she dazzled.

  I think that’s where I got my dessert-making skills from, and Moira got everything else do with food. Eileen, bless her, was learning to boil water and we had high hopes that she might cook an egg in it one day, but nobody was holding their breath for that one.

  “Can I go and eat in my room?” I whined at Gran as I came downstairs to find that the family pets, our bat, and wolf, were once again in attendance. Yea – not.

  When would it be enough? When could I live alone with a cat? It didn’t even need to be my cat; a neighbors moggie would do, as long as it let me spill out my problems to it in return for free food, and let’s be honest, what cat didn’t like free fish?

  “Rude,” Mother announced as she flounced in from the hallway and offered me a pitying look to mix with the one that was berating me.

  “And we wouldn’t want a rude person at the dinner table, now would we?” I offered back with hope.

  “If that was the criteria that barred someone from eating at the table then you’d all be eating in your rooms.” She offered with a sneer, and I half rolled my eyes.

  Hope died bleeding on the kitchen floor.

  “Gran…?” I whined. “Satan claws and Split personality are in there, and I just want a little alone time, is that wrong?”

  “Yes,” Gran shot back and I felt a frown starting to take shape. “And if the wind changes you’ll stay like that.” She added, and I curled my top lip in a who-cares look. “Then you really will look like your mother.”

  “Fiona!” Mother shot her a death glare.

  “Point proven, thank you for cooperating, Caitlin, and making it too easy for me,” Gran said with a wicked chuckle. You had to hand it to the woman;
she could make a saint swear.

  I suppose that dinner could be a lively affair, and take my mind off the fact that Jack was coming back to town. Not that I cared one way or the other, except for the fact that it would be… awkward.

  I mean, the man did leave under a dark cloud, and it wasn’t like I wanted an apology or anything, because I didn’t care. I didn’t care about an apology. I didn’t care about Jack. I didn’t care about much of anything.

  I was me. Jack was Jack. Life was life, and that was the way that the cookie crumbled — especially when Ross was munching on them. I just felt so — meh.

  My mother picked up a bowl of potatoes and shoved them at my stomach, of course, I grabbed it, why wouldn’t I? Who didn’t trust their parents?

  I let out the kind of screech that probably had all the neighborhood dogs barking in sympathy, and cursed like a sailor on shore leave as I tossed the burning bowl back at her gloved hands. My eyes were more than accusing, one little tad of magic and mum was toast.

  “Language!” Gran snapped at me, and my blood was already boiling like the skin on my hands.

  “Well, why did you take it if you weren’t wearing gloves?” My mother chastised me. Was she kidding?

  “I have a love-hate relationship with my hands, and I thought I’d teach them a lesson,” I hissed out as I ran them under cold water and immediately wanted the toilet. One thing about living here, you didn’t need to chill your water, it was always ice cold. “Need to pee…need to pee.” I hissed as I penguin walked across the kitchen, dripping water from my hands, and thankfully nothing else was leaking, as I went.

  “Did someone blow a dog whistle because Ross is a bit twitchy?” Duncan blocked the doorway, grinning like an eejit, and I flicked my wet hands at him.

  “Move,” I growled, splatting him in the face with water. He flinched, I felt satisfaction, but not as much as I would have if it been Holy water, was that wrong? But I still needed him to move.