Witches of Skye_So It Begins

by M. L. Briers

  “Hold that thought.” I slowly let my eyes wander all over Jamie’s bright red face. He grimaced – ha! I knew that grimace. “Yooooou!” I gave him my best accusing tone and the man practically crumpled.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Maggie McFae, nothing has passed these lips,” Jamie offered fast – too fast – and, oh yes, they were nice full and very kissable lips, but that was in the past, and this was now, and the roach had been blabbing!

  Now the reason that Jamie was so squirmy wasn’t that he feared a tongue lashing from me, although, I have to admit, it could be sharp and pointy when people annoyed me. Oh no; it was because he knew what my pointy index finger could do.

  You see, I’d been smitten enough with the man to share my witchy secret, and of course, he’d thought I was lying, which had annoyed me, so I had to prove my point and show him what I could do. Oh, that little snake in the grass!

  “Tell her, Ross.” He used his elbow to nudge his thick-as-thieves best friend, and Ross brought his eyes to mine. Sure enough, they were dancing with mischief and amusement.

  “Tell her what, man?” Ross offered back, not quite as innocently as he might have hoped for.

  Oh yes, I’m still smelling fear from Jamie, but I’m scenting bull in the air too from the pair of them.

  “Tell her that I said nothing when I said about us.” Jamie balked at his best friend’s attempt to drop him in the coo do-do.

  A coo, if you didn’t know, is a Highland Cow, a big, shaggy, good looking, cutesy of a beast, and they are allegedly all named Angus.

  “I’m confused by that statement, Jamie. Nothing, implies nothing to tell, and yet, you said that you’d said nothing – when quite obviously, you’d said that you said about us – and would that be us as in me and you, us, or us as in you and her, us?”

  Ross certainly was enjoying himself at Jamie’s expense. In a way, so was I. I’m not entirely sure if Jamie looked more like a swiveled eyed loon or a constipated Coo, but it was amusing to watch.

  “Have you been on the sash, man? Drunk at this hour, you’re making little sense,” Jamie shot back.

  “Little sense, or no sense, Jamie?” Ross shot back.

  I took more pleasure in watching Jamie squirm like a worm on a hook, as his best friend ran rings around him. Ah, Ross did have his moments.

  “I …” Jamie’s eyes flicked back to my index finger – the same one that I had used to curse him for a year and a day with pepperoni-sized acne spots after finding out what he’d been doing with Mary the skinny troll. “Don’t know, and I don’t rightly care, just tell her something, man,” he grumbled in nervous frustration.

  “Had any good pepperoni pizza’s lately, Jamie?” I asked with what I hoped with a mad scientist’s evil style grin on my face.

  Jamie pushed up from his chair, and the sound of the feet scrapping over the tiles set my teeth on edge. Now, he looked as if the ship was about to go down and he needed to find the nearest lifeboat – women, and children first, be damned.

  “I just remembered I have work!” he announced and shot off for the door like a dog after the scent of a hare.

  Those big broad shoulders of Ross’ were huffing up and down in silent laughter, and this time, when he brought his eyes to mine, they were a little teary.

  “You’re a wicked – wicked woman, Maggie McFae!” Ross offered with a grin the size of a saucer.

  “He’s a farmer’s son; he should know that if you mess with the bull, you get the horns.” I shrugged.

  Jamie’s sudden nervous disposition served him right, and not just him – Mary the skinny troll always seemed to give me a wide berth too – I can’t think why!

  “So, what do you think about Croon taking to flight from the Point?” Ross asked again, those sparkling eyes still shining with laughter.

  “Ask my sister, she seems to have an opinion on everything lately,” I offered back, and Moira snorted her contempt for that dig, but I didn’t care. I refused to be drawn into gossip, and I walked off and left the pair of them to their evil ways.

  I also had the afternoon rush to bake for.

  The tourists were coming! By cruise ship, this time, and boy, when they arrived, did all hell break loose around the town, or what?

  It was like being swarmed by millions of ants at a picnic. Our sleepy little town went from having no queues, and a few people going about their daily business, to ravenous, verbally carnivorous beings from another world-devouring the quaintness and reveling in the local culture.

  I think they even had Billy blowing on his bagpipes to welcome the ship into port. Imagine that, stepping off from a nice peaceful cruise ship and getting your eardrums blasted by the sound of a squealing cat in a mangle! Not that I didn’t like the sound of a good pipe – I did – but, Billy wasn’t exactly the best that the island had to offer, but he was the cheapest, and the tourists did like the whole Scotland experience, and so bagpipes and kilts were a must.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ~

  “I heard it might have been murder!” Mrs. MacColl emphasized the word as if she was one of those big Hollywood movie trailers, and Mrs. Dougall gasped with dramatic shock.

  “Nooooo,” she said, clutching her hands and shaking her head as if to underline that very point.

  “Oh, aye!” Mrs. MacColl nodded back.

  I had to roll my eyes towards the rather overcast sky and wonder how those two women ever got anything done in their lives when you could always find them on the corner outside my Bistro gossiping.

  “You don’t say…”

  “I do say!”

  “But, maybe you shouldn’t say.” Mrs. Dougall swallowed hard, looked about her to make sure that there was nobody listening – quite ignoring the fact that I was coming up behind her – and whispered, “but who said it was murder?”

  “Well! I heard it from Mrs. Phee, who heard it from her niece, Angela, who, as you know, is dating the local Constable Dougie, who’s been investigating with that nice outlander Detective from the mainland.” She nodded just once as if that was all the proof that she or anyone else needed to back up her claims.

  “There’s a detective from the mainland, you say?” Mrs. Dougall hissed a loud whisper, and my ears had pricked up as well at that point.

  Both women snapped their heads around towards me like crocodiles sensing a fresh kill.

  “Well, hello, Maggie MacFae!” Mrs. Dougall nodded smugly, and I groaned inwardly.

  I normally sailed on by these gossips with my nose in the air and my eyes anywhere but on them, and nothing more than a quick hello as I rushed to stay out if their evil clutches!

  Now they’d be wanting their pound of flesh!

  “Mrs. M, Mrs. D.” I nodded back, trying not to think of all those times I’d cursed them for choosing my corner to gossip on.

  Oh, not a curse as in a witchy one, because that would be wrong.

  “And how are you today, Maggie?” Mrs. MacColl asked, those dark eyes of hers devouring me like she was a soul-stealing demon.

  Which, she wasn’t – I don’t think.

  “Can’t complain, although my sister, Eileen is a little under the weather.” Their ears pricked up. “She’s been looking for love in all the wrong places.”

  I offered that little snippet of a lie and crossed my fingers behind my back to try to save the backlash from fate, or karma, or both.

  “With who?” Mrs. D looked completely shocked as if she’d been flabbergasted by the fact that she hadn’t heard the news.

  Oh boy! What news? My sister was a homebody, and we couldn’t pry her out of the seat in front of the fire most nights where she curled up with a book like a contented cat.

  “Ross MacNabbie!” I blurted out, only grimacing a little, and making certain that both sets of my fingers were crossed for that lie.

  “You don’t say?” Mrs. M looked pleased to hear that.

  “I do say.” I nodded, and in for a penny … “But he only has eyes for my other
sister, Moira,” I offered, and while I’d already crossed both sets of fingers, then I had to try for my toes as well.

  You could never be too careful with a lie – says the witch.

  “Ross MacNabbie – scoundrel,” Mrs. D snorted in contempt of the man.

  She was a churchgoer, and she should have been a little more Christian in my book, but who was I to say?

  “He’s in my shop now, drooling on my table, and looking all doe-eyed at my sister. Which is why I had to get out of there,” I offered.

  That, the bank, and the fact that it had been the second time that Ross had come in today – without Jamie this time. Chicken-weasel of a little man.

  “Oh.” Mrs. D’s eyes flicked towards my Bistro, and she craned her neck to try to see in the window.

  “So, murder you say?” I did the sidestep into that one rather nicely I thought.

  Both women nodded as they strained their necks to get a better look inside. Mrs. D even did a little sideways shuffle to gain a better vantage point from which to see.

  “Detective … you say?” I threw that one in rather casually.

  “That nice young man that always comes when there’s trouble afoot!” Mrs. D said absently.

  Yes! I got my answer.

  “Well, I have to be going to the bank,” I announced, not even feeling the slightest bit guilty at leaving them shuffling along behind me peering into the window at Ross and Moira!

  That’ll show Ross that I mean business!

  ~

  “So, I was right!” Eileen announced in a rush of victory hormones and gloating, and for one long moment; I thought that my sister was going to actually punch the air; she did look mighty pleased with herself, too pleased with herself for my liking.

  “I suppose they want to be on the safe side,” Gran offered as she reached for the platter and stabbed a piece of cooked chicken like it had done her harm in another life. Then she spent the next few moments trying to shake it loose from her fork.

  “Safe side? In case a low flying eagle had pushed the man to his death in retaliation for him murdering birds?” Moira offered with a snort.

  “We’re talking about a man’s life,” father reminded her with his stern tone of voice and a look down his nose to match the attitude.

  “I thought we were talking about his death,” I offered, and my father’s eyes sparkled with amusement and mischief.

  “Well, in life and death the man was a…” my grandmother bit off her words. Her eyes flicked around the table to see if we’d caught her in hypocrite mode about to speak ill of the dead.

  “Go on, Gran, you can do it,” Moira offered, and I kicked her under the table, to which she replied with a zap of her magic to my water glass. I was wise to that move and caught it before it tipped all the way over.

  I grinned back in victory – so she zapped me.

  “Do not!” Mother hissed at us before all hell could explode around the table for another night.

  Gran lifted her hand and pointed a finger back over her shoulder toward the front door – she had a feeling about when visitors were close by, and it had never failed her yet. There was a gentle rap of knuckles on the front door, and Gran’s nose twitched. She lifted her hand to stop my father from getting to his feet.

  “That will be for me,” she offered, and mother sighed, but she waited for Gran to leave the room before she leaned in over the table towards dad and hissed out a whisper like a demented cat.

  “Spelling? Really, Donlan?”

  “What am I supposed to say, Caitlin? She’s been the matchmaker around these parts for going on forty years.” His eyebrows reached for his receding hairline as he offered my mother a look of pure helplessness.

  “That’s all well and good, but she’s going a little cuckoo, and if she messes up those spells again then someone could get a very nasty surprise,” mother warned.

  I had to agree. Imagine if one of Gran’s matchmaking spells went wrong, and it was all well and good when you’re Highland Terrier couldn’t stop shagging your leg, but imagine if it was a Highland Coo.

  “I can’t exactly tell her to stop, or that she needs a chaperone, now can I?” He blustered at the thought of it.

  “Gran can be very headstrong,” I offered just to help my father out.

  “Headstrong!” He almost choked on the word.

  “I have a plan,” Mother said. I think it was at that point that there was a collective sigh around the table, although not all of us were stupid enough to do it out loud. “One of the girls needs to take over from their Gran…”

  “Now, really…” Dad started, but mother cut him off again as she normally did.

  “Hear me out, Donlan. She can train Moira with her matchmaking skills…”

  “Me!” Moira shrieked in alarm and bolted upright in her chair – she looked as if she’d seen an unfriendly spirit.

  “That sounds like a volunteer,” Eileen said and sniggered like the cartoon character Mutley.

  I had to snigger as well. My sister, Moira, the matchmaker; that was just funny.

  “Yes.” Mother didn’t even look at her as she dismissed her argument. Not that she’d managed to make an argument, but the rest of us couldn’t see a problem with it.

  “Why can’t Maggie do it?” Moira grumbled, and I snorted my contempt for her. But I did notice that mother didn’t continue talking — that was always a bad sign – that meant she was thinking, and when mother was thinking then bad things tended to follow.

  “Agreed!” Mother said, and I almost choked on my tongue as Moira grinned from ear to ear like the cat that stole the kipper.

  “You little…” I didn’t get any further than that because I was too busy zapping her.

  Moira shrieked as the pain of my magic went through her body. Mother sighed, but I didn’t care. My sister was a little weasel, and she’d dropped me right in it this time, and all to save herself.

  “It’s settled,” Mother said, and my heart felt like a stone that had dropped into my stomach. I might even have given birth to it had I stood up, but my legs were a bit weak from the thought of spending all of that time with Gran.

  “You and me,” I bit out as I staked my sister over and over again with an imaginary fork.

  “Anytime — any place — oh wait, you’re going to be too busy with Gran,” Moira smirked back at me.

  If I’d had one of those cream pies from the movies it would have ended up in her face, but the only dessert on the table was one of Gran’s chocolate sponge cakes, and I wasn’t wasting that on my sister’s face no matter how much she was goading me.

  There were some things that you valued over retribution and Gran’s cakes were one of those things. I’d find another way to deal with my sister, boy, would I?

  Trust me; she was going down to the fiery pit of hell.

  Dropping me in it with Gran, who could be so evil, so cruel, so heartless, and so thoroughly wicked?

  Moira, that’s who.

  Well, two could play at that game, and as I was almost two years older than that little witch, I’d learned a trick or two in my time. I’d find a way to get my own back, or my name wasn’t Margaret McFae.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ~

  I might have been tempted to unleash a plague of frogs in Moira’s bedroom, but I didn’t. Between the shrieking and the wailing that would ensue, I didn’t need to single myself out for any more bad ideas from my family, and learning Gran’s madcap matchmaking skills was certainly a bad idea if ever I’d heard one.

  Now, to be generous, my Gran had made a few good matches in her time, but lately, things didn’t seem to be going well. In fact, I heard tell that old Mrs. Doony had found herself with an unwanted stalker after a visit with Gran a few months ago.

  It was of the four-legged variety, in fact, it was a sheep. We have a lot of those on Skye, and they’re of the ninja variety – that’s not exactly a breed mind you, it’s more on account of how they suddenly appear in the middle of the road wh
en you’re driving, as if by magic, probably tossed out there by the mischievous Faeries, but that’s an entirely different tale to tell.

  Anyway, poor Mrs. Doony still has her unwanted sheep problem to this day because she doesn’t want to incur Gran’s wrath by telling her that her spell didn’t work, and there’s no real proof that the sheep in question didn’t take a fancy to her of its own accord. Poor Mrs. Doony as her stalky sheep.

  Still, I don’t blame her for not confronting my Gran because the woman can be very off when she chooses, and who wants to get in a witch’s bad books?

  Now, because my sister Moira is a backstabbing witch, in more ways than one, not only will I have to spend extra time with the elder witch, but I’ll have to learn how to do the matchmaking spells.

  Oh, goody. Well, I wasn’t going to suffer alone.

  I sought Gran out in her little greenhouse that was attached to the side of the house. It had a door that opened from the inside corridor under the staircase, and where I’m sure she might have been cultivating more than flowers, herbs, and spices for her spells, but … shhh, don’t ask, don’t tell.

  She noted my arrival as soon as my foot touched the threshold. She’s not entirely past it then, bless her.

  “Negative energy outside, please. Only bring into Mother Nature’s haven what you wish the life is growing inside these walls to absorb.”

  Gran reminded me of that every single time I have ever deemed to enter her lair.

  I hesitated in my next step because I’d immediately thought about Moira and creating a giant carnivorous plant that could devour and absorb my backstabbing sister, and I didn’t think it was something that Gran would appreciate.

  It seemed like an ideal solution to my problems.

  I pushed that thought aside, and all the other bad thoughts that I’d been having about skinny Mary and her permanently loose knicker elastic problem, after seeing Jamie – the once love of my life – now … yuck!

  “Moira,” I said, taking that first step inside when my negative aura was cleansed.