by M. L. Briers
“But I thought faeries were…” I silenced Moira with a hard glare. “Keep going.”
“But the earth, those magical veins, still hold the memories of the past…”
“And Maggie tapped into a vein?” Eileen announced, and I thought my head might just explode as I grumbled at her and she frowned but pressed her lips together.
“Did you tap into a vein for dark magic?” Dad asked her, and I could have throttled him.
“No!” Gran announced, all wide-eyed and with squealing indignation.
Her voice had pitched so high that all the local dog's ears had probably pricked up. The look on her face was priceless though – stunned disbelief, classic. It was almost the same when she’d been flirting with a tourist in my bistro and told him to guess her age, bad move, he’d added ten years.
“I had to ask,” Dad said and gave her a shifty look from beneath his eyebrows.
“No, you didn’t.” Her tone was like cut glass, good Scottish glass, and dad got the message loud and clear. “It was decided that the faeries alone shouldn’t have to be entrusted to keep the veins pure, after all, it was all of our burden to keep.” She dropped her gaze to that bottle of Scotch.
“Why am I sensing hesitation from you?” Dad asked, and it was a stupid question, but it was designed to prod her along before she decided to climb back into her cups again and drink the bottle dry – maybe even try to lick it clean.
“The power of three,” she said on a sigh as if she’d finally got it off her chest after all those years, and yet, she couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and she didn’t look a happy bunny.
“That’s us,” Eileen stated the obvious once more.
“Yes, but it wasn’t supposed to be,” Gran said.
“Ok, now I’m more than interested in that one,” I said, and I was because we’d always been told that it was fate – destiny, and now we heard that it was something else.
Go figure.
“We were young, the six of us,” Gran said. “We decided that what Skye needed was the power of three to protect the Island and the witches, and to help the magic flourish.”
“You have to understand that when I was a lassie, things were different. Nowadays everyone and anyone can announce they are a witch, buy some candles, cast a spell, and nobody cares. Back then, witches were still being arrested.”
“Imagine that,” Moira said, and she’d caught that bad taste on her tongue too.
“Which is why we still don’t tell,” Gran said. “Who knows who is in those database things these governments create. Especially the red coat government.”
I groaned inwardly at the snotty reference to the English parliament. I was almost surprised she didn’t shout; freedom!
I believed in live and let live, and it was true that some of my ancestors were shipped over to America like common criminals during the clearances, all so the sheep would have more of a home, but still, from what I hear they did pretty well for themselves in Salem and New Orleans.
Not that it was right mind you. Gran was older and had a better memory than I did. Not that she was alive back then, but by the way she talked about it you would have thought she’d watched the house burnings herself.
“So, there were six of you, and we weren’t supposed to be the blessed ones,” I said, snapping her back to the present, well, almost.
“Charmed,” Eileen corrected me.
“Pleasure,” Moira chuckled.
“Moving on,” I growled at my sisters and turned my attention back to Gran.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
~
“Six, yes. A coven with a witch from each clan on the Island, well, not Earnest, he was a Warlock, obviously, and quite a good looking man back in the days before he turned to the bottle.” She lifted her chin and Moira snorted a chuckle.
“Pot – kettle.” Moira gave a nod to the bottle of scotch in Gran’s arms, and she stiffened, snorted, and placed it on the table with a little pat that said it was a good boy and had done its job.
“It was decided that as the representative of the highest clan on Skye the honor should fall to me to be the bearer of the three…”
“That went well,” Dad said, and Gran frowned.
“I don’t regret having you dear,” Gran said, and dad looked taken back like she’d slapped him.
My mother chuckled. My sisters muttered under their breath, and I dropped my face into my hands and prayed that all hell didn’t break loose before the tale was told.
“Thank you, I think,” Dad said, somewhat unsure if that was Gran’s idea of a compliment or more of a dig. None of us were.
“And so, we gathered at the Point on the night of a full moon, with what we needed to power the spell, vampire blood…”
“Vampire blood!” Eileen squealed, and I heard the bones in my neck snap as I shot a glare at her and she skulked even further down in her chair.
Silence reigned.
“Faerie blood,” Gran said, and I kept my glare on my sister to keep her quiet. “And werewolf blood…”
“What-were-whose blood?” I couldn’t not say anything.
“Oh, you’re allowed to question…” Eileen started, and I grunted in annoyance.
“Vampires,” I announced. “I can live with, but a bloody great shape-shifting wolf…!” I exclaimed. I didn’t much care for large dogs, and wolves had been hunted to extinction in the UK, and now I knew why. “Yea for the villagers with the pitchforks, that’s all I’m saying.” I held up my hands and shrugged.
“I quite like wolves myself,” Moira said, always Miss. Contrary.
“There’s none of those on Skye, is there?” Eileen sounded like she wanted to throw up. She had about as much love for wolves as I did.
“That’s a whole other story,” Gran said.
“One I’d like to hear,” Moira looked positively rabid.
“So, you did the spell, and it didn’t work, because … dad,” I said, offering him an apologetic wince. He smiled.
“So, we thought no more of it,” she said. “Earnest’s brother had stolen his magic; the vampire had left because he wasn’t aging and people would start to notice … life went on,” Gran said with a scowl, “and then you three were born.”
“But why now?” I didn’t get it.
“Eileen’s eighteenth birthday. It must have triggered something to life, a spark. I don’t know.” Gran shook her head.
“How do we stop it from doing whatever it’s doing?” I asked.
“I’ll need to speak with the others,” Gran said, and I could tell that she was at a loss.
“What does it want?” Eileen asked.
“Us,” I said without thinking and watched my sister practically swallow her tongue.
“Revenge,” Mother snorted.
“Well, it got it on Mr. Croon,” Moira said.
“I’ll need to speak with the vampire,” Gran said almost absently.
“Vampire,” Eileen muttered.
“About those werewolves,” Moira said and shot me a look of pure glee.
~
I was less concerned with vampires and werewolves and more concerned with that magic. My sisters hadn’t felt what I’d felt, and I think I’d rather take on an army of supernatural beings than that dark magic. Well, maybe not, but still … and what had Gran been thinking?
Eileen was doing her book wormy thing with the generations of Grimoires that we kept in the basement, and the books on vampire and werewolf mythology, which had turned out to be not-so-much a myth anymore.
Gran was off doing Gran things, boy, could that woman keep a secret close to her chest? My parents were in their bedroom having whisper arguments, because to us kiddies, they never argued and all was sunshine and roses, and I’d taken myself off to the greenhouse to prod plants and lose myself in thought.
Life, as it was sometimes prone to do, had completely changed on me in what felt like the toss of a coin. The thing with living somewhere like Skye was that things were pretty simple.<
br />
The outside world often intruded with tourists and technology, but we were pretty much as we had always been, aside from the warring clans, the bloody uprisings, and the occasional famine, a community.
I’d known that Skye had its dinosaur history, its faeries, and its magic veins, I thought I knew my home, but vampires, werewolves, and darkness within the heart of us wasn’t something I’d been expecting.
I had expected to live a pretty normal existence, work hard from an early age, meet a man that could return my unconditional love and trust, have wee ones and watch them grow, be as happy as I could be, and die with as few regrets as possible – talk about being blindsided.
I didn’t want to be a movie star, my singing voice left a lot to be desired and was best kept to the inside of my car, I didn’t need a pot of gold, nor did I expect life to be easy and have anything handed to me on a plate. I worked for what I wanted, and that was how it should be, anything else was the dreams of outlanders.
I felt blessed that I lived in such a majestic and beautiful place, with its high Munros, its sweeping greenery, the breathtaking sunrises and sunsets, and the northern lights that lit the darkened skies on so many occasions. Our stars didn’t hide away under the pollution of city lights, we experienced nature, good and bad as it should be, as it was, and yet somewhere beneath our feet there squatted darkness like a toad that was far more dangerous than anything I could have envisioned.
Perhaps I’d been spoilt. Perhaps the generations of witches before me had dealt in the real world of deadly supernatural creatures that lurked in the darkness and struck without conscience.
Perhaps I wasn’t any more clued up on real life than a pampered teenager living in the big city with everything handed to them on a plate.
There goes my dream of living out my days in normality, or what was normal for the people of Skye.
My mind turned to thoughts of Jack. Poor, clueless Jack and what he’d stumbled into.
But how could I explain to an outlander what Skye was like, witches and magic and all when I had only just realized that I didn’t truly know myself or my heritage? If I’d been blindsided that was one thing, but Detective Jack was akin to a puppy that had no clue that he was about to be kicked.
“So,” Moira startled me out of my musings, and I turned to find her in the doorway. She was standing with her arms folded and her shoulder propping up the frame. Her eyes were expressive, but I couldn’t quite read them, I guess that we’d all been blindsided in a way, but she did look as if she was mulling things over herself. “Our parents are hissy-fitting, Eileen’s retreated into her happy place and has her nose in books, and Gran is … doing Gran things, and here’s where I find you. Penny for them?”
“You did nay feel that magic, Moira, and I hope you never do. It was strong, pulling, tempting. Just you make sure you’re careful,” I warned because she was my kin and I loved her dearly, even if I could strangle her more than a dozen times a day.
But we were kin, family, and family sticks like glue against the world. I could zap my sister until the Coo’s came home, but if anyone else were to lay a hand on her – they’d have to deal with me.
“What about Jack?” Moira asked and caught me completely off guard with that one.
“What about Jack?”
“Exactly.” Her eyes flashed with mischief and amusement.
I knew what she meant; my sisters and I were linked by more than just blood and knowing born of having to share the same space all of our lives. We were linked by magic, and more, because we were the blessed ones, charmed, and that gave us a somewhat deeper feeling towards each other.
“I have no time for your games, sister,” I warned her off, trying to deflect her like swatting a midge that was buzzing around me getting ready for a nice tasty bite.
“It’s not a game when the Outlander doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into,” she said, and I understood that, but why had Moira even given one thought to Jack?
“Outlander,” I snorted as my mind tried to decide on what kind of game my sister was playing.
“You like Jack…”
“I like a lot of people, and detective Jack Mackie isn’t high on my priority list right now,” I lied.
I’d been thinking along the same lines only moments earlier, and I wondered if she could read that lie on my face. My cheeks were certainly hot, and I couldn’t blame that on the temperature in the greenhouse because it was cool.
“I think you know what I’m going to say…”
“And I’ll thank you not to say it. I’ll see you one Jack and raise you a Ross…”
“Ross!” She looked truly shocked by that, and I had to wonder if I’d read her wrong or if she just hadn’t put all the pieces of that particular puzzle together herself yet. “Mac-Dribbles! Ha! Now that’s funny.” She bounced back really well there at the end, but then that was Moira, nothing slayed her for long.
“Do you think he’s pulling your pigtails for the fun of it? The man is sweet on you and always has been.”
“Ross is sweet on Ross, and tourists are thin on the ground at this time of year…”
“Tell me why the man comes in the bistro for breakfast, lunch, and dinner then?”
“Because cooking isn’t in his realm of capabilities, and he’s sweet on your cookies, baked with love and magic.”
She’d like that to be true, or would she? I’d seen her cheeks take on a nice red hue when I’d mention him. Hmm, does my sister protest a little too much?
“Change of subject so you don’t start pouting…”
“I never pout…”
“Werewolves?”
“There wolves!” She pointed at nothing at all, taking a line from a movie that Gran had watched every single time it came on the TV when we were younger, Young Frankenstein. I took a moment to wonder if Gran might have been preparing us for something.
“Be serious…” I berated her, sounding more like my mother than I cared to.
“Who’s the werewolf family?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.
“Exactly.”
“I could speculate, based on nothing more than who’s really hairy…”
“Not funny…”
“Kind of is.” She said absently.
“Again, be serious…”
“Let’s recap – dark magic is running beneath our feet and stalking our bloodline and that of other witch clans, werewolves live among us, vampires aren’t TV characters to be swooned over, and we’re magically engineered,” she said and I chewed my inner cheek, “did I miss anything?”
“Knowing our Gran, probably…”
“And you want me to be serious – hmm – pass. I’m getting my fun while I’m still alive, although haunting Eileen would be…”
“Bite your tongue,” I hissed and delivered a short, sharp shock of magic to make her do just that. Tempting fate was not the way to go, and she should have known that.
“Yum, salty with a dash of iron, perhaps vampirism isn’t all bad,” she tossed back with so much acidity in her tone that I should have dissolved in a bubbling heap on the floor.
“Werewolves!” I snapped.
“Don’t make me say it twice; it’s not funny the second time.”
“This whole damn island is turning into a bigger version of the Addams family…” She opened her mouth to speak, so I zapped her again.
“What was that one for?” She scowled.
“You were about to dish out identities, and I don’t want to hear who you think I am.”
“Fine, talk about pouty, but I would like to point out that Eileen would be a good candidate for Itt, or was it Thing? The one with the hair…”
“Come on; we still have to get up for work in the morning.” I wanted a little peace and quiet and some alone time to think. “Uncle Fester.” I got my dig in and watched her lower jaw sink down toward her chest.
Point scoring, it was a wonderful thing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
~
/> What wasn’t wonderful was a lack of sleep. If I looked how I felt then – yuck. It tasted like I’d been sucking on a dead squirrel all night, like I’d tied one on and got good and drunk, again – yuck.
Still, some nice peppermint and a little soda on my toothbrush made my mouth nice and fresh, but there wasn’t a lot that could be done for the way my body was dragging around those fifty-pound weights behind it. If my baking was off, then I blamed Gran.
I sat on a stool behind the shop counter and had almost fallen off my perch a few times like a wounded bird as I nodded off sitting upright. Every time my sister was there, not to save me, but to gleefully squeal in my ear like a stuck pig and scare the bejesus out of me.
Speaking of stuck pigs, she’d better watch her step.
I was half dozing with my chin in the palm of my hand and my elbow against the counter when she nudged me in the ribs, and I almost face planted the countertop.
“I will zap you so hard your wee ones will feel it,” I hissed, glaring at her as if she was Satan personified, or I was, and then she flicked a nod towards the door.
I rounded on whoever dared to come in to disturb me from slumber – Jack eyed me back like I’d just sprouted snakes for hair, and if his eyebrows had reached up any further on his forehead then they would have gotten lost in his hairline.
“Loose lips turn witches into crispy critters,” she whispered, and I swatted her away.
“Jack,” I had to be polite as I was technically working. When the door opened behind him again, and Ross stepped into the bistro my heart filled with joy. “And Ross!”
I grinned at my cringing sister. Payback was a bitch, or was that just me? Either way, it made me happy.
“Bite me,” she whispered.
“Werewolf…” I chuckled back and then turned my attention to the newcomers. “Still looking for magic, Jack?” I asked as the sex-god approached the counter and I slid off the stool because it was easier than actually putting any effort into it.
“Going to point me in the right direction?” It was an offhand comment on his part, but I already had it covered.
