by Lily Velez
“Lucas actually. He has a class with your father. When he informed me your father had fallen ill, I knew it was the perfect opportunity for us to intervene. Rory prepared the mixture at my request and then Lucas presented it to your father, insisting he share it with you as well lest you catch your father’s bug.”
I thought back to the tea I’d enjoyed yesterday, how I’d marveled at all the different ingredients in the sachet: flower buds, leaves, pieces of bark, berries. “Are you telling me a tea is the reason my dad’s still alive?” It wasn’t necessarily the craziest thing I’d heard so far, but I still struggled to find a holding in the revelation.
“In short, yes. It’s not an ordinary tea. It’s spelled.”
I was sure I’d misheard him. “Excuse me?”
“It’s preserving his body in a way, holding him in a fixed state until his soul can be returned to him, at which point he’ll awaken again.”
The specific word he’d used—spelled—was still in the back of my mind, but I had more pressing questions. “What happens if his soul isn’t returned? Does he stay asleep forever?” Guilt needled my heart. I hadn’t made much of an effort to connect with my dad ever since moving here, and now he was going to be taken away from me too? We had just begun to make some progress in getting to know each other.
“Not exactly,” Jack said, though he didn’t look inclined to elaborate.
“What is it?”
“Scarlet, the tea is only so potent. It can only stave off the inevitable for so long. And because it must be ingested while a person is still conscious, there’s no way to replenish the supply once someone has fallen asleep.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your father’s body has little more than one or two weeks in this fixed state. If his soul hasn’t been returned to him by then...”
My stomach roiled. No, this couldn’t be happening. I stared at Jack, shell-shocked. “Then I’ll lose him?” I thought I was going to be sick simply saying the words.
Jack’s face was pained, as if the loss was his own. “I’m so sorry.”
“But at the greenhouse, you said there’d been a mix-up, that you’d been wrong about me. You said my dad and I weren’t in any danger.”
“It was clear you knew absolutely nothing about our world, and I didn’t know what to make of that. If I was severely mistaken about you, then sharing too much could potentially be to my family’s detriment. I had to rein myself in until I was absolutely sure about the role you played in this. Even then, I did what I could to protect you and your father should the sluagh target you both next.”
“I don’t understand. Why were we targeted at all? Why are the sluagh doing this?”
“That’s what we haven’t quite figured out yet, their motive. This is typical behavior for the sluagh, but no one has ever seen an attack on this scale in so short a window of time. Something big must be happening, and the sooner we can stop it, the sooner we can save your father before it’s too late and the sooner we can allow the sluagh’s other victims to find peace.”
“Your nightmares about your grandfather,” I said, thinking back to what Jack had shared in the greenhouse. “This is the reason for his soul’s unrest, isn’t it?”
Jack nodded. “The sluagh have no interest in releasing their victims to the afterlife. That’s part of the fun for them. The kidnapped souls are tethered to their assailants. Eventually, they lose all sense of self and devolve into demon-like creatures, following the flock for all eternity, not even remembering they once had families of their own.”
Yeah, I was definitely going to be sick. I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. Then I thought about the thing that had pretended to be my mom. “That’s how they ensnare people in the first place. By wearing the face of family members or friends, people that you love.”
“It’s their cruelest trick. Once you take your loved one’s hand, you’re doomed. Of course, by that point, you don’t even see it coming. The mist that surrounds them is something of a poison, leaving you transfixed. It doesn’t matter how nonsensical the illusion is. You’ll believe it, and you’ll want it more than anything else.”
That I could verify firsthand. I rubbed my chest as if to soothe my bruised heart. What had my dad seen in his office? What had Maurice seen that had led him over those guard rails and straight off the cliff edge?
“Is that why I lost consciousness? Was I poisoned by them? Am I still poisoned?”
“You were affected, yes, but fortunately I got to you in time. You were able to sleep off the toxin overnight since it wasn’t a substantial amount. And if your memory of the incident has been foggy in any way, it should clear up by this evening.”
I supposed I had him to thank for that. Truthfully, I had him to thank for a lot. The only reason my dad was still clinging to life was because of Jack. The only reason I was able to have this conversation right now was because of Jack.
“So how do we stop them then?” I asked, only a little surprised by the iron in my voice. My dad was the only family I had now. I thought back to the album he’d given me just yesterday morning, the kindness and love he’d conveyed in so simple a gesture. He didn’t deserve this. He needed me to help him, and so I’d get his soul back no matter what. This couldn’t be the way our story ended. Not when it’d only just begun.
“That’s what we’re here to figure out.”
“And where is here exactly?”
“This is Crowmarsh. It’s been in my family for generations. My uncle Seamus, the man you saw earlier, is the current proprietor.”
“He didn’t seem too thrilled about my being here.”
“He’s only being cautious,” Jack explained. He took a moment to weigh out his next words. “People have always feared what they don’t understand, and unfortunately, fear can sometimes result in terrible acts. As such, he isn’t very keen on offering room and board to the Sightless.”
There was that word again. “What do you mean when you say that?”
Jack didn’t answer at first. He glanced toward the estate, as if he feared the repercussions that might follow if he answered my question. Ultimately, for whatever reason, he decided to continue. He let go of a sigh.
“It comes from the Irish words gan léargas. They literally mean ‘without visibility.’ We use them to describe someone who's Sightless. They're unable to see the world as we do.”
“And how exactly do you see the world?”
He met my eyes full on and searched for something in them. Maybe assurance that I could handle whatever he was about to say next. Then he spoke again.
“My family is descended from a unique lineage, Scarlet.” A brief pause, and then, “You could say it’s rather…magical in nature.”
14
A unique lineage. Magical. I instantly thought back to Liam’s story. “It’s true then. You’re related to that woman who was persecuted here in Rosalyn Bay centuries ago.”
Jack looked both surprised and pleased that I knew the history. “We are. Her name was Elizabeth Connelly.”
Elizabeth Connelly, who’d been accused of witchcraft.
Suddenly, a memory from last night surfaced, one I supposed had been suppressed by the sluagh toxin until now. I’d been on the roof of the cottage at one point, hadn’t I? I’d fallen. I stared down at the bandages on my palms, remembering the way the shingles had scraped against my skin. I’d slipped right past the edge, seconds away from a landing that would’ve surely killed me. Or at least broken several of my bones.
But Jack had kept me in the air simply by holding out his hand.
I stared at him, the words right on my tongue but my deep sense of rational thinking incapable of pushing them out. But could I really deny it any longer? The evidence was as clear as day.
I thought about Rory unfazed by the moving vine in class that first day, the way his finger had seemed to follow its path. I thought about Connor’s strange hand gesture during the rugby game and how well-timed it was with that Xavier boy’s fall,
how a referee had found a depression in the ground I was sure hadn’t been there before. And what about the wind picking up to punish Gallagher when he’d made those offensive comments at the menhirs and how Lucas had looked so entertained?
Nevermind, I now recalled, the way Jack had utterly destroyed the ravens surrounding us once he’d guided me back to my feet from my fall last night.
“You’re witches,” I whispered, shock and awe coloring my tone. Real-life witches with the ability to do impossible, unexplainable things. Things that defied the very laws of nature. Things that no ordinary human being could do.
I continued gawking at him, at a loss for words. The ground became uneven, and I braced a hand against an oak, trying to control my hiccupping heart. “Is there any truth to what the townspeople say then? Do you and your brothers mean to avenge Elizabeth?”
Jack sighed, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black coat. “I see no shortage of rumors have found their way to you. But no, whatever ‘fire and brimstone’ stories you’ve heard, it’s not our intention to harm anyone, as much as Connor might wish otherwise.”
“The things you’re able to do, though? How…?” I shook my head, losing my place, still trying to gather my bearings. “Were you born with those abilities?”
“Like I said, ours is a unique lineage, one that can be traced back to the druids of ancient Celtic societies. We are, in fact, among their last remaining descendants.”
“The druids were witches?” I couldn’t recall Professor Byrne making any mention of the sort in his lecture.
“They were judges, healers, philosophers, priests, lore keepers. They taught others how to cultivate love and respect for nature. They even served as advisors to legendary kings. But they’re most known, at least by us, for the magic they practiced and their mystical abilities. Some could see the future. Some could know a man’s thoughts just by looking at him. Some could even take on the appearance of any man or animal.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. My mind was spinning now. “Do you have those abilities too?”
He smiled a little. “Every Celtic witch has the ability to call upon the four Quarters, or what you might be more familiar with as the four elements.”
“Earth, air, fire, water.” That explained some of the phenomena I’d witnessed thus far.
“Apart from that, we’re also each born with something called a Mastery. It’s an innate gift that fully manifests once a witch comes of age. Usually around sixteen, though there are no hard rules. There are all kinds of Masteries, and sometimes a witch may have more than one.”
He didn’t mention what his Mastery was, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Maybe a part of me preferred not to know just yet. I was having a hard enough time processing what he was already revealing.
“So are you and your brothers the only remaining descendants of the druids, or are there others?”
“Our lineage is only one of seven remaining druidic lines. Although we believe it may very well be six these days, as one hasn’t been heard from in decades.”
“What happened to them?”
“Like I said before, people have always feared what they don’t understand.”
He led me to an area marked off by a black, iron fence. It was a cemetery, and as we weaved between its tired oaks, my stomach twisted unpredictably. Jack stopped at a headstone against which was set a small teddy bear and a bouquet of flowers. The name Bree Ó Broin was engraved into the marker. The occupant of this resting place had died last year. She’d been three years old. My heart sank.
“My uncle’s daughter,” Jack said. “My cousin. And beside her, my uncle’s wife.”
The second headstone read Neala Ó Broin.
“What happened?”
“Neala had gone to France to visit family. Bree was with her. They were targeted by long-time enemies of our people.”
“In the greenhouse, Connor had mentioned hunters.” At the time, I’d been thinking about a hunter of a completely different type.
Jack nodded. “When the Celts were conquered throughout Europe, their beliefs were demonized. Your typical, run-of-the-mill fear-mongering and ignorance. They accused us of devil worship, of performing sadistic rituals. A sect began to emerge, a band of hunters called The Black Hand. Its members wanted to purge their newly conquered territories of any and all pagan influence. They believed the time for gods and magic and reverence for nature had come to an end and that it was their solemn duty to wash the lands clean of sin. So they hunted down known druids and their descendants and slaughtered them like animals. And so began a very long history of persecution that reached its peak during The Burning Times.”
“The Burning Times?”
“You’re probably more familiar with the American incident in Salem, Massachusetts. Most people don’t know there were countless other witch trials all over the world: the North Berwick trials in Scotland, the Torsaker trials in Sweden, and, of course, the largest witch trial in European history: The Witch Trials of Trier. Which was, by all accounts, a massacre.
“More druidic bloodlines than we can count were killed off during these mass executions, leaving us with just the seven. And even among those clans, there are those who haven’t passed down the traditions to their children, fearing persecution. That said, there are people all over the world at this very moment with druidic blood in their veins, and they’re none the wiser. The magic is dormant in them.”
“I don’t understand. Why does the persecution persist to this day? This is the twenty-first century.”
“They’re fanatics, zealots. Because of our abilities, they believe we’re the offspring of our ancestors’ alleged liaisons with the devil. To them, we’re abominations to the natural order of things and therefore a threat to their corrupted dogmas. Exterminating us has become their holy mission.”
There were so many headstones marking so many graves. “Are all of these people…?”
“Victims of hunters? No. Many of them are, but the great numbers here are simply due to the fact that every Connelly has been buried in Crowmarsh for generations. Including extended family, which is why Neala and Bree are here. Further down that way is my grandfather’s resting place, though his marker hasn’t arrived yet from the stonecutter.”
“What about Elizabeth? Is she here as well?”
“The Connellys alive at the time weren’t able to recover her remains, unfortunately. Doing so would’ve been punishable by death. But there’s still a headstone here by which we remember her.”
I was quiet for a moment as I turned something over in my head. “Inside, you were trying to convince your uncle that I was one of you. Did you mean a witch?”
“We don’t know why the sluagh have been attacking, but we do know they’ve been uncharacteristically particular about their victims these past weeks. They’ve only been targeting witches from one of the remaining clans. It stands to reason that if you and your father were attacked...”
Then it must mean we’re witches. And it was highly likely that my dad, who definitely didn’t practice any kind of magic, wasn’t even aware. After all, Jack had said the secret had been withheld from many descendants over the years to protect them from persecution.
But the very notion was absurd. I shook my head. “But I can’t do what you and your brothers do.”
“You haven’t been raised in the ways of a Celtic witch, and so your magic’s dormant. Neglecting it has stunted the natural emergence of your Mastery. With the right training, guidance, and instruction, there’s no telling what you’ll be able to do. You’re already powerful as it stands. Look at what you were able to do to that demon. I’ve never seen any witch banish one like that, not without sigils or spellcraft.”
“Demons. Right. Those apparently exist too.” My head was starting to throb. “Where do they come from? Hell?”
“They come from a forsaken land in the Otherworld, which is where they return when they’re banished. They generally don’t interact
with the Sightless. Witches are another matter.”
“I think I need to sit down.” Everything was tilting at a steeper angle now.
Jack placed a hand to my lower back and guided me to a stone bench. As we sat, I tried to ignore the gathering warmth in my stomach at his touch.
“I know it’s a lot to absorb, but it’s true, Scarlet. There’s far more to the world than most people ever see in their lifetimes.”
I was finding I liked the sound of my name in his mouth. I liked the way the R curled against his tongue. Unfortunately, not even the musical cadence of his words lessened their gravity. The fact still stood that the sluagh were targeting witches for unknown reasons, and I had almost been one of their victims. But Jack had intervened before I’d fallen prey to them, and he’d protected my dad as well with the ‘spelled’ tea. I realized I still hadn’t thanked him for that.
I angled toward him, looking deep into those striking, amber eyes. The dark circles under them only added to the air of sorrow about him. He released whatever thought he’d been reflecting on and switched his eyes to me, holding my gaze steadily. My pulse stuttered, and just like that, I missed a breath. I hadn’t noticed how close we were sitting, our knees almost touching. It was a typical, fall afternoon, but I could barely feel the chill in the air anymore.
I parted my lips to say something, something that would no doubt inadequately encompass the gratitude I felt toward him in that moment.
A throat cleared from behind us, and the spell broke in an instant. I twisted around, hoping my cheeks weren’t too red. It was Connor. Why wasn’t I surprised?
Arms crossed and lips set in a straight line, his eyes practically branded me. I wondered if there was ever a moment when Connor wasn’t angry about something.
“Seamus wants to see her,” Connor said, speaking to Jack but keeping his blazing eyes on me.
“It’s all right,” Jack said softly to me.
I hadn’t realized I’d tensed at Connor’s words, as if my turn had come to stand before a firing squad. It certainly felt that way.
