Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy

by Melissa Macfie

  Alex stood and stepped away from the table, “So ta answer yer question, I am something more than a college professor. I am th’ protector and keeper of th’ lore of Druidism.”

  Whatever Brenawyn had expected it wasn’t this. She looked at him and then at her grandmother and burst out laughing. She laughed so long and hard that her sides started to ache. “Oh God, thank you, I needed a laugh after tonight.”

  She stifled a recurrent case of the giggles when she recognized the identical masks of reprimand worn by her grandmother and Alex. “What? Oh, come on, give it up. Things like that don’t happen. Nana, your eyes have appeared to glow in the past, but you already have exceptionally bright blue eyes. Truth be told, it’s a really good trick, I could never fathom how you did it, but I suppose the right amount of tears welling would make them seem brighter.”

  “What did I tell you, Alex? She is skeptical.”

  Pivoting around in the chair, Brenawyn looked at her grandmother with her mouth agape. “Do not tell me that you believe him, Nana? I mean come on! This is not one of your stories—this is reality, for Christ’s sake!”

  Leo threw her hands in the air and firmly commanded, “Show her,” and walked out of the room. Alex stared after her for a moment, lost in thought, and then brought his eyes to bear on Brenawyn, who still sat in the chair, eyebrows raised, staring at him incredulously.

  He opened his mouth but Brenawyn interjected before he could utter a word, “Wait, before you say anything…it’s too much, too complicated. I am putting a stop to this. I thought I would go out with you tonight and have a good time…probably have a wonderful evening. You are a very attractive man and God knows how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date, but now I see that it wouldn’t be that simple. God, it’s never simple! If I’m not delusional then you are—either case is a recipe for disaster. I’m sorry.” She stood and slowly moved backward towards the hallway door holding herself tightly with crossed arms shaking her head. “I would like you to leave now.”

  “If ye decide ye doonae wish ta pursue it then I will accept yer decision. But, please, allow me ta show ye—ta explain wha’ is happening ta ye. Afterward I’ll leave if ye wish it.”

  Leo returned to the kitchen to find Brenawyn in the doorway, “Listen to him. I know you’re frightened, but he’s not going to hurt you.”

  “How…how do you know?”

  “Shhh, hush now. Everything will be all right.” Leo’s eyes lighted on Alex, “Here’s your bag that you left the other day in the office.” She threw it to him and it landed at his feet. Alex bent down and grabbed the bag, tossing it further out of the way.

  “Don’t be frightened now. I’m here.” Leo soothed, standing beside Brenawyn with a strong arm around her waist.

  “Nana, I’m so confused. There are so many questions and blurry memories from last week that don’t make sense. I can’t voice them for fear I would convince even myself that I should be hospitalized, or at the very least heavily medicated.”

  Leo nodded in commiseration, “Alexander has the answers to all the questions you have. But it appears that you are not yet ready to listen to them. That’s ultimately my fault. The way you were raised…the way that I continued to raise you after everything that happened with your parents. I thought I was doing right by you, but it turns out that I did a grave disservice instead. Once you finally know everything, I’ll ask you to forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, and even if there was something, of course you would have my forgiveness. I love you.” She fiercely hugged her grandmother.

  Breaking away and stifling the tears streaming from her eyes, Leo asked, “Alex, do you need anything?”

  “Nothing,” Alex replied as he dropped to his knees in the middle of the clear linoleum floor. “Brenawyn, try ta remain calm.”

  Eyes locked on Brenawyn, Alex mechanically stretched the t-shirt over his head. She tried to turn to her grandmother for explanation, but Leo silently reprimanded her and indicated that she should watch. Uncomfortable with the idea, Brenawyn tried to shy away, looking down at the floor, at the kitchen table and chairs, anything rather than to look at his naked chest. But the instant he started chanting her eyes sprang to his face.

  The torc that she had seen at the summer solstice lay around his neck and the steak knife that had been on the table appeared in his hand as he sliced his fingertips on his right hand. She hissed in response to the pain it must have caused, but he didn’t react to it. He threw the knife on the floor, and it skidded to a stop under the table. Chanting louder, he ran his bloodied fingertips along a section of the torc.

  The air in the room sizzled with electricity and the chanting stopped suddenly as muscles moved under his skin. Brenawyn, fascinated by the sight, moved to step closer, only to be stopped by her grandmother. “Don’t. He needs room.”

  Sitting back on his heels, Alex threw his head toward the ceiling, as the muscles continued to shift. Bones began to crack and elongate and he threw himself on hands and knees, arching his back. His hair fell to cover his face, so Brenawyn couldn’t see the agony registered there. Dark hair sprouted from his spine and spread covering his naked back and his tattoos. The fabric of his pants ripped and rags fell to the floor as the form of man shifted to wolf.

  The wolf shook himself as if shaking off water, and the last of the transformation took shape. Long fur hung from its tail, haunches, and neck and when it finally raised its head Brenawyn stared into familiar iridescent green eyes. The hair on Brenawyn’s arms stood up as she gasped for air and tried to reel backwards, taking Leo with her into the hallway and imagined safety. Leo hung on and forced her back in the chair, seemingly unperturbed by the appearance of the wolf.

  Leo took her chin and forced her to look at the wolf. “Brenawyn…Brenawyn, look at him. Look at Alexander Sinclair, Druid Shaman, shape-shifter. This is only part of what he can do.” Forcing her chin back, “Brenawyn…Brenawyn, do not fight me. This is not the time to be hysterical. You must accept this.”

  Leo released Brenawyn when she ceased to struggle, and looked at the wolf, “I suppose she won’t believe until she sees you turn back. Here, I’ll get your clothes out.” The wolf looked at her with his head cocked to one side and one ear positioned toward her, the other flopped on its side. It sat and let Leo edge around it watching her as she retrieved the bag and laid jeans over the back of the chair.” Then looking back, “Are you sure that you’ll be all right?”

  Brenawyn started to answer but was cut short by a sharp bark from the wolf. Looking over her shoulder, “I’m sorry Brenawyn, I was speaking to Alex.” Turning back to the wolf, “I think she’ll be okay now. She doesn’t look like she’ll run, anymore.” Turning to leave the room, “Brenawyn stay there. No one here will hurt you.”

  Slow creaking steps could be heard as Leo ascended the stairs. Brenawyn’s turned her attention back to the wolf, who sat non-threateningly on his hip, leg stretched out to the side, mouth spread wide in what appeared to resemble a doggie grin. After a moment, the wolf stood to move closer, but Brenawyn cringed away. The wolf sat back down. For endless minutes, it went on this way, the wolf ambling closer, then sitting at any indication that she would run. Finally within Brenawyn’s reach, the wolf sat again, whined, and edged closer. She looked at him and tentatively stretched her hand to his head. The wolf closed the distance and she pulled back squinting her eyes shut. The wolf lifted his paw and put it into her lap, waiting patiently. Once sure that no violence would befall her, she opened her eyes and reached out to pet his head. He whined happily and tried to lick her hand. The shock of contact with a tangible impossibility had her eyes roll back in her head as she slumped to the floor.

  When she came to, it was to Spencer nosing in her hair. She cautiously opened her eyes only to be confronted with her hallucination again: not Spencer but the wolf.

  The wolf stepped back and shimmered. Before Brenawyn’s eyes the transformation back to man, back to Alex, was made. He crouched on the
linoleum. He stood in his naked glory and smiled into Brenawyn’s horrified face.

  “Leo, Leoncha, she’s going to bolt. Leo, get in haur.”

  Shaking, heart pounding, Brenawyn got to her feet and turned to rabbit to the only other exit, through the store, but her grandmother appeared blocking her way. Brenawyn grabbed her and yanked, but Leo was stronger than she looked and held her ground.

  “Brenawyn, Brenwyn, honey, Stop. No one is going to hurt you.”

  “Nana. We have to get out of here. Get away from him. You need to take me to the hospital. I’m seeing things. Hallucinating. I think I need medication.”

  “Calm down. Calm down. We’re not going anywhere just yet. Sit down at the table. Alex, would you mind?”

  Putting on the pants that were laid out for him, “Wha’ is it ye’d like me ta dae?”

  “It’s not what I want, but it is what must be done. Restrain her.”

  Brenawyn bolted upright, and pushed past her grandmother. “I will not!”

  “Nay. I willna hold her against her will.”

  “You wanted her to learn, Shaman. This is how she will do it. This is how she must. Hold her and start the change. She needs to feel your bones shift. She must feel it for herself.”

  “Brenawyn,” Alex pleaded, “I willna hurt ye, lass. But let me show ye. It will shed light on things, at least to let ye ken ye aren’t daft.” She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, considering.

  Alex took this as progress and stepped closer to her, hands held out in supplication. “I willna hold ye against yer will.”

  She turned to him, eyes wide, and held out a shaky hand.

  “Och, lass, everything will be fine. Ye are in no danger from me.” Taking her hands, he put them around his waist drawing her closer. “Lay yer ear against my chest. Do ye hear my heart beat?” Brenawyn nodded. “It’s fast, is it no’?” Another nod. A small chuckle from him bubbled up, “Aye, that’s only from a beautiful woman touching me. Noo listen for th’ change.”

  She gasped when his heart sped up and she tried to pull away, but Alex held her closer. “Put yer hands on my arms, a chuisle.”

  She did as she was told and she felt the change as soon as it occurred, the temperature change in his limbs, the shifting of mass, the tearing and lengthening of muscle and ligament. As close as she could be to share in the experience of the change, she heard his visceral grunt reverberate in his chest and felt the sweat bead on his skin. She was horrified, appalled at her behavior that warranted this show and yet…and yet, it seemed so familiar.

  From behind, Leo made an impatient noise in her throat. “I think that’s enough. She’ll have questions. See that you answer them. I’ll leave you for the night.”

  With that interruption, Brenawyn was at an arm’s distance, and then bereft of his contact as Alex reversed the change. He stepped back a few feet and went through the routine of joint stretches that eased the discomfort of transformation as quickly as possible.

  She stepped closer.

  “Wait, Brenawyn, gi’ me some space for a few minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “No, it’s no’ for my comfort, but for yers. Ye see, it’s th’ blud flow ta th’ limbs tha’ makes th’ change possible, but it flows ta all, uh hem, appendages.”

  Her eyes flew to his crotch, she could feel the blush burning her cheeks, but had to ask, “the night of the ceremony when I, when I fainted, you carried me back to the house—

  “Aye. Ye ha’ questions. I kent this would bring them ta th’ surface,” Alex looked around. “I’ll answer them, but first, does yer grandmother keep whiskey? Afore th’ night’s out, we’ll both need th’ fortifying strength o’ mither’s milk.”

  “The last I saw, she keeps a bottle in the corner cabinet there.”

  Alex opened the cabinet and laid claim to the Bunnahabhain single malt scotch. “Oh aye, and a verra fine one at tha’.” He unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig from the bottle. “Come, ye’ll ha’ yer answers, whether ye like them or no’.”

  Alex trudged off to the living room, leaving Brenawyn to follow.

  Chapter 17

  Brenawyn entered the living room with two glasses in hand to find Alex sitting with elbows braced on his knees in the middle of the dainty floral couch. The image was ridiculous, but just as she was about to comment, she caught the look of sheer anguish on his face.

  “What’s wrong, Alex?”

  Closing his eyes and taking another swig of the scotch, he blurted out, “A’m so sairy, Brenawyn. I must ask for yer forgiveness; it willna relieve any o’ th’ guilt I feel, but ye ha’ ta ken I ne’er meant for it ta happen. I wanted ye, true, from th’ first moment, but I swear it ne’er entered my mind.”

  Brenawyn put the glasses down on the coffee table, “What are you talking about?”

  “Yer questions.”

  “I’m still at a loss.”

  “I ha’ no right. I ha’ nothing ta offer ye. Nothing ta offer any woman. I’m no’ a man.”

  “Whoa. Slow down. You are not making any sense. Apologies out of nowhere? Nonsense about things to offer? When did I ask for anything? And not a man? Please. There is plenty of physical evidence to the contrary. You are a glorious specimen of the male physique, I might add.”

  “Ye are no’ helping, woman. Tell me, wha’ dae ye remember o’ th’ other night when I brought ye home from th’ park?”

  “Well, um, that’s the thing, my memory is fuzzy—I told you this before.”

  “Yes, I ken, but its verra important ta tell me everything ye remember, even th’ most bizarre or mundane.”

  “There were what seemed like voices, not ones that were around me. I heard you at times, and Nana, the crowd some, and Maggie, too. But these seemed to be, you know, in my head. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, I don’t know, perhaps they were speaking another language, but I felt—how do I put this? Like I was glad that they were there, like I knew them or something; there was something familiar, comforting about them. I guess that’s what a person suffering from a dissociative imbalance might feel.

  “You know, I always wondered whether someone who was crazy knew if he was crazy. Maybe I am, but I’m getting off the topic. I can ask questions about that and believe me, I have questions, but it’s the other that really feels pressing, which I need to know first before anything else. That is what I’m having a problem with because my questions are, they revolve around, um, they’re of an intimate nature…”

  “Aye, and they would be.” Alex handed the bottle to her. “Take a dram.”

  Brenawyn took a tentative sip, and found it slid down her throat without the usual burning, she looked at the bottle. The layer of dust on it showed that it had been in the cabinet for years, all the more time to age. That was the difference between the cheap stuff and this. She took a deeper swallow.

  “When you changed in the kitchen, the second time, it triggered a memory that I didn’t have before.”

  “And wha’ was it?”

  “That it wasn’t the first time that I felt you change, the tension building, the temperature of your skin, God, you were feverish.”

  “Th’ first time was in yer room after I brought ye back from th’ ceremony.”

  “That seems to make sense as far as it goes but…”

  Alex got up to pace the room, running his hand through his hair, “But wha’? Do ye need me ta say it, Brenawyn? ”

  “I surmise that we had sex that night.” Brenawyn said matter-of-factly.

  Whatever response he was waiting for, it wasn’t this. He retreated to the window, “Aye, in th’ end, I took ye fast and hard against th’ door jamb. I hate myself for it, but it felt so…”

  “Sit down, Alex. I’m not accusing you of anything. I wish…”

  “Aye, I can imagine wha’ ye wish.”

  Brenawyn sat back on the couch and chuckled, “I wish that I could remember the encounter as more than just
a dream.”

  Alex stopped midstride, “Wha’?”

  Brenawyn turned to meet his stare. “You heard me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex.

  Chapter 18

  Cormac paced the sidewalk. The silence veil didn’t need too much finesse, just an unbroken circle and force of will. The window was closing. Preparations had to be in readiness. The screen door opened with a squeak, and he chanced a peek around the portico’s trellised vines. He wanted to scream in frustration. In a matter of moments they would lose their chance. The proprietress was leaving for the night. If he grabbed her now she’d thwart the plan, bringing the authorities, and possibly Sinclair, into the fray.

  The woman rummaged in the tote bag that hung from her shoulder. She let out a long sigh, dropped the bag, and kicked it so that it leaned against the wall, then she disappeared through the front door again.

  Cormac felt the veil hum to life, and with it the Oracle and an acolyte appeared from the corner of the establishment. Without a word, the three took up their positions, and from Cormac’s vantage point, he saw the woman jump when the doorbell rang. She proceeded out onto the floor, calling out “I’m sorry we’re closed for the…”

  She stopped abruptly, and looked around the empty store. She went immediately to the wall and flipped on the lights. They illuminated the cases on the far wall and the bistro tables set in front of the bay window. He smiled; telekinesis was such an easy spell and it never failed to stupefy the mindless.

  She went to the door and looked outside onto the empty patio and then to the front window to do the same. No one was on the street.

  But, I see ye, little mouse! Hurry, come oot noo and play.