Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy

by Melissa Macfie

Cormac itched to start. The Oracle’s methods were unpleasant, but the chase…ah the chase invigorated him. Setting the trap, luring the target, overpowering him, or in this case, her. She wasn’t half bad to look at, a little older than he normally went for but still very attractive, and slender, despite the silver in her hair. If only the Oracle let him subdue her, pin her to the ground as the Y-incision was made. Cormac shifted his weight and adjusted himself, grunting. He’d have to find some willing cunt to plow, and soon.

  He knew all too well that force would ruin the delicacy of the sacrifice. The Oracle’s interlace glowed brighter as she prepared to eradicate all fear, all memory from the target’s mind. He’d witnessed it enough times; he didn’t have the patience for it himself, but if it led to the end he most desired he’d be an active participant in the eviscerations.

  The woman opened the door and peered into the shadows in Cormac’s direction, lingered there for a moment, just enough to give him pause that perhaps he’d not layered on the shadows thick enough to avoid detection, but her gaze passed on to a stray cat in the corner of the patio.

  She let the door go and locked it behind her and then bent down to the cat to lure it out with food. By all tha’ is holy! She’ll ken something’s amiss.

  The cat came no further, stopping just short of the edge of the summoned circle that lay undetectable to the mortal eye. Clearly intrigued by what the woman held in her hand, the cat paced the perimeter of the shadow, casting soulful looks and silent meows her way. Cormac glanced at the Oracle, impatience growing. Not ready yet?

  The woman sat back on her heels and contemplated the cat. Reaching over, she scooped it up with a steady hand under its belly, and the cat screeched and hissed, clawing to get away from her.

  Inhaling through her teeth, she let the cat go to suck on her bleeding wrist. The animal vanished through the vines and the wrought iron fence separating the patio from the sidewalk. She called for it but stopped suddenly when she could not hear her own voice—and all the carefully laid plans go to shit.

  She tried again, louder this time, but nothing. She shook her head, and blew her nose, as if clearing pressure would help.

  Cormac felt the air move next to him and he glanced over and saw The Oracle. “I’ll handle this,” she said.

  “Wha’ dae ye propose…”

  “Shh. Memory workings are difficult.” She whispered into her cupped palms, then blew lightly as she extended her fingers toward the panicking woman on the ground. “Watch and see.”

  The woman sat on her heels for a few seconds more before finally straightening with a struggle. She turned to get the discarded bags by the door and found that they weren’t where she had left them. She stood there looking at the bare spot by the front door, unconvinced that the bags weren’t there. She went to peer back in the shop and sure enough, the bags were on the counter.

  As they stood there watching the woman fumble in her coat pocket for the keys, the Oracle was there. Her gnarled hand grasped the woman’s shoulder and swung her around, forcing her back against the door. Breathless, Cormac closed in, but knew instinctively that the woman did not see him. He could feel the waves of the incantation radiating from the Oracle. He took a step back. No need of getting too close and running the risk of being caught in the incantation himself.

  Let her work.

  “She’ll dae,” the Oracle commented as she turned away.

  The woman muttered, half dazed still, “Do for what?” No response. “Do for what?” she tried to scream again, but with no volume. She retrieved her discarded purse on the ground and dug for her cellphone.

  The Oracle signaled for them to crowd her, using the brick walls of the building to limit her movement. Holding up her hand in defense, the woman fumbled with the phone at last. Another unheard scream bubbled up when she saw the blank screen staring back at her. She threw the phone at Cormac. He scoffed at it and smashed it with the heel of his boot.

  She staggered back and hit the door. The look on her face was pathetic. Did she actually think the door offered some kind of sanctuary? That she’d manage somehow to lock it from the inside? That the flimsy glass door would hold them off? That she’d get to the safety of the office before they reached her? Cormac almost felt sorry for the deluded woman.

  Clawing at the door, she pulled. The door didn’t budge.

  They snatched her off her feet and towed her back to the center of the patio. A wave of the Oracle’s hand sent the wrought iron furniture screeching across the cobblestones to meet its end in twisted metal and shattered glass against the building.

  The woman kicked and bit and it took both of them to wrestle her to the ground, the acolyte using his knee to pin her arms high above her head while Cormac straddled her thighs.

  The Oracle strode over to squat at her side. The hag patted her like a dog, mumbling hushed words of no meaning as she produced a dagger from the waistband of her skirt. The woman arched against the restraint, “Please, no. Why are you doing this? Why?”

  The crone leaned over and sliced through the cotton t-shirt, exposing the woman’s abdomen, and then gave the knife to Cormac with a knowing smile. He looked down at the knife and the bare midriff. He grunted in pleasure and repositioned himself to grind her hips down to the cobblestones with his weight.

  He lifted the dagger above his head.

  No one heard her screams.

  ~ ~ ~

  A strong gust of wind came through the open window of Alex’s apartment, filling his nostrils with the scent of blood. The bear coursed through his body and his bones creaked with the anticipation of turning. Grunting with effort to suppress the full transformation, he climbed to his feet, gifted with a heightened sense of smell. Alex grabbed his satchel and raced out the door, his body responding to unknown urgency.

  The bakery’s portcullis was covered with charred, twisted skeletons of what had been prolifically blooming vines only hours before. The burnt and blackened stems crumbled to ash when Alex brushed by to climb over a pile of scrap metal that was once the patio furniture. The scorch marks on the walls, gouges in the cobblestones, and the shattered glass, would only give the authorities a moment of pause. It would be noted in the report but forgotten. Disturbing enough was the body of the victim.

  Alex recognized her immediately. Barbara lay in the middle of the patio awash in moonlight. Organs spilled from her open abdomen and blood congealed in pools around her. The splatter pattern and contorted limbs gave evidence that she had died in agony.

  No longer needing the tracking ability, he released the spirit from his blood and turned his attention to the magical runes close to the body drawn in the victim’s blood, and the ogham script spelling out the exact words of the curse. From his satchel, Alex removed a half dozen rough quartz crystals each hanging from a leather thong. He dipped each in a different ogham character. Was he too late? He reached out with his senses and felt the residual magic laden in them. The characters glowed, and vivid images flashed in his mind, a rest stop bathroom, the image of Brenawyn’s face, the stone circle, the Rising Moon—the Vate knows where she is! His heart hammered in his chest and he jerked his head to look in the direction of her house.

  Cramming the stones in the bag he allowed the hawk’s spirit and keen sight to rise in him and took another look around the patio. Besides the body of a dead cat, nothing else was of interest.

  Chapter 19

  Alex charged up the steps, searching the darkness for danger. With his back to the door he leaned on both doorbell buttons simultaneously. The second floor door burst open; jingling tags and hurried feet crashed down the stairs followed by another set of more cautious footsteps. The door was yanked open, “Oh, Alex. It’s you.” Brenawyn smoothed back her hair, tucking the stray wisps behind her ears. “Come in.” She looked at his pale face and searched his eyes, reaching out a hand to touch his arm. “Wait. What’s the matter?”

  “Lass, A’m sairy ta call so late. I need ta talk ta yer grandmother. ‘Tis an emergency
.”

  The dog nosed his way out the door to greet Alex, but when he sniffed the bag slung on his shoulder, Spencer’s hackles went up, a growl rumbling in his throat.

  “Stop that, Spencer! What the hell has gotten into you tonight?”

  She abandoned the door to nab his collar, but Alex caught her by the arm, “Stay inside. ‘Tis dangerous out haur. Let me get th’ dog.” With that he repositioned the bag and bent to hoist the dog. She held the door open for them. The foyer was a tight squeeze for the three of them, their bodies bumping into each other, making him well aware of how vulnerable she was. That vulnerability had nothing to do with the short cotton robe, opened to reveal a plaid nightshirt that skimmed her knees and worn pink socks that hung bunched on her ankles. The dog squirmed out of his arms and bounded up the stairs, whatever had perturbed him now forgotten.

  “He’s been like that for the past two hours or so. Barking, growling. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Animals are more sensitive ta things around them.”

  Nodding in acquiescence, “It’s like he’s a different dog since we left Jersey.” She pulled herself out of her ruminations, “Well, never mind. Come on up. You’ll have to wait; Nana’s gone to bed already.”

  Alex was staring into the curio cabinet of delicate teacups contemplating the vast difference between the woman he knew and the one who collected these dainty wares, when Leo walked out. She was dressed, albeit hastily so, the buttons on her blouse mismatched. She motioned for him to sit opposite her on the couch.

  Without preamble, he said, “Barbara Anderson’s been murdered.”

  Leo let out a sharp gasp, holding a shaking hand to her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes. “How?”

  He dug in his bag pulling out the six stones. Alex could see the dawning recognition registering confusion and horror as realization struck home. She bolted out of the chair to pace the short length of the room, “No. No. No. No. No.”

  Alex stared at her back for a moment. It would better to let her piece together the implications, but time was not a luxury they had anymore.

  “Where was she killed? How much time do we have?”

  “At th’ bakery—“

  “What?” Leo flew to the window ripping aside the lace curtains to look out at the bakery across the street. The streetlight cast a hazy light on the dead foliage. “But we didn’t hear anything.”

  “They masked th’ sacrifice somehow…silenced her…pulled her out o’ time, I doonae ken.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Alex held up his hands and shook his head, “A’m sairy. I cannae see inta th’ minds o’ th’ Order. Their purposes ha’ changed.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I’ll take her away. A nicht. We’ll run. I’ll keep her safe.”

  “Hm. That’s if you can get her to go with you. A snowball has a better chance in hell.”

  “Dae ye doubt me, woman?”

  “I know my granddaughter. Short of dragging her kicking and screaming, she won’t go. She’s still in mourning for a man who’s been dead for three years, and she’s known you for what? All of three weeks! She doesn’t trust herself enough to put any faith in you. Right now she needs to be here. She feels safe here.”

  “She’s no’ safe. They ken who and whaur she is.”

  “Wha…?”

  “I was able ta see…remnants.”

  “How were they able to track her? How far back did you see?”

  “A cottage with blue flowering bushes in th’ front, I…I… ‘tis difficult ta… did she have any issues in years past? Things she couldnae explain? Would she ha’ told ye?”

  “No, nothing that I recall as being… yes, she would tell me. Why?”

  “It doesna matter. She needs ta leave a nicht, if possible.”

  “She needs to be in one place to hone her skills and form a connection to Tir-Na-Nog.”

  “Aaricht, then wha’ dae ye suggest?” crossing his arms across his chest.

  “That she stays here—just for the time being. I’ll layer the protection spells surrounding the house. You’ll keep an eye on her. Bring those stones; we’ll scry for a location.”

  Alex followed her into the stillroom off the kitchen.

  “Could you hang the stones from the hook there? I don’t want to run the risk of having the spell contaminated by something the stones came in contact with here.”

  The walls of the stillroom were lined with thick wooden shelves stuffed with leather bound books, scrolls tightly wrapped in bright ribbons, rough cut gem and semi-precious stones, and the polished edges of geodes twinkling to the light of the single candle she brought with her. The air was scented with lavender, sage, and mint growing in earthenware pots on the window sill, and a variety of herbs hung from the ceiling drying in bunches in the recessed corners of the room, away from the natural light. “Mind your step, there’s no electricity in this room,” Leo called over her shoulder.

  He glanced in surprise at the wall: no light switch or outlets. A wrought-iron candelabrum hung low from the ceiling. Who was this woman? He hung the stones by their leather cords from an empty plant hook in front of the window.

  She carried an armful of white candles, a basin, scrap paper, charcoal, and several folded travel maps, one of which she unfolded, placing it in the middle of the scarred worktable. “This was one of the original buildings and when my husband bought it, the house looked ready to fall around our ears. He fixed it, so handy around the house he was, but he omitted this room in the renovations purposely for me. It was the original dining room.”

  Alex nodded.

  “We’ll start with this one and move out from there.” She set the candles at equidistant points around the spread map. “I find it easier to scry when an actual street address is involved.”

  Interested, he looked closer at the map, seeing that it was one of the town and the neighboring municipalities, “I ha’ ne’er tried it like this.”

  “Of course you haven’t, because you don’t need to with your abilities. Now shush, I need to concentrate.” Leo listened to the footsteps upstairs. “I need you to be a distraction if Brenawyn comes down.”

  “Aye? Wha’ should I dae?”

  Leo looked at him exasperated. “Go out into the kitchen and fumble around looking for something in the cabinets. You’ll figure something out,” waving him towards the door.

  The last thing Alex saw when closing the door was the candles bursting to life.

  ~ ~ ~

  Leo sat crossed legged on the tabletop. She reached for a scrap of paper and a piece of artist’s charcoal from the basin next to her to quickly write:

  Grant to me my desire.

  That I may find what I seek

  To bring order where there is chaos.

  Grant to me my desire

  That I may bring the hand of justice

  To restore balance where there is pandemonium.

  The runes on Leo’s arms glowed as she leaned to the flame on her left. The edge of the paper caught and she watched it burn for a moment before placing it in the basin. She placed the first stone by its cord from the S hook set in the middle of the candelabrum.

  Once ash was all that remained of her wish, she picked up the bowl and lightly blew over the rim. The flames leapt higher and the hanging stone started to sway as the ash drifted down from the strength of her exhalation. The stone began to rotate, pulling the cord taut once the last of the ash settled on the paper map. It whipped around faster and faster until the twisted cord kinked and the stone was perpendicular to the map. The wrought iron armature, unable to bear the fluid movement, skewed drunkenly. Guttering candles fell, showering Leo and the map with hot wax. She had to scramble to pat out embers that caught on the paper edges.

  The cord snapped sending the stone rocketing to the wall. With a soft pop, the books fell to the ground with a thump. Colorful pages of botanical prints, loosed from the books, floated to the ground like leaves on an autumn breeze.
<
br />   The stone was embedded in the plaster high up on the wall.

  ~ ~ ~

  The lock clicked and the deadbolt slid home, creating an illusion of safety. Brenawyn pressed her hands to the oak frame of the door and watched the retreating forms of the two officers through the glass. They stepped off the porch and began a slow walk across the street. One glanced back at the second floor window of the building and stopped to take out his notepad again. He then turned, remarking to his partner, and pointed at something on the façade of the bakery.

  The whirring red and blue lights cast the tangle of dead vines into grotesque shadows. Vehicles pulled up, each adding its own version of flashing lights to the ghoulish panorama, drawing curious eyes from neighboring windows and doors. Yellow police tape and wood sawhorses cordoned off the site to keep the morbid away.

  Eyes downcast in a silent prayer, Brenawyn had no desire to see the stretcher reappear with Barbara’s body covered heartlessly in a plastic bag. She turned to find Alex sitting on the third step, hunched over with forearms resting on his knees. She reached out to brush a lock of hair away from his face. He looked up, searching intently in her eyes and held out his hands.

  Brenawyn guided his hands around her waist stepping between his open legs to hug him. He startled, and she pulled away, embarrassed that she misread his need. She was pulled close at the last, his cheek pressing into her breast with the strength of the embrace.

  “Thank ye.” Alex whispered as he slid his hands from her waist to caress her arms.

  Stepping back, Brenawyn met his gaze, “I didn’t do anything.” She tapped the outside of his knee, “Scooch over.” Gathering the loose robe around her, she sat next to him. Silence reigned as they watched the reflected light play a silent tattoo on the darkness outside the locked door. Silhouettes moved about, punctuated by the occasional burst of radio chatter or a car door slamming. Not until she caught the brief glimpse of a white ambulance pulling away did she look at Alex. “Why her?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Did ye ken her well?”