by John Conroe
“You are still a child, Caeco, and despite everything you’ve been taught, all your training and the events of the last month, you are still too trusting,” her mother replied, although her eyes never left off watching Aunt Ash and I.
“Perhaps, mother, I have simply processed all available information, most of which you do not have, and arrived at a more informed opinion,” Caeco said before turning to us. “Declan, Ms. O’Carroll, this is my mother, Dr. Abigail Jensen.”
“Tis mostly a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Jensen. You never did look a bit like a Rachel to me,” Aunt Ash said, looking back at the other woman calmly. “Now, you’ve most likely a bit of time before ye must flee. It might be wise to eat and plan a bit.” She pointed at the third place setting. Dr. Johnson raised her eyebrows in surprise at the extra spot at the table.
“My hypothesis turned out to be correct, Mother. Declan and his aunt, are, in fact, witches.”
“Ye suspected that, did ye? A logical, science-based girl such as yerself?” my aunt asked.
“You’ve seen proof, Caeco?” Dr. Jensen asked, ignoring my aunt.
“Yes, Mother, although as I said last night, I’ve been seeing proof since we got here,” Caeco answered.
“Wait, you actually believed we were witches. How is it that you believe in witches?” I asked.
“Science doesn’t know everything, despite what some people would have you believe,” Caeco said, ignoring her mother’s eye flare. “AIR has been nothing if not thorough in their search for better weapons and people. The Juice supplement I told you about is based on proteins harvested from an actual hemivore—a vampire, if you will. She was kept in the same lab that I was, so we had undeniable evidence. She was a young one, newly infected with the virus, but she was much faster and stronger than any normal human. She burned if exposed to the sun or UV light, and silver was poisonous to her. There were rumors among the staff that AIR had samples of other mythical monsters as well, specifically lycanthropes, or werewolves. Mother even saw reports from credible researchers regarding witches, so you can see where we might not find you to be implausible.”
“We believe in the possibility of witches. Without proof, I, however, don’t trust my daughter’s ability to be unbiased in this case. She’s only ever interacted with people in the lab and her combat instructors. Despite her high intelligence, I think she lacks enough experience to avoid being duped by clever people, especially attractive young people her age.”
A micro-expression of hurt flashed across Caeco’s face before hardening into a glare at her mother.
“Declan, would you demonstrate for Mother?” she asked, her eyes never leaving Dr. Jensen’s.
Aunt Ashling loves candles. I’m pretty sure Yankee Candle Company mentions her by name in their annual financial statements. It’s probably its own line item, maybe after regional sales, you know, like North American sales up x%… Ashling O’Carroll sales up 50 %. The result is a veritable plethora of candles populating our living quarters. Big ones, little ones, handmade, storebought, whatever. They make great targets for my training.
I held both hands in front of me, left palm up, the right hand facing downward, like I was cradling something. After a moment’s concentration that years of practice has made second nature, a ball of crackling blue plasma formed between my hands. Just a small one, maybe like a ping-pong ball in size. Dr. Jensen’s eyes were glued to it, but I could see her looking for tricks like I had wires up my sleeves or something. I pushed the ball lightning across the table toward her, letting it float above the surface, little tendrils of snapping, arcing blue electricity flicking out in every direction, seeking a conductor. The plasma ball, which stayed about eight inches off the tabletop, got close enough that her hair began to stand on end; close enough that the static discharge was palpable. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face as she felt the reality of its approach. When she raised her eyes to mine, I stopped the ball, then pulled it back to my hands. Letting it hover for a moment, I waited like a circus showman for the right moment before absorbing its energy into mine, clapping my hands together, changing its form and instantly redirecting it to multiple points around the room. Candles everywhere in the kitchen and family room area lit at the same time.
Dr. Jensen looked around at the lit candles, even picking up the orange pillar candle in the center of the table to examine it. Aunt Ashling was busy counting.
“I make it terty-seven, dear. A new best?”
“Thirty-eight, Aunt Ash. I got the little tea light in the sculpted owl thingy behind you, too.”
She turned and looked, nodding. “Terty-eight it is. You see, Dr. Jensen. Me nephew Declan is brilliant at manipulating energy. Lighting terty-eight candles at once is more than a bit unreal, it is. I can light four, some days five. Me sweet nephew is as much a product of man’s manipulation as yer daughter there. Jest took a wee bit more than five centuries to get him, is all. And we know a thing or two about running from enemies, eh Declan, boyo?”
Her brogue was getting thicker, a sure sign her emotions were running high.
“We know you have to go, Dr. Jensen. Is there anything you need? Any help we can provide?” I asked. She was still staring, looking from candle to candle and not meeting my eyes.
Caeco sighed and pulled her mother’s untouched bowl of chowder in front of her. After giving me a little shrug, she started to eat it.
“Dr. Jensen?” I asked. She still didn’t respond, so I pulled the energy from the candles and they all went out. She jumped and looked at me.
“Ahem,” Aunt Ashling said, catching my eye and pointing at a scented jar candle on the kitchen counter next to the stove. We all looked to see it was still lit.
“Damn,” I said softly, mentally snuffing the candle I had missed. I gave Caeco a shrug of my own, and she grinned back at me between spoons of soup.
Brought back to the reality at hand, Dr. Jensen looked thoughtful. “Most of our stuff is still in the car, although I left our bad weather clothing at the house we rented. It’s been fairly warm. Should have left it in the car,” she mused. “Kept our cash with me, although it’s getting low.”
“Declan, would ye dig out some jackets and such for the ladies?” my aunt asked. I jumped up and headed to the mud-room-slash-entryway, where we keep a lot of that kind of gear. We live in Vermont and as the old saying goes, If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes. It’ll change.
After a moment’s thought, I also darted into my container room and grabbed some things there, as well.
Aunt Ashling was speaking when I came back into the room, the other two frozen rapt with attention.
“Me sister Maeve was the darling of the family, the best and brightest seen in hundreds of generations. I was and still am no slouch, mind you, but me sister was in a class by herself, at least until her boy here was born. I suppose I should have been jealous of her and the attention she got. But if the family showered her with praise and flattery, then she passed it on to me. It’s just the way she was, ye see. I was her baby sister, and she protected and pampered me fierce. See, our own mum died when I was born, an infection she developed after the birthing. So my da had impressed on Maeve that she was to look after me. And did she ever. It also didn’t hurt me self-esteem that of the two of us, I was the fairer. Just how it was, just as she was many times more powerful than I in the Craft, although I more than held me own at Divination, which is me own gift. So we were the famous O’Carroll sisters, known across the county of Tipperary and beyond. But when Mum died, the leadership of the Circle passed to another, her main rival, Macha Banfill. Maeve was just a young girl, see, and though no one could doubt as she’d lead the circle one day, she wouldn’t be ready for years to come.
“Macha was of an age as me mum. Grew up in her shadow, and although she was the next most powerful witch in the village, it was like comparing a clover to a towering oak tree. And she only had a handful of years afore Maeve would pull the leadership from her. So she plotted. We st
udied our Craft, Maeve and I, and enjoyed being the darlings of the county. Among the village and in the other Circles around the county, Maeve was known and admired for her abilities. But among the regular folk, the ones who weren’t privy to the business of the Circles, well, we both got attention, and as I got older, I started to get more of the male attention. So life was pretty grand for a time. Our da was the vet, an important job in a farm village, and we studied our Craft and flirted with boys, me more than Maeve. Till Maeve turned sixteen. I was just shy of me fourteenth year at that point. Macha held a grand ceremony for the pride of the Circle and right at the height of it announced that she’d arranged a marriage for me sister. It was an old tradition in the Circles, see, to make the most likely matches that would strengthen the bloodlines. Mostly, it worked out well, although it was usually done in groups so that some choice was left to the lads and lasses. But Macha declared that there were no suitable lads in all of Ireland for our dear Maeve. Instead, she had put together a match with a Croatian lad who was known to have some ability of his own. Men of the Craft are rarer than teeth in a hen, but they do appear from time to time, more it seems in modern times. When they do, they are much sought-after as husbands, as they almost always father strong witch daughters. So it was that Macha had found the strongest male known at the time.”
“As strong as Declan?” Caeco asked. I was frozen at the back of the room, listening to a story that I’ve only ever heard bits and pieces of. Aunt Ash raised her eyes to mine as she answered the question.
“Caeco dear, a strong male witch is one of a level as a weak lady witch. To my knowledge, there has never been a male of Declan’s strength. Nor even a female, ‘cept his own mum.”
“Then how have you stayed hidden all these years? I presume you and your sister ran and ended up here. How is it that no one has tracked you down?” Dr. Jensen asked.
“That we did, Abigail. Perun, the witch boy, and his brother Laban were brought to visit. Laban was not a witch but of the same bloodline and therefore considered a possible match for myself. They were older, nineteen and seventeen, and very handsome. Charming, the both of them. But it was a mask; underneath, their souls were as black as ink. Maeve sensed it right away, while I was bemused by their comely looks. She told Macha that she dinnae favor the match. Macha was not to be thwarted. See, in all likelihood, if the setup had worked, Maeve would have returned to the Continent with her new husband to lead the Circle in his village. So Macha wasn’t having it. She provided the boys with a drug, which they put in our drinks. The plan was to get us both pregnant and force us into marriage.”
“But you woke up,” Caeco supplied, completely caught up in the story.
“Oh, someone’s been telling ya things, have they?” Aunt Ash asked with a look in my direction. “But you’re right, dear. I woke up. Drugs and witches are iffy at best. Some of us have a tolerance for these things. So I woke up. Laban was raping me, his brother on me sister.”
She took a breath and looked down at the tabletop, where her fingers encircled a cup of tea. Her hands shook slightly, and I suddenly wanted to blow something up. The light over the kitchen sink flicked out, causing her to look up—at me, not the light. “Declan, dear, please mind the lights,” she said. I took a slow breath, and the light came back on.
“Does that happen every time he’s upset?” Caeco asked, looking from the light to Aunt Ashling.
“Oh, it happens on occasion, it does. But once, when he was just a lad of about twelve, he got really angry with a man who was calling me names. We were in town, and half the village lost power that day. But where was I? Oh yes, the raping. I got upset that day. I’m a fair hand with Air, ya know and I was, ya might say, a wee bit motivated to get them off us. I blew them through our cottage window. Both were knocked unconscious. Did not know that at the time. Was thinking that I’d killed both fecking gits, and glad for it. I woke me sister, and we ran. Found our way to here, much as you have, jest without the auto and cash and what-have-you. And with a wee one on the way,” she finished, smiling at me as I piled fleece jackets and raincoats along with a pair of my sweatshirts in front of the other two women.
Caeco picked up a dark green Vermont sweatshirt and felt the thick cotton, but her expression was thoughtful, like she didn’t know she was even holding it.
“Would you have been upset had you killed them?” she asked my aunt. Thinking of her own near rape, I realized.
“No, dear, and if I had, Declan’s mum might still be alive. Rape is… I can’t describe the helplessness, the violation. But it put me clean off men. Didn’t trust a one of them, at least not till that one standing there made me realize they weren’t all alike.”
“Mom would still have died, Aunt Ash. We don’t know who met her in Boston, but it was likely Macha or someone she hired,” I said.
“What happened?” Dr. Jensen asked.
“Years had gone by, and we had stayed hidden. One thing the Craft is good for is hiding, and when practiced by a witch of the first power, it’s brilliant. Centuries of avoiding the witch hunt has taught us lots of tricks for that. But when me boy’o here was about six, we got this idea to try contacting the old Circle to see how things were, ya know. The response was good: they wanted us to come home. Maeve went to Boston to meet a representative from the Circle. She never came back. Her body was found in the harbor. Made all the papers and the telly. So me point is that I know what you’re going through, and that’s why we’ve wanted to help. Now, Declan dear, grab the pantry money, would ya?”
I held up the biscuit box my aunt used to stash her emergency cash. She laughed.
“We think alike, we do,” she said. I handed her the box and reached into my back pocket for the envelope I’d grabbed from my own room. “Put this with it, Aunt Ash,” I said.
She gave me a proud nod and pulled a wad of twenties and tens from the biscuit tin, laying them on top of the envelope, and pushed the whole thing in front of Dr. Johnson.
Caeco’s hand shot out, almost too fast to see, and grabbed the envelope. “College fund?” she read. “You’re giving us your college money?” she demanded, giving me a funny, unreadable look.
“I call it that, but most of my college fund is in the bank. That’s money I got from doing computer and cell phone stuff at school, for kids and a couple of the staff. Not much there, maybe nine hundred or so.”
She didn’t say anything, just looked at the worn envelope in her hands. I didn’t tell her that my college money would only pay for a semester or two at best. Didn’t seem important.
“We need to go, Caeco,” Dr. Jensen said. “Thank you. You’ve put yourselves in great danger for us, helped us when you didn’t have to.”
“As I said, Abigail, we know about running and hiding. Speaking of which, could ya give the ladies some extra help, Declan?” she asked, tossing me a green Sharpie.
I started with Caeco’s mom, drawing eolh on the back of both her hands. It looked like a letter Y with an extra point going straight up like a three-tine fork.
“Eolh is the rune for protection,” Aunt Ash explained.
“How can an ancient letter help protect us?” Dr. Jensen asked.
“Our Craft is about shaping and directing energies that modern science hasn’t yet truly found, although I think some of the work in theoretical physics is getting a mite closer. There are energies and dimensions that we all feel and sense at some level but ignore because we can’t see or touch them. We’re taught about our five senses, but anything else is fairytales. A witch teaches her daughter or, sometimes, her son not to ignore that shiver you get from nowhere or the shadow you think you saw but convince yourself wasn’t there. We train their minds to notice and, more importantly, manipulate this energy that Hollywood would call magic. Some families use chanted language in the form of spells, others diagrams or, like us, runes. We assign a meaning to each letter of the runic alphabet, and our belief and understanding of that meaning focuses energy upon it. So when Declan writes Eolh on
you, he believes that it will protect you, and his mind focuses and wraps you in power. That power will tend to influence events around you. The bad bloke seeking you may chance to look down or away at the most opportune moment and miss seeing you. His radio or phone might drop a connection at the best time for you to get away. It’s subtle.”
I picked up Caeco’s left hand in mine and again drew eolh on it. My hand tingled where it touched her skin, and I could feel the presence of something below her skin. It spoke to me, telling me her stomach was full, her health excellent, and her attention was focused on me, not my drawing, but me—my being. Suddenly nervous, I picked up her right hand and drew eoh on on it. If you took all the curves out of a letter S and made it from straight lines, that would be eoh.
“Are you trying to sneak a feel of my nannites?” Caeco asked me with a sly look. I felt my mouth drop open like a door with a broken latch. Did she just flirt? She flirted!
Her mother gave her an odd look, but it was Aunt Ash who saved me because, to be honest, I was completely caught off guard.
