Wild Irish Witch

by Tricia O'Malley

  “Then we must try,” Mr. Brogan said, grabbing the priest’s arm and hauling him from the room over his protests. Mrs. Brogan followed, weeping into her handkerchief.

  Now all Fiona had to do was convince the doctor to leave.

  “I’d like to watch, if you don’t mind,” he asked quietly, respect permeating his words. Fiona paused and raised an eyebrow at him.

  “And why should I be letting you watch? How do I know you won’t be talking of this all over town?” Fiona demanded.

  “You’ve my word. I’ve sworn an oath to heal. I’m someone who respects healing― in all its forms,” the doctor said gently.

  Fiona squinted at him. “It’s Dr. Collins, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, miss, it is,” Dr. Collins said, still respectful.

  Fiona took a deep breath, reaching out with her mind to scan the doctor’s, to see if there was any subterfuge she was missing. Finding genuine curiosity and nothing more, Fiona finally nodded.

  “Mother, close the door,” Fiona ordered over her shoulder before turning to look at Sinead.

  The girl looked as different from when Fiona had seen her earlier as night and day. It was like someone had turned the light off. Instead of the vibrancy of youth and beauty, her skin was pale― grey, and the white sheets around her were soaked with blood. This was beyond bad, and Fiona wasn’t sure there was even any life left in her body. Reaching out, she slid her arms underneath Sinead, moving so she could slip her hips onto the bed and cradle the girl against her chest. Closing her eyes, Fiona went within.

  She found the problem immediately. Her mind’s eye was able to find the deadly pregnancy quickly, and Fiona scanned the small group of cells, to see if there was any flicker of life. Her lips thinned in sadness as she realized there was no hope for the fetus, but would she be able to save the mother? Scanning back up Sinead’s body, Fiona sought desperately to find a glimpse of her soul left attached to her body.

  And almost doubled over in relief when she found the dimmest of lights, deep within Sinead, slowly fading to a small dot of blue, the color of the hottest part of the fire.

  “She’s still with us,” Fiona whispered, and Dr. Collins straightened beside her.

  “What can I do?”

  Fiona met his eyes.

  “Pray that whatever universal god or energy has bestowed me with this gift is on my side tonight,” Fiona said, before closing her eyes again and wrapping her arms around Sinead’s limp body.

  She sought the flicker of blue light again, and in her mind she began to carefully fan the flame, blowing on it with a gentle love, infusing it with strength to grow. As the flame sparked higher, Fiona moved her power down to the pregnancy, sending energy into it. In a shock of light, Sinead’s body jerked as Fiona healed her, a lamp in the corner shattering into pieces as Fiona directed the pain from Sinead’s body.

  “Holy mother of…” Dr. Collins breathed, crossing himself, as Sinead began to cough in Fiona’s arms, turning her head back and forth as she mumbled something. Fiona breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “She’ll need water, and should stay restful for a while. Her body will need to recover. But she should be healed of the pregnancy now,” Fiona said. Slipping from beneath Sinead, Fiona adjusted the pillow under the girl’s head and ran a hand across her warm forehead.

  Sinead’s eyes opened a sliver.

  “Fiona. You did something to me,” Sinead whispered.

  “You’re safe now,” Fiona said.

  “Don’t… don’t tell anyone,” Sinead whispered, her eyes glinting with tears as she turned to stare at the wall in shame.

  “It’s not my secret to tell,” Fiona said softly, pushing herself up from the bed and coming to stand in front of Dr. Collins. Her body trembled, as though she had used up her own life force to heal another’s. She would later learn this was the cost of healing, but in this moment Fiona just wanted to lie down and sleep for twelve hours.

  “What did you do here?” Dr. Collins asked, confusion in his eyes.

  “I blew on the light of her soul, fanning it back into a fire,” Fiona answered frankly, too exhausted to lie and wondering what he would make of it.

  “I… I… I don’t know what to say to that,” Dr. Collins answered. Fiona could at least appreciate his honesty.

  “You and me both, doctor; you and me both,” Fiona muttered as she crossed the room and met her mother by the door.

  “You did good, baby. I’m so proud of you,” Bridget whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Fiona’s cheek and smoothing her hair back from her face.

  “I need to lie down,” Fiona said, leaning into her mother’s shoulder for just a moment.

  “Let’s get you out of here. Sure and I’ll fix you a nice cup of broth when we get home,” Bridget said immediately, wrapping her arm around her daughter and leading her from the room. They stopped short at the line of people in the hallway.

  “Is she… is she gone?” Mrs. Brogan asked, her handkerchief clenched in her hands at her lips. Her eyes were glassy with tears.

  “No, she’s not. She’ll need to rest for a good while, though,” Fiona said softly.

  Mrs. Brogan squealed and hurtled past Fiona into the room, dropping to her knees at her daughter’s bedside and launching into a prayer. Mr. Brogan stopped in front of Fiona.

  “Our family thanks you. If you ever need anything… just say it. Sure and we’re beholden to you,” he said gruffly.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” Fiona said softly. “I didn’t help so you would owe us or have to work off a debt of sorts. I helped because that’s who I am.”

  Mr. Brogan took in her words and then nodded, stepping back.

  “Sure and we’re grateful for it. We’re lucky to have you.”

  Fiona nodded once more, but found that it was becoming more and more difficult to talk. Between the healing and the emotions in the house pressing at her, she just wanted her bed. Fiona trailed past Sinead’s brothers and sisters without even bothering to look them in the face, not willing to try and interpret the expressions she would see there. She stumbled down the stairs, ready to leave, but was brought up short by the priest.

  “Father Patrick, please move. I’d like to leave,” Fiona said dully, the strength of her mother the only thing holding her up.

  “Witch,” Father Patrick hissed, crossing himself in front of her and brandishing a bottle of holy water in her face.

  Fiona huffed out a laugh, too tired to even care what he was saying.

  “Father Patrick, you should be ashamed of yourself,” Bridget hissed, reprimanding the stout priest. “Fiona’s a good girl and what she did tonight was done to help a dying girl. Not for money. Not for accolades. Not for anything but the goodness of her heart. You should be holding her in high esteem instead of judging her. How dare you!”

  But Father Patrick was having none of it.

  “Witch, be gone,” he said again, crossing himself and holding his crucifix out in front of him.

  Fiona wanted to rip it out of his hand and throw it across the room― to tell him that symbols were meaningless when life force and omnipotent power were universal. He’d never know that though― not until he passed on. It wasn’t her job to educate him either. Deciding she’d had enough for the day, Fiona shuffled around him.

  And prayed that coming here hadn’t been a grave mistake.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fiona slept through the entire day and late into the evening hours before her mother shook her awake.

  “Fiona, luv, you must drink some water,” Bridget whispered, worry creasing her face as she peered down at her daughter. Fiona blinked the fuzziness from her eyes and swallowed against a dry throat.

  “How long have I slept?” Fiona croaked, as she eased herself up to lean against the wall, gratefully accepting the glass of water from her mother.

  “Nigh on fourteen hours or so,” Bridget said, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

  “I feel like I’ve been flattened by a
horse,” Fiona said softly, gingerly moving her body, her muscles protesting.

  “Aye, it’s the healing. You can’t bring someone back from the brink without nearly going over it yourself, then,” Bridget said.

  “Is that the truth of it, then?” Fiona asked, wondering how she’d missed that detail in the book. Perhaps it hadn’t been written there and was something that was just known?

  Too bad Fiona didn’t have a teacher.

  “I remember now― I was once told…” Bridget shook her head in disgust.

  “By whom? What were you told?” Fiona said, placing the empty cup on her bed stand and focusing on her mother.

  “A woman I knew long ago. She was touched with something too. She always warned me about life or death healing situations. You must be careful, Fiona. Sometimes if you go too far in trying to save someone― you’ll pay the ultimate sacrifice. You must learn to recognize where that line lies.”

  “I’m not quite sure I’ll know how to do that,” Fiona admitted, running her hand over a wrinkle in the sheet.

  “You’ll have to figure it out. There are too many lives for you to touch, to lose you to a careless healing,” Bridget said.

  “But… what if I am put in that position? Where I must choose to give my life to save another? Would you still want me to pull back then?” Fiona asked, honestly wondering if she would be able to choose or not.

  “Oh, my dear darling child, yes, I would want you to choose your own life. You must, in fact. You’re destined for much more during your time on earth.”

  “I don’t understand how I’m going to know that line,” Fiona said, biting her lip.

  Bridget sat on the corner of the bed and reached over to smooth a wisp of Fiona’s hair back from her forehead.

  “Fiona, you’ve been blessed with a great gift. One of the greatest, not to mention your myriad other forms of intuitive gifts. God didn’t put you on this earth to burn yourself out on one life. You’re here to help many. Remember that, should you ever be on the edge.”

  Fiona felt like she’d grown up in just a day. Yesterday she’d been worried about what people would think of her skin cream with labels reading ‘magick.’ Tonight she was worried about the effects of her healing power and where the line between life and death lay. Suddenly the trivial stuff didn’t seem to matter so much anymore.

  “Mum, Father Patrick is going to talk. He hates me,” Fiona said. “But I just can’t bring myself to care after what I did today. It was such a rush of power… no, not even power. Just, it felt good to be able to do something.”

  “Even if he talks― so what? You did a good thing today, Fiona. You can hold your head up high, knowing that you saved a life. Don’t fret about Father Patrick. He’s not worth your energy.”

  Fiona wondered if that was what growing up was all about― not caring what others thought about you. If she had to admit it, she was proud of herself for handling the priest the way she had. It was nice to know she didn’t fold under pressure.

  “Have you heard from the Brogans? How is Sinead?”

  “She’s well, child, she’s well. They sent over an entire meal for you, if you feel like you can eat.”

  Fiona’s stomach rumbled in response and she realized that she was ravenous. Moving gingerly, she threw her arms around her mother.

  “Yes, I’m famished. Thanks for pushing me in the right direction today, Mum.”

  “It’s the best I can do,” Bridget murmured as they got up from the bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Despite what she’d said about being proud of her healing power, Fiona kept a low profile over the next week. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed, but she was still dealing with her own feelings and responses from the healing. Dealing with an outsider’s view on what she had done was just something that she wasn’t ready for.

  She caught herself thinking about John over the week― more than she’d like to. She wondered if his mother had liked the cream she had sent over. Or if he thought about her the way she was starting to think about him.

  Fiona was far out into the hills on one of her walks to gather ingredients for her line when she heard bleating. Looking over her shoulder from where she knelt in the sunshine, she stiffened.

  Sure and she didn’t have the magick to make the man appear just when she was thinking of him, did she now?

  Fiona felt her cheeks heat as she watched John walk confidently through the field, a walking stick in his hand, and the silly little lamb― bigger now― happily trailing behind him. What a picture he made.

  No wonder people were drawn to him. He walked easily, with a grace and confidence that came naturally. His strong shoulders were thrown back and his easy smile made Fiona’s lips twitch in response.

  Damn if that man wasn’t handsome as all get-out.

  Fiona rose from her crouch, leaving her bag on the ground.

  “Nice day for a walk,” Fiona said, smiling up at John. The lamb rambled over and bumped its head into Fiona’s knee, bleating a short welcome. “Hello there, sweet thing.” Fiona bent and nuzzled the lamb’s head before it danced off to nibble at a flower.

  “Damn thing follows me everywhere,” John grumbled, but Fiona wasn’t fooled. He was sweet on the little lamb. She thought it was adorable, though she wouldn’t be telling him that and wounding his male pride.

  “Probably because it trusts you,” Fiona pointed out. John just shrugged. The sun caught the blue of his eyes, making them seem to sparkle― much like the blue light from the cove.

  “What are you doing out here?” John asked, squinting down at her.

  “Gathering this and that. Ingredients for my creams and tonics,” Fiona said, feeling a little foolish to be caught digging in the mud.

  “My mother sure does like the cream you sent along for her. Says her skin feels ages younger.”

  Fiona’s smiled widened at his words. She dropped her eyes and dug her toe into the ground, feeling a little shy.

  “Thanks, that’s kind of her to say.”

  “Is it really magick?” John asked bluntly.

  “Are you asking me because you want to make fun of me, or are you asking me because you really want to know?” Fiona asked, putting her hands on her hips and angling her chin up at him. Damn if he wasn’t always poking his nose where it didn’t belong.

  “I’m asking because I really want to know. I’d like to get to know you a little better. To understand…” John extended an arm to gesture down to the bags at her feet.

  “Well, John, since you’ve gone and asked so nicely, I’ll tell you,” Fiona said, unsure why she was feeling so annoyed with his questions. “Yes, I suppose you could say there’s a wee touch of magick in my creams and tonics. They are centuries-old recipes, passed down from generation to generation. I like to add a little extra dose of my healing touch to them, is all,” Fiona said, shrugging.

  “So your whole family is magick then? Passed down from generations?”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. It could never just be one answer, could it? Once she gave a little, the questions would keep coming.

  “I don’t know, John, is that how you think it works?” Fiona parried, not sure how much information she wanted to give him.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t really know enough about magick. Just folklore and the like,” John said softly.

  Fiona sighed, feeling resignation wash through her. He really was a kind man. A man with too many questions, but a kind one nonetheless.

  “Is that why you’ve come out here today, then? To find out about my family’s history?” Fiona said, smiling up at him to take the sting from her words.

  “No, I’ve been walking out here every day, hoping to find you in the hills,” John admitted, his blue eyes intent on her face.

  A wash of heat rushed through Fiona. Sure and this man wasn’t actually admitting that he liked her, was he? That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Her words died on her lips as she stared into his eyes, a wave of lust dancing across
her skin, the energy of his intent palpable against her skin.

  “Well, here I am,” Fiona said, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Yes. I’ve found you, haven’t I?” John smiled at her, his words holding a double meaning.

  Fiona felt the punch of it in her gut― the dawning realization that this was the one. The faceless stranger in her dreams. The one who would someday hold her hand as she gave birth to their child. The one who would hold her heart. It was so simple to see now what the cove had been trying to tell her. This had certainly been a week of lessons for her.

  Fiona pushed her thoughts away. Babies? She’d never even been kissed before. At least, not unless you counted that time Seamus McGowan had snuck a kiss from her in the schoolyard. It had been sloppy and sudden, and hadn’t given Fiona a really good impression of why people even did this to begin with. But looking into John’s eyes now made her reconsider. For the first time ever, she wanted to kiss someone.

  Fiona jumped when John held out his hand.

  “Walk with me?”

  He wasn’t going to kiss her, then. Just a walk. Fiona breathed and nodded, bending down to pick up her bag and mentally kicking herself for getting all hot and bothered.

  Straightening, she slipped her hand into his and tried not to blush when the rush of emotions hit her. One of the many extra facets to her gift was that she could often read other people’s emotions. And right now, John O’Brien was most definitely interested in kissing her.

  The thought made her break into a smile, and she glanced up at him as they moved across the field.

  “Tell me about yourself. Why haven’t you gone off to uni then? Decided village life was more to your taste?”

  John glanced down at her as they walked, approaching a small hill that Fiona knew to drop off into the water on the other side. The sun played across their shoulders and a gentle breeze kicked up her hair. It was one of those rare perfect days in Ireland, and Fiona found the simple pleasure of walking with a handsome man across the hills to be a perfect complement to the day.

  “No uni for me. I’m done with school. I’m a simple man, really. I want to continue to work the farm, maybe branch out into a few more areas. I love it here. We live in one of the most beautiful parts of the country,” John shrugged, his eyes going out to the water. “City life just isn’t for me. What about you? You don’t want to leave either?”