The Witch's Journey

by Leigh Ann Edwards

  Would that be best? Better than being used as a pawn for Odhran or the Celtic gods; better than involving Faolan? The glowing light drew nearer and she saw the water beast.

  “You’ve gotten yourself into a fix, water witch. I can push your younger self to shore, but I can’t breathe life into her or warm her and apparently neither can you. I suspect you’ll fade into nothingness. You must call the young guardian to assist.”

  “I won’t involve him. I won’t make him suffer being linked to me.”

  “I don’t think your man ever saw it as suffering.”

  “I can’t do it; I literally…can’t…do it,” she rasped, feeling colder and now unable to speak. She slumped to the ground, wheezing and struggling to breathe, she closed her eyes.

  “I’ll call to him,” the creature said.

  Before he did, Faolan arrived as though instinctively knowing he should be here. Maybe they were destined to be together. Faolan briefly glanced at Angelique, maybe thinking she’d died, but pulled the child from the water, pushed on her chest and breathed into her mouth.

  He took Ailish to the shelter of the rocks and placed her in his cloak although this time he’d not been instructed to do so.

  Angelique could breathe again, felt warmer now, too. Obviously Faolan saving Ailish ensured Angelique was capable of breathing and moving again.

  She walked behind the rocks and sat down, saw her younger self lay her head against Faolan’s chest. She felt his wonderful warmth now, his arms around her as she had so often when he’d held her as adults. She couldn’t stop the tears. Faolan noticed.

  “Why do you weep? Your baby’s safe now,” he said clearly believing the child was her daughter. They did, after all, look very much alike.

  “Take her away from here,” Faolan said. “The tide’ll soon come in.”

  “Faolan, my guardian,” the child telepathically said though she hadn’t heard his name.

  “Thank you,” Angelique whispered.

  Faolan smiled. Even now he had the most magnanimous smile. She took the child from his arms and disappeared, went to the hospital where Genny would be. Genny had taken Angelique there once to show her where they’d first met.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  October 31, Present Century

  “Angie, Angie,” Newt sang out. Angelique joined him in the living room already wearing her witch hat.

  “You’ve decorated for Halloween and carved pumpkins. I’m glad. I thought you might not.”

  “I’ve ordered pizza and have Hocus Pocus ready to play, too.”

  “Great! I’m relieved, Angie. I was afraid you’d be too sad to do that tonight.”

  “I’m honoring Mom’s memory by keeping up her traditions.”

  *

  The clock chimed midnight with no discussion of summoning a perfect man. Tears streamed down Angelique’s face. Having drunk too much, Newt was passed out on the chaise longue. She covered him, went to bed and sobbed herself to sleep.

  The next morning after Newt left, Angelique still peeked by the back door, half expecting to see Faolan. If he was her destiny maybe she wouldn’t have to create a spell to summon him. If he was her guardian, he’d be needed, but she inhaled deeply seeing the empty hallway, relieved he wouldn’t need to experience the negative aspects of their time together.

  She hoped he’d stay well, live long and prosper. She couldn’t permit herself to worry about Coates or Clodaugh or whom Faolan might be sleeping with. She only prayed he’d be happy. She had no control any longer anyway. She’d done a few time jumps to test her theory.

  She’d watched the tea dumped in Boston Harbor. She’d stood under the balcony, listening to the first reading of the Declaration of Independence. She’d heard Lincoln give his famous speech at Gettysburg, been at Kitty Hawk, watching the Wright Brothers’ first flight. However, any time she attempted to go to Faolan, she was unable. She supposed the gods had taken away that power since she’d defied them. Every time she jumped about time, she became more exhausted and breathless. Eventually, she stopped.

  Sometimes happy she had memories of their time together—of their profound love, occasionally she wished she could be like him and have no recollection. She couldn’t mourn what she’d never lost. But mourn, she did. She felt her heart effectively shredded.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d do today, much less the rest of her life. Every part of this house reminded her of Faolan. Where they’d sat eating together, where they’d listened to music, watched television, had endless conversations and where they’d made love. She couldn’t allow herself to think about that, knowing she’d never experience that depth of love or passion again.

  *

  It had been three days since Halloween. She’d spoken to Tristan, purposely mentioned Faolan. He had no clue who she was talking about, which was good. Same with Newt and Mrs. Boyle. They hadn’t heard of Faolan because he hadn’t existed in this time. Danhoul had yet to return from wherever he was now.

  Angelique cried more than anything, could barely drag herself out of bed. Hearing a knock, she tried to wipe her tears, which was impossible. She’d just hide till whoever it was left.

  “Angelique,” Danhoul called.

  She opened the door to see him holding flowers.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Just missing Mom. She loved Halloween. The other night was the first Halloween without her.”

  “Your first birthday without her, too.”

  “Yes. Come in, Danhoul. Want coffee?”

  “If you have some made.”

  “It won’t take long to make a fresh pot. Let me put these in water first,” she said turning away. Everything that happened on the ship seemed painfully fresh seeing Danhoul.

  “You don’t have to hide your tears, Angelique. I know how badly you’re hurting.”

  “I miss Mom.”

  “And Faolan,” he said.

  She dropped the vase and it shattered.

  “You remember,” she said facing him.

  “Probably because I was with you back there.”

  “Is Faolan all right? Was he alive when you left him?”

  “Yes,” Danhoul said.

  She covered her face, sobbing, then crumpled to the floor.

  “It’s okay,” he said sitting beside her on the floor and putting his arms around her. “Well, it’s not okay, it’s feckin’ bullshit. I can’t even imagine how you’re feelin’ just now.”

  “I’m scary angry and it feels like my heart’s being ripped out. I miss Faolan so much it hurts to breathe. I can’t talk about him to Newt…or anyone.”

  “You can talk to me about him,” Danhoul said.

  “I’m surprised the gods didn’t take away your memories, too, maybe make me think I’d imagined it all.”

  “I considered Faolan my friend. What are you going to do, Angelique? Will you ignore the gods and this upcoming battle?”

  “I certainly don’t want to help them.”

  “You have the book though?”

  “How did you know?”

  “The book went missing from the cottage where Ainsley lived in Gettysburg. I figured after everything that happened you might have gone back for it.”

  “I had to read it. I understand more now.”

  “Has it swayed your opinion?”

  “It’s made me realize the gods really have messed with our lives. How can the other witches not feel resentful and angry?”

  “They all have at times—still do to a certain extent. Ainsley was angriest and showed the most opposition, but Alainn and Arianna have experienced times when they’ve cursed the gods, too.”

  “How would they feel if they weren’t with the men they loved?”

  “Probably a whole lot more displeased.”

  “Have you talked to Aine?”

  “She’s a bloody narcissist and takes no responsibility. She feels if you’d listened, taken Faolan back to his time, then left without opposition as instructed, you wouldn’t be i
n this predicament.”

  “Even if I’d listened, I’d still be without him.”

  Danhoul held her closer, kissed her head.

  “But Faolan’s okay? You promise he’s okay?”

  “He’s alive and well. I promise,” he said.

  She sighed and looked out the window. Today, if things were as they’d been before, Faolan would be here with her, they’d be out walking, touring Boston, falling in love. She had to stop thinking like that or she’d make herself crazy.

  Danhoul helped her up, thoughtfully swept the broken glass off the floor and disposed of it.

  “Would you like me to stay?”

  “No, I need time alone.”

  “To grieve,” he said. She nodded. “Okay, I’ll go but I’ll be checkin’ in on you. The other witches will hopefully be back soon.”

  “The day of the winter solstice,” she said, “when Faolan and I were married and made a blood vow to be together forever.”

  He held her as she wept again, then looked at her empathetically.

  “Try to rest, keep hydrated. Remember to eat. I’ll stop in tomorrow.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Angelique said.

  *

  Angelique’s phone buzzed. She’d gotten a new phone. She couldn’t bring herself to go to the attic—didn’t even know if her old one was there. She hadn’t seen Wolf since the night on the ship.

  It was Newt texting. He was worried, as was her father, Tristan, Mrs. Boyle, Fiona. Danhoul, too, but at least she replied to Danhoul’s texts and let him in the door—because he understood the true reason for her continued pain. She’d told the others she needed to work through some things alone. They respected that. Even Newt must have partly accepted it, for he hadn’t stopped by recently. He was spending lots of time with Timothy.

  Seven long, nearly unbearable weeks had passed since Halloween. She’d spent most days, drinking, crying in her bed or pathetically reliving all she and Faolan had shared. She’d dropped out of all her classes. One day she’d impulsively gotten a tattoo, a Celtic triskelion, near her heart, like Faolan had on all his most-loved possessions.

  This morning, she’d looked through the odd book she’d found at the apothecary shop, a spell nearly jumped out at her.

  Going back in time to a love lost. That wasn’t there before. She definitely would’ve seen it. It was a darker spell than she usually did, a spell requiring her blood—not one to mess with. But she had to go back, ensure Faolan was okay, that he really didn’t remember her. Then she’d leave him to his life.

  Luckily she’d kept the old-fashioned gown and cloak. Traveling through time, the colors weren’t beautiful now, but dark and unpleasant. She saw flashes of every other place and time she’d visited. The sounds were disturbing, almost like a current short-circuiting, sparking—about to create a dangerous fire.

  When she arrived and opened her eyes, she was in Kinsale, presumably during Faolan’s time, just weeks after she’d left. It took a few moments to right her dizziness. She recognized his ship now moored.

  Entering The New Thatch, she spotted Sinead sitting with a man. Sinead didn’t even look at her. When Angelique’s palm began to burn as the inn’s door opened, she knew Faolan was here. She trembled, trying to prepare herself for seeing him again.

  There he was, tall, strong, handsome as ever. She held her breath, waiting to see if he’d know her. He was with a couple of crewmen. He briefly glanced her way but sat at a table with the other men continuing their conversation. Good; he had no recollection of her. He could carry on with his life, but God it hurt knowing he didn’t remember.

  “Like somethin’ to drink, madam?” Conor asked but also didn’t seem to know her.

  Staring at Faolan, she didn’t reply.

  “That’s Captain Mahoney. He’s a bit of a hero just now. Saved half a dozen lads near Ennisboheen in Wicklow, so he did. They were stranded on a sand bar when the tide was comin’ in.”

  Angelique knew of Ennisboheen or Dunganstown, where the Kennedys’ ancestors from Boston had once lived. Had Faolan saved a Kennedy to ensure his descendant became president, shaping much of America? That could be why Faolan had to return to his time.

  “Are you wantin’ a drink, madam?” Conor repeated.

  Faolan glanced at her once more, again with no hint of remembering.

  “No thanks, I won’t be staying,” she replied.

  As she walked by the piano, she played the first five notes of “The Water is Wide,” the song they’d danced to not long ago. Faolan glanced up—still no trace of memory in his eyes. She started to the door.

  “You really don’t want a drink, madam?” Faolan asked. Again her heart jumped. “You look like you could use one.”

  “Probably,” she said.

  He motioned to an empty table though still nothing in his expression suggested he remembered. She came back to sit with him.

  “Ale?” he asked.

  “I’d prefer whiskey,” she replied.

  He motioned to Conor and he brought their drinks.

  “You’re from America?”

  “Yes, Boston.”

  “I wouldn’t be wantin’ to live there now. Not with all that’s goin’ on. Some believe there’ll be a war in the future.”

  “I suspect there will.”

  He looked closely, glanced at her hair and face, then lowered his eyes to her breasts.

  “You saved some lads recently?” Angelique said.

  He shrugged. “Nothin’ anyone else wouldn’t have done.”

  She sighed at his pointed dismissal of his heroism. He’d never seen his honorable traits.

  “It isn’t common for women to come here alone. Have you no husband?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Dead?” he asked, taking a long drink.

  “To me,” she replied, downing her whiskey.

  He nodded knowingly, clearly believing her husband had left her.

  “Another,” she said.

  Faolan motioned to the barkeep who swiftly brought the whiskey.

  “What business have you here?” Faolan asked. “Or is being here your business?”

  He glanced at her again, clearly appraising her.

  “You think I’m a prostitute?”

  “That wasn’t meant to offend, madam. You don’t have the appearance of such, but abandoned women often must make their way by whatever means…”

  “Would you like to go upstairs?” she interrupted.

  “You’re a lovely woman.”

  “Not fetching?” she asked.

  “Most fetching. You have very beautiful hair and eyes. I suspect your smile would be pretty, too.”

  “I don’t smile much anymore,” Angelique said. “If we go upstairs maybe you can make me smile, Captain Mahoney.”

  “How do you know me?”

  “Your reputation precedes you.”

  “I’d very much like to go upstairs with you,” he said.

  “Sinead wouldn’t be displeased?”

  He seemed suspicious now.

  “I have second sight, Captain. I sense you and Sinead were once close.”

  “We spent some time together but she’s actually goin’ to be wed to the man she’s with now.”

  “What are your intentions, Captain?”

  “Beyond this afternoon?” he asked with the damn familiar sexy eyebrow movement.

  She nodded.

  “I’m thinkin’ of sailin’ to the Mediterranean; perhaps the Polynesian Islands. Warmer waters, different cargos, new adventures.”

  “Exotic women,” she said.

  “Perhaps, but just now, I’m only interested in one,” he suggestively said.

  She took a deep breath, exhaled, staring at him.

  “Have I misread then?”

  “It was me who suggested it,” she said, standing and starting upstairs even knowing it was a big mistake. She longed for one more time with him…even if he didn’t recognize her.

  *

&nb
sp; Afterward, she stayed beneath the sheets. He sat on the edge of the bed putting on his breeches. He’d once told her he never slept with women after he bedded them if he wasn’t drunk. Apparently that was true. He’d been an attentive lover. Even believing she was a whore, he’s made certain she orgasmed—more than once. He’d questioned how she knew precisely what he liked, how she could pleasure him so thoroughly. She said she was intuitive that way. He stared hard at her triskelion tattoo on her breast, too.

  When they were joined he’d gazed into her eyes like maybe he should remember, but he’d ensured he was behind her not looking in her eyes when he came, then moved from her with no affection afterward.

  He finished dressing, placed his sword in his scabbard then reached for his hat. He turned back, his eyes now evasive.

  “We didn’t discuss coin.”

  “I don’t require payment,” she said. “Women need companionship and pleasure, too.”

  “You haven’t done this before then—for coin?”

  “No.”

  He wore a guilty, uncomfortable look. Placing two coins on the stand, he effectually broke her heart.

  “I hope you’ll find someone who’ll make you want to settle down and you won’t need to pay women to see to your desires.”

  “I hope you’ll find a man who’ll make you smile again and take the sadness from those lovely blue eyes,” he said. Tipping his hat, he left.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Back in her time, Angelique sat in the silent attic looking out the window. It was the day of the winter solstice. Like when she and Faolan were here together, huge snowflakes fell. She’d drunk half a bottle of whiskey. If she continued she’d puke, pass out or have alcohol poisoning.

  How could she carry on as usual, pretend everything was even a little okay? She was hopelessly lost. Being with Faolan again when he didn’t remember even when they’d been intimate, then him paying her afterward, had wholly and eternally destroyed her. Her soul despaired.

  Spotting the small trunk by the rocking horse, she opened it—no annoying garden gnome, no scrolls with fucking assignments. Just the book. She glared at the book. She’d tried to burn it, but it had flown out of the fire like it had a life of its own. Danhoul hadn’t asked where the book was. She had to give him credit. He’d been a good friend. He had nearly as much animosity toward the gods as her.