A Celtic Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 6) (22 page)

Then again, Daniel could probably run circles around the rest of them single-handedly for days.

Ginia was paging him.  “My presence is required at Warrior Girl’s castle.  May the best witches win.”

He ported into Realm with Sophie’s laughter ringing in his ears.  She was far too cheerful for his liking.

A warrior with blonde curls and pink armor awaited him none too patiently.  He raised an eyebrow.  “I’m not wearing princess gear.”

“Hardly.”  Her eyebrow mirrored his.  “I expect yours is old, black, and rusty.”

Something like that.  He tried not to be amused.  “Beware those of us with a little rust on our joints, youngling.  Your father is a fearsome competitor.”

Warrior Girl shrugged, clearly not all that worried about a lowly librarian.  “Mama can take him.”

Maybe.  Evidence over the years was somewhat divided on that account.  “Regardless.  A lot of Realm’s old talent is back for this duel, and you’d do well to respect it.” 

Ginia giggled and stepped up to peer over her ramparts.  “Silly.  We
invited
you.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that was a form of respect, but he had better things to do than try to teach a preteen girl to mind her elders.  “Have you been up to anything useful this morning?  Defenses, perhaps?”  A good warrior always protected himself first.

“Sure.”  She waved negligently at a pile of spellcubes as tall as a house.  “I’ve got force fields, rainbows, whackers, puffballs, silencers, sticky feeters, and glitter clouds.  And a couple of new things.”

Marcus grimaced.  Only a ten-year-old girl would have dreamed up a cloud of glitter as a defensive weapon.  Sadly, it was extremely effective.  The last time he’d had the misfortune to meet up with it, he’d sneezed purple glitter for a week.  He hefted the bag on his back.  “I have some nice tracker bugs and mobile ears.  With this many teams, a little reconnaissance is in order.”

“Spying’s boring.”  Warrior Girl was still peering over the ramparts.  “Let’s just go find someone and have our first duel.”  She grinned.  “It will help get your rust off.”

He growled.

“Excellent.  Kevin owes me three eavesdropping spells.”

Marcus blinked at the non sequitur.  “And why would that be?”  Trading with the opposition was generally a bad idea.  Too many Trojan horses. 

“I bet him I could make you growl at me in less than five minutes.”  Her eyes sparkled.  “Only took two.”

Marcus briefly wondered at his partner’s true allegiances.  “And why were the two of you wanting me grumpy?”

Ginia leaned over and touched his cheek.  “He said you were sad.  Grumpy’s way better than sad.”

It nearly undid him.  One kind touch from a child.

He squeezed her hand once and picked up his sword.  “Let’s go pick a fight, fearless leader.”

She led the way and he followed, feeling substantially lighter.

There had always been people willing to reach into his sadness, and he had the sudden, uncomfortable urge to do the same.  Because for all she hid it behind poking humor and purple hair clips—a certain Irish witch was still sad.

-o0o-

Life went on, even when you didn’t have any idea what bar or measure you were on.  Cass looked over at the eager face of the boy standing in the inn’s kitchen and tried to simply be in the moment.

Kevin surely would.

“Ready?”  She’d decided to move lessons to the kitchen.  Aaron would enjoy seeing the innards of a musician in the making, and they might not get quite so much company this way.  Besides, it was the way she had learned, and generations of Celtic fiddlers before her.

Kevin was already unpacking Samantha, with a care she’d rarely shown the poor violin.  Cass looked over at the cook stirring pots on the stove.  “Any requests?”

Aaron sent her an easy smile.  “Nope.”

The best kind of audience.  She picked up Rosie.  The baby reel had been a standard starter piece, but young Kevin’s eyes spoke of a different kind of soul.  She waved her bow at him.  “Have a listen and see if this is the kind of thing you might like to play.”

The slow ballad appealed to her today, and she put a goodly dose of the Cassidy Farrell talent into her playing.  Kevin was the rare youngster who might appreciate that a slow, quiet song was as worthy of skill as the trickiest reel.

Cass had been about thirty-five before she’d learned that lesson.  A late bloomer on so many fronts.

She pushed that thinking away.  It was a ballad, not a dirge.  Both members of her audience listened raptly, a fiddle hanging from one set of hands, a dripping ladle from the other.

It would have been a waste of words to ask if the song pleased Kevin or not.  She set Rosie down on her knee.  “Ballads move nice and slow to give your fingers time to think.  It will take some work, but I’m pretty sure you can manage this one.”

“It’s a lot to remember.”  Kevin gulped, a little overwhelmed.

That’s what happened when the teacher showed off.  Cass shook her head, ready to make amends.  “It only uses the top two strings.  You’ll be fine.  We’ll go a little bit at a time.”

“Would it help to be able to listen to it whenever you wanted?”  Aaron walked over to a shelf, looking vaguely embarrassed.  He picked up an iPod and microphone setup—a very nice one.  “I set it to record so I could remember Cassidy Farrell playing in my kitchen.  I meant to ask, but I forgot before you got started.” 

He looked like a small boy caught raiding cookies.  She smiled, happy to ease his guilt.  “You’re welcome to your memories, and it’s a fine idea for Kevin here.”  He’d be able to listen after she left.

The rocks grumbled under her feet.

She refused to wobble.  Leaving was the plan—and until she had a new one, the plan was darned well going to stay in place.  A musician had to have some song to play, even if it suddenly hurt her ears.

She smiled at Kevin.  “Let’s go bar by bar, shall we?  And then we’ll make sure you have a copy of whatever Aaron’s captured on that toy of his.”

Both men blushed, Kevin far deeper.  “He’s not going to record this part, is he?”

No.  The student would hear only the mistakes—not his talent.  She winked at Aaron and began, leading the boy on the stool through the music measure by measure.

He had a good ear, and she’d been right.  The ballad suited Kevin down to the ground.  Slow notes made the mechanics easier for a beginner—and let through something else she’d been positive was there. 

He leaned into the notes.  Felt them.  Told a story with eight simple notes and a horsehair bow.

He was going to make a damn fine musician.

It would be worth the drive every year just to hear him get better.  Maybe she’d even make the trek more than once a year.  Come in summer.  Smell the flowers.

Her fingers clenched around Rosie’s strings.  You couldn’t be a musician halfway.  And the temptation to stay would only get stronger.

Just as it did every time she visited home.

Cass set Rosie on her knee and let her student play alone.  Hearing his tentative, stumbling notes fed something she hadn’t known was hungry—and it settled her.  She could do this.  And she could visit.  Maybe even more often. 

Life had more than two choices.  She just needed to find them. 

And whatever the tangle of her larger purpose here, this hour was pure magic.  Cass waited until Kevin worked his way through the little ballad several more times.  And then, fairly sure her student had his notes now, she shouldered Rosie and started picking out a gentle counterpoint to his melody.  Simple harmonies.  Quiet ones that wouldn’t disrupt a beginner and his playing.

Kevin grinned, listening as he played.  And Aaron pushed a little button that Cass was quite sure had his iPod recording again.

She knew what he would capture.  The shaky beauty of a new musician and a jaded old one, caught up in the insidious pleasure of making music together.

Today, she would revel in it.  There were plenty of other days to play alone.

Chapter 16

Marcus stood outside Moira’s back gate and contemplated the inn’s side entrance.  In Realm, he’d invoke invisibility, waltz up to the second floor, and leave his package outside Cassidy’s door.

In real life, he had a toddler holding his hand, the package was wrapped in screaming pink tissue paper, and Tuesday was the day Aaron scrubbed the inn from top to bottom.

They would be about as invisible as a Las Vegas casino sign.

Maybe he could bribe Lizzie to make the delivery—but he’d have to walk the entire length of the village to do it.  He looked down at the bright pink tissue paper and cursed for about the hundredth time of the morning.  In the dead of night, it had looked boring and gray.

So many things that seemed sane at 2 a.m. turned out badly.  He looked down at his daughter.  “Let’s go home, shall we?”  They could just pretend it had been a nice walk, deep-six the package in the back of the hall closet, and get on with the rest of their day.

Morgan looked up at him, a classic Buchanan scowl scrunching her features.  “G’an.  Fowers.”

Moira was the last person on earth he wanted spying the package under his arm.  “We’ll get flowers later, sweetheart.”

“Fowers.”  Said in the tone of voice that suggested his daughter was going to have no trouble locating the terrible twos.

In the summer, there were flowers all over the village.  In the dead of winter, his options were very limited.  Marcus bent down, resorting to sheer bribery.  “How about we go bloom a whole bunch of flowers right in front of our cottage?” 

It was an excellent offer—she’d been asking every time they passed through their rather barren yard.  So far, he’d managed to convince her that Buchanans didn’t festoon their land with flowers, mostly by the expedient method of picking her up and carrying her inside.

Morgan tipped her head, considering.  And then gave him one of her classic impudent grins and turned back to the gate.  “G’an.  Fowers.”

Hecate’s hells.  The gods must be laughing at him this morning.  Marcus racked his brain for a better bribe—and then heard footsteps behind them.  He offered up a quick, wordless prayer for a minor earthquake.  Or a moose to fall out of the sky.

Anything that might distract the three women standing behind him.

“Good morning to you, nephew.”  Moira leaned past him and touched Morgan’s cheek.  “And hello, sweet girl.  Have you come for a visit?”

Morgan smiled, purple eyes bright with confidence that Gran would give her everything she wanted.  “Fowers.”

“Of course, sweetheart.  Any that you like.”  Moira looked up at Marcus, a clear message in her eyes.  No one got to be rude in her presence.

Marcus ran through all of the words that had ever landed him cauldron-scrubbing duties.  Quietly.  And then tucked the package in the folds of his cloak and turned to face the music.  “Good morning, Sophie.  Cassidy.”

Sophie, kind to the core, averted her gaze from his cloak.  He was pretty sure that wasn’t enough to save him.

Cass watched his face, puzzled.  “Good morning.  We were just out for a bit of a walk on the beach.”

Her mind wasn’t as sad today.  Marcus scowled.  He didn’t want to know that.  “We’re going home.”  They weren’t—the defiance in his daughter’s head was perfectly clear.

“Were you bringing me a wee gift?”  Moira reached for the package with innocent delight.

Damn.  He’d forgotten that the seventy-four-year-old woman liked getting presents at least as much as the average toddler.  “It’s not for you.”  He waited a beat—she was going to be far too happy about what happened next. 

He’d licked a cold railing in winter once.  This was about to be worse.  Taking a deep breath, Marcus handed the package to its intended recipient.  “A small gift.  I was hoping it would cheer you up.”  It was his last charitable act of the decade.  Or possibly longer.

Cass reached for the pink monstrosity, eyes puzzled.  The other three members of their motley little gathering watched in silence, fascinated.

And Marcus wished harder for teleporting skills than he ever had in his life.

He could not, however, manage to yank up his mind barriers tight enough to keep out what happened next.

Cassidy peeled off the outer layers of pink, carefully stuffing the paper in her pockets.  And when she got to the simple frame inside, only stared.

Someone watching from a distance might have thought she didn’t like it.  The man uncomfortably linked with her mind caught the full force of her sad, tangled, overwhelmed, astonished gratitude.

And to his eternal shame, it made him babble.  “I did it up on the computer.  I’m not much of an artist, but digital renderings aren’t terribly difficult.”  It had taken him half the night.  “I should have put it in a tube so you could take it with you.”  Only an idiot gave a big glass-covered piece of dubious art to someone who spent their life on the road.

Moira moved to Cass’s side, infernally curious, and lifted her hands to her cheeks, quite overcome.  “Oh, my.  It looks just like her.”

Of course it did.  He’d begun with a photograph of Nan borrowed from Sophie’s camera.  Not a good one, but adequate for his purposes.  Finding some stock footage of Ireland hadn’t been terribly more difficult.