Emerald Isle (5 page)

Birdie turned to face her sisters.

Lolly simply stared at her, mouth agape, but Fiona was incensed. She crossed over to Birdie and said, “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Birdie straightened out her skirt. She couldn’t turn back now. “I have secured my daughter’s freedom.”

“At what cost, Brighid?”

Fiona never addressed Birdie by her full name, and it made her blanch.

“Stacy’s training is not complete. She isn’t ready,” Fiona said.

Birdie said, “All she needs is to rededicate herself. The rest will fall into place.”

Fiona shook her head. “No, Birdie. I respect your role as the matriarch of this family, but you have gone too far this time. You must call Aedon back and say it cannot be done. Tell him that she hasn’t been training for twenty-nine years. She hasn’t even been training half the years he thinks she has! He will understand.”

Birdie knew Fiona had a point. A part of her wanted to retract her declaration, but another part—the slice of her soul that had known from the moment she laid eyes on her that Anastasia was born for bigger things, that the girl was part of something more important than all of them—couldn’t leave the fate of the cauldron in anyone else’s hands.

“And what if she doesn’t go, Fiona, then what? The cauldron could be lost to the ages if the only one seeking it is that idiot grandson of Tallulah’s. And then what will become of Ireland? Of the world?”

Fiona planted her hands on her curvy hips and said, “Is that what this is about? Tallulah and that ridiculous feud? Release it, Birdie. It was a lifetime ago.”

Birdie shouted, “This has nothing to do with what happened at the Academy.”

“Of course it does. You want to live through your granddaughter, Brighid. You’re not thinking of the bigger picture,” Fiona fired back.

Birdie slammed her hand on her desk. “That is all I’m thinking of. I want my girls back, both of them, safe and sound. Can’t you understand that?”

“And in your desperate desire to reunite your family, you have put both of their lives in danger, Sister. What happens if the girl fails? Do you know what the council will do if you don’t live up to your end of the deal? They may not set her mother free. And she will only blame herself!”

“Geraghtys do not fail,” Birdie said.

“You did,” Fiona shot back.

The two sisters stood face-to-face, heat radiating off them in angry waves.

Behind them, Lolly bellowed, “Enough of this!”

Birdie and Fiona turned to face Lolly.

She said, “I will not have this bickering today of all days. You are upsetting the woodland sprites and the earth deities. My great-niece is about to celebrate a very special birthday, and I won’t have the two of you spoiling it with your nonsense. I am still the oldest in this family, and I can knock you both on your keisters.” Lolly wagged a finger from Birdie to Fiona.

They each stepped back a foot.

“Now sit,” Lolly ordered.

Birdie sat at her desk, and Fiona took a chair near the door.

“This is what’s going to happen.” Lolly paced as she spoke. “The three of us are going to perform all the rituals and spells for the holiday alone. We are going to tell Stacy that we thought she could utilize the extra time to prepare her spell and that she needn’t arrive until just before dinner, whereupon I will present her with the beautiful maiden’s dress I fashioned. Then we are all going to sit down and have a lovely dinner with Stacy and her friends. After the dinner guests have gone, Stacy will perform her dedication spell, and only then will we tell her what the council has proposed.”

Birdie and Fiona exchanged a glance.

“And then what?” Fiona asked.

Lolly crossed her arms. “And then we let the girl decide.”

Five hours later, I was plucked, painted, washed, dried, and styled. I felt absolutely amazing, but I was also sleepy.
I kissed Cinnamon good-bye, thanked her for the much-needed gift, and hopped in the car to go home.

Thor was waiting by the door when I opened it. He ran out to accost the shrubs and I went to grab the Blessed Book. I set it on the counter next to my list and flipped through the pages, but couldn’t find anything on “Web of Weird.”

My phone signaled there were messages waiting, so I hit the button to retrieve them while still turning the pages of the book.

There was a “happy birthday” voice mail from my sweetheart, Chance, with a promise to be on time for dinner, a message from Lolly telling me that she and her sisters would handle the traditional festivities, and that I should just arrive at five thirty to open gifts (yes! I really didn’t want to ruin my manicure by digging in the garden), and an apology from Gramps explaining that he had a business dinner he couldn’t postpone and asking if he could take me out for breakfast in the morning.

That reminded me.

I shuffled through my coat pocket, pulled out the gift Cinnamon had brought for me, and set it on the counter.

Thor knocked on the front door, so I let him in, fed him some dinner, and grabbed a bottle of water for myself that I chugged until it was gone. I took a few minutes to check e-mails and googled “Web of Weird,” but still came up empty-handed.

Next on the list was cleansing the sword before tonight’s spell.

There are several methods to consecrate and purify a magical tool, and most of them involve utilizing the four
elements: earth, air, water, and fire. A smudge stick works well, but I can’t stand the smell of burning sage. Some witches prefer a simple open flame to wave a wand or athame through, or they might bury their tools in the earth for nine days, then dig them up beneath the next new moon. Moonbeams will also cleanse a tool, especially gentle gemstones such as quartz, but that method works best if the item can be laid outside in an open field for the entire cycle of the full moon. Direct sunlight is another cleanser. I never used it personally, because I once set a crystal ball in a bright windowsill at the Geraghty Girls’ Guesthouse, and Fiona’s cat climbed up next to it and accidentally set his tail on fire.

It was not a pretty sight. Or smell.

My preferred method was the most powerful cleansing force in the universe—water. I kicked off my boots and socks, grabbed the sword and a few other items I would need, and padded into the bathroom. I plugged the tub, filled it with scalding water, poured in a handful of Atlantic sea salt from West Cork, added a few drops each of cypress and frankincense oil, then immersed the sword in the anointed pool.

Eyes shut tight, I imagined my body ensconced in bright white light and said:

“To the warrior goddess, fiercest of all;

see my vision, hear my call.

Charge this sword with your sacred power;

Badb be with me in the needful hour.”

I repeated the chant three times, passing my hands over the steaming water in a flowing figure-eight pattern—the shape of the infinity knot. When I stopped speaking, the tub bubbled.

I opened one eye and saw that the water surrounding the blade was bursting with tiny explosions, as if a bath fizzy had been dropped under the faucet.

Which meant the consecration was working.

Smiling, I raised my palms to the sky to feel the energy flow from the water, through the sword, and into me. After several moments of breathing in the oxygen and herbs, I rang a bell to thank the goddess for her presence and stepped into the hallway to grab a fresh towel from the linen closet.

When I saw what was on the shelf, I screamed loud enough to wake the dead.

Thor trotted over to my side. He cocked his huge head like I was a new species he hadn’t yet encountered and wasn’t sure what to do with.

The dog sat down as I lifted the blue and gold–wrapped gift from the linen-closet shelf—far from the counter where I had left it—and reached for a white, fluffy towel. I pocketed the present and sidestepped into the bathroom to lay the towel on the floor. The water was still steaming, so I turned on the cold faucet to cool it off a bit. Then I extracted the sword and wrapped it in the terrycloth. The tub gurgled as I knelt to unplug the drain.

The bell was still sitting on the bathroom sink when I stood up. It rang once, all by itself.

That’s when I knew I wasn’t alone.

Here’s the thing about bells: They serve many magical purposes. They are used in cleansing rituals, to punctuate enchantments, and to open or close a sacred space. The soft ringing of one will banish negative vibrations, dissipate bad energy, invoke a goddess, or hail a spirit. They also represent the female form.

But you can’t unring a bell. So just because you may have intended it to perform one function, there are no guarantees it won’t do something completely different, like draw the attention of a dead woman who was maddeningly fond of limericks.

When I finally faced her, the cloudy ghost was flipping through the Blessed Book, frowning. I think. Her features were still pretty tough to make out. She looked at me with disappointment, crumpled up the piece of paper that was my to-do list, and bounced it off my head.

“Hey! What is your problem?”

She inflated herself so that her form puffed to twice its original size, covering most of the breakfast bar, and pointed to the crumpled ball on the floor. I bent to pick it up and smoothed it out, keeping an eye on the ornery spirit, wondering what I’d done in another life to send this loon my way.

On the paper, the word
Weird
was scratched out. Beside it was written
Wyrd
.

She crossed her arms and stuck her chin in the air.

“Seriously? You’re mad because of a typo?”

She spoke then.

“A Seeker is born once a century;

Tracked by the watchful eyes of the She.

Do not falter in your dedication;

For that leads to misinformation.”

Okay, now she was really annoying me.

“Can you please tell me in plain English what you’re trying to say, Riddler?”

She rose up again, her sea-foam eyes glaring at me, but she didn’t speak.

I sighed, looked at the clock. Thirty minutes until I had to leave. “Fine. Who is
she
?”

The ethereal spirit tossed her hands in the air as if to give up, then she flew toward the book and shuffled through the thick pages. She stopped near the end, and then flitted to the other side of the room.

I stepped forward and read the page.

Sidhe (pronounced She): The Sidhe are known as the people of the mounds or ‘the Good People.’ They are descendents of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the people of the goddess Danu, who brought the four great treasures to Ireland. They reside mostly in the Otherworld, but sometimes side by side with ours, cloaking their homes in magic. They interfere with our realm when called upon or when necessary to provide protection, guidance, healing, or teaching. These are not the Tinker Bell fairies of Western culture. These are noble beings of great prominence. They are fierce warriors, accomplished silversmiths, agriculturists, and intelligent beyond comprehension. They guard their homes and the entire fairy plane with pride, and rattle the walls of anyone who dares to destroy a leyline. These lines run the length and breadth of the homeland, and beyond. They serve as powerful sources of magic, and have been known to open portals to other dimensions.

I lifted my head to find the iridescent spirit hovering over me, staring straight into my eyes.

“Okay, got it. Don’t piss off the fairies.”

She seemed pleased with that conclusion. She gave me a thumbs-up, stopped to whisper in Thor’s ear, and vanished.

Thor thumped his tail happily.

“Do you know that talking fortune cookie?” I asked him.

He yawned and crawled onto the couch.

There wasn’t a lot of time before I had to leave, so I got to work writing my dedication speech, careful not to say anything that would agitate beings from another dimension.

If only I had thought about the beings from this dimension, things might have gone a bit more smoothly.

There was just enough time to open the present from Gramps before I had to leave. I read the card for the fifth time, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place the handwriting. It couldn’t have been written by anyone in my immediate family, so then who? Perhaps my great-grandmother? Or my father’s mother?

And what did
when the time is right
mean?

I carefully unraveled the pretty ribbon and set it on the sofa beside me. The paper was brittle, as if manufactured years ago, and it fell apart in my hands, revealing a royal-blue-velvet box. Inside the box was a gold filigree locket that appeared to be quite old, embellished with an infinity knot on its face.

I lifted out the beautiful piece by its long chain and held it up to the light. It pirouetted around my fingers, revealing a shield knot emblazoned on the back.

I clicked open the dainty latch and held the locket in my palm. On the right side was a watch face; the left side was plain gold.

When the time is right.
Was it a pun? Or had it something to do with my birthday? If it was an heirloom, whom had it belonged to?

My phone chimed at that moment, reminding me it was time to go. I tucked the dedication charm into the locket,
which I slipped over my head and under my sweater, then grabbed my cape, sword, and Thor, and headed out the door.