Wild Irish Witch Page 21

  Fiona looked over her pretty girls― Keelin, Margaret, Aislinn, Cait, - Morgan was there but at the stables - and positively radiated with happiness at having them all close. They’d all grown and learned so much over the past few years and it was as though everything had lined up and all was at peace.

  Finally, Fiona had the true Christmas gift she had always wanted― peace and happiness for those she loved. Including herself, she thought with another giddy laugh as she looked over at John. Fiona was quite sure that the smile hadn’t left her face for days now.

  “Fiona, this was at the back door for you,” Morgan said, coming into the room and pulling off her coat. She’d gone out to say goodnight to the horses as she always did when she was here. Morgan had a special connection with all animals, and they all preened and jostled for her attention when she went into the barn.

  “What is it?” Aislinn asked from where she was curled up on the floor in front of the fire, leaning back against Baird.

  “It’s an envelope― maybe a Christmas gift?” Morgan said, her eyes alight with delight.

  “I guess we’ll see,” Fiona remarked and took the envelope from her. Power shot through her as soon as her hand touched the paper and Fiona raised an eyebrow at Morgan.

  “You didn’t feel anything different when you touched this?”

  Morgan’s eyes widened.

  “No, I didn’t at all.”

  “Which is highly unusual. They must have blocked the power,” Fiona murmured. Morgan was one of her most attuned girls, having multiple extrasensory abilities. It surprised her that Morgan had been unable to feel the power radiating from the paper.

  “Is it bad?” Cait asked, tilting her head as she watched Fiona.

  “I don’t think it’s evil. But there’s power here,” Fiona said and then slid her finger under the flap to pull the paper out. The paper, creased in threes and of a thick stock, looked empty at first.

  “There’s nothing on it,” John observed and Fiona shook her head as she turned the paper away from him so that only her eyes could see it. As soon as she moved it from his view, words appeared on the page.

  “I’ll be damned,” Fiona muttered, “There is an invisibility cloak on this. As soon as I turned the page, I could read it.”

  “So you’d think she’d be reading it then,” Cait muttered and Aislinn laughed at her, instructing her to shush.

  “‘My dearest Fiona,’” Fiona began and the room grew quiet― the only noise that of the wind outside and the flames crackling in the fireplace.

  “‘As I said, I would be requiring a favor of you in exchange for John’s life,’” Fiona glanced at John and his look of surprise. “It’s all right, my love― anything was worth having you home.”

  “I hope the price isn’t too much to pay,” John muttered, running his hand down Fiona’s thigh.

  “Let’s find out, shall we? ‘As you’ve been informed, there is another branch of this family you know little about.’”

  A collective gasp echoed around the room and Fiona held her hand up for silence. “I’ve just learned of this, ladies. I’ve been meaning to fill you in but I’ve been a bit busy― what with being reunited with the love of my life. Let me finish and we’ll discuss.”

  The murmurs quieted down and Fiona turned back to the letter, the words forming again when she focused on the page.

  “‘My descendants know little of who or what they are and I’ll need one of yours go to find them and instruct them on their path. A few of them have started to research― as it is virtually impossible for them to ignore their magick. I’ve been content with not interfering in their lives― but dangerous times are ahead and you must go to them and help,’” Fiona said.

  “This is ridiculous. Dangerous times? Who is this from anyway?” Cait exploded, pushing her hand through her short hair in frustration.

  “Theobald. Grace O’Malley’s son from her second marriage. Born at sea in mid-battle. I’m assuming he holds powerful magick as well,” Fiona murmured and then raised her hand to silence the room.

  “‘I’m sure you’re familiar with the Four Treasures creation myth. Except it isn’t a myth, and there really are four treasures that must be recovered by the four women whose destiny it is to hold them and keep them from falling into the wrong hands. Each woman a daughter of one of the great cities ranging along the Danube― must be found and instructed.’”

  The room exploded.

  “What cities?”

  “What myth?”

  John cleared his throat and held up his hands― the room immediately quieted.

  “I’ve spent a few years on the other side, you know, so I’m sure I’ll be able to shed some light on this story,” John said quietly.

  “Go ahead, love, tell them about the creation myth,” Fiona said wearily. There was more on the letter, but it was best that they got through this part first.

  “When earth first came into being,” John began, and everyone settled down to listen, “There was but dirt and dust. Danu, the divine goddess, allowed water to drip onto earth to form the sacred oak from whence two acorns sprang. These acorns― one male and one female― turned into God Dagda and Goddess Brigid. Their job was to populate the world. In doing so, they created many children of Danu who all lived in four cities that ranged the now-flowing waters of a river. The river is now known as the River Danube,” John said and Fiona saw more than a few eyes widen at that. “Four cities― Falias, Gorias, Finias, and Murias, lined the banks of the Danube. Each city had a great treasure that was given to them by Danu. Falias had a stone called Lia Fail― otherwise known as Stone of Destiny.”

  Flynn cursed across the room.

  “Sure and you’re kidding me right? Isn’t that supposed to be the Scottish throne?”

  “There’s more than one stone,” John said evenly and Flynn swore again. “This stone is meant to shout in righteous joy when the person who is meant to lead sets foot upon it. It also has a delightful twist of being a lie-detector of sorts. Gorias, the next city, had a treasure that was a very mighty sword. This sword was often referred to as the Retaliator and it shone with great light when given to the right warrior. Famous god Lugh wielded the Retaliator in many battles. It was known to strike down enemies in its path, for people became entranced by its glow.”

  The wind picked up speed outside as the room remained silent.

  “Finias is the next city and was gifted with a magick spear― often referred to as the red javelin― it was known to always find its enemy. Once it was pulled out― it could not miss― no matter where the enemy hides.”

  “Sure and that’s impossible,” Aislinn breathed― her eyes wide.

  “And finally, we have the city of Murias with the cauldron of plenty. It was said that nobody could go to the cauldron and leave unsatisfied. It could feed the world if need be― but it also has a power of satisfying people’s needs or wants. It is exceptionally dangerous for any of these weapons to fall into the wrong hands,” John said, the flames of the fire reflected in his eyes.

  “So what happened? How did these weapons get lost?” Keelin asked tentatively from where she cuddled Baby Grace in an armchair.

  “Goddess Danu asked her children to go to the Island of Destiny. Also known as Innisfail,” John said.

  Flynn swore again and Keelin looked at him in confusion.

  “Isle of Destiny, Innisfail, or as we know it, Ireland,” Flynn muttered.

  “Once the children reached the Isle of Destiny, great wars were fought between Danu’s children and her sister of the earth’s children. Eventually, Domnu, her sister, won and Danu’s children were driven to the hills. They would be what we consider the fae now,” John shrugged.

  “So, um, there really are fairies?” Keelin asked, her gaze swiveling across the room.

  “Yes, there are,” Fiona spoke up. “And this letter is suggesting that we identify the women whose destiny it is to wield and protect these weapons― in order to keep them from falling into t
he wrong hands.”

  “And who are the wrong hands?” Cait demanded.

  John cleared his throat.

  “Ah, well, I suppose if you wanted to voice it in the most basic of terms― the Children of Danu are the children of Goddesses and represent light. The Children of Domnu come from the earth and they are drawn to the dark.”

  “And it appears that we must find these treasures in order. I’ve been given a name,” Fiona said, holding the paper up.

  “What is it?” Margaret asked.

  “Clare MacBride.”

  As soon as she uttered the words, the letter imploded in a brilliant flash of light, leaving nothing but a layer of dust on Fiona’s slacks.

  And a thousand unanswered questions in its wake.

  Stone Song

  Book 1 in the Isle of Destiny Series

  Spring 2016

  ******

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  You can also find me on Facebook HERE.

  Check out an Excerpt from One Tequila― a new series set in the Florida Keys:

  “But I'm quite certain Bitsy would wish to speak with me,” the woman across from me sniffed and clutched a folded silk handkerchief with a perfectly monogrammed E on the corner. The point of her chin rose as she looked down her nose at me.

  “Mrs. Evanston, I've already explained this― I'm a psychic― not a medium,” I sighed as Mrs. Evanston's eyes steeled up and her shoulders braced.

  “Well, I'd say that you're certainly misleading people with your little psychic shop if you can't even talk to Bitsy for me.” Mrs. Evanston narrowed her eyes at me. I could already read the threat in her mind: she would be contacting the Better Business Bureau and by lunch, she'd be tearing my reputation to threads with her Ladies Who Lunch club.

  Mentally rolling my eyes, I plastered a smile across my face.

  “The reason that I don't advertise being a medium is because it's so incredibly draining for me,” I began, lying through my teeth. “However, for you, I'll make an exception.”

  A muffled snort from a screen to my left almost had me cracking a smile but instead, I stayed focused on my client. Hope had dawned in Mrs. Evanston's eyes as she leaned forward, hands pressed into the purple velvet of my table.

  “You can? Oh, oh, just...can you tell me if she is safe?” Mrs. Evanston breathed, staring into my glass scrying ball on the table.

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten, doing my best to get an image of Bitsy from Mrs. Evanston's thoughts. A puffball of a white cat popped into my head, so I went with it.

  “Her coat is just as stunning as it was in life― I see her walking proudly,” I said, keeping my eyes closed and praying that I had hit the mark.

  “Ohhhh,” Mrs. Evanston breathed and I snuck a look to see her with a hand over her mouth, a sheen of tears making her eyes glint behind her glasses. Her hair, the perfectly blue-gray rinse favored by the elderly set on Tequila Key, bobbed as she nodded.

  “She was really proud of her coat. Bitsy was a show cat, you know,” Mrs. Evanston said.

  “I can see she carries herself as such. She is wonderfully happy and has told me that her only concern is for you to find peace with her passing,” I said gently, using my de rigueur explanation when clients insisted that I contact a loved one.

  No matter what, it seemed that when people heard psychic, they thought I could do anything.

  Magic even.

  I'd leave that to my best friend and business partner, Luna Lavelle, the one who had so gracefully snorted from the other room of our Luna Rose Potions & Tarot Shop tucked on a sleepy street in Tequila Key, Florida.

  “You know, Althea Rose, your mother may be the famous one, but I think you've inherited her gift,” Mrs. Evanston said, rising to shake my hand with a smile. I scanned her thoughts and all I got was pleasure, so as far as I was concerned, the reading had been a successful one.

  I checked my moral compass and decided as white lies go, it was a minor one. People only come to psychics for two reasons― to find out if they will be okay and to find out if someone they love will be okay. I turned my palm over to look at the $1 tip she had pressed into my hands. I had to laugh. Though the rich in this town liked to flaunt it with country club passes and fancy houses, in all reality they were stingy to the core.

  Pressing my hands to my eyes, I willed back a headache that threatened to dull my thoughts.

  “Drink this,” Luna said, interrupting my brief debate over closing shop for the day or not.

  I smiled at her as I took whatever potion she had mixed up for me and held it to my nose.

  Luna slipped into the chair across from me and waved an impatient hand at the drink

  “Althea, I know your tastes by now, you'll like it.”

  Vanilla mint soothed my throat as I sipped the cool liquid and my head cleared instantaneously. I tilted the now empty glass at her in a salute.

  “You should sell this.”

  Luna sighed and tucked her stick-straight blonde hair behind her ear. My best friend and business partner was my antithesis in every way. Airy, elegant, with a sharp business mind and mile-long legs, Luna made her living breaking men's hearts and helping the down and out of Tequila Key.

  That whole white witch thing didn't give her much room on the “bound to help” area of her life, I thought. Much like the Hippocratic Oath― when Luna saw suffering, she sought to fix it.

  And didn't that just make her a better person than I?

  Available on Amazon NOW!

  Other books by Tricia O’Malley

  The Mystic Cove Series

  Wild Irish Roots

  Wild Irish Heart

  Wild Irish Eyes

  Wild Irish Soul

  Wild Irish Rebel

  Wild Irish Roots: Margaret & Sean

  Wild Irish Witch

  The Althea Rose SEries

  One Tequila

  Tequila for Two

  Tequila Will Kill Ya

  The Stolen Dog

  A non-fiction account of our dog being stolen and how we recovered him. A read that will renew your faith in humanity. All proceeds donated to animal rescues.

  Author’s Note

  I’m honored that you have taken a chance on my stories― it means the world to me that you’ve followed this series to its conclusion. And, because I love writing about Ireland so much― I couldn’t help but start a spin-off series.

  Also, my mother pointed out that I haven’t changed up my Author’s note― so I wanted to change this and say― Hi Mom! Let’s see if she reads it. J

  The history behind the beginning of the Mystic Cove Series:

  On a warm, sunny day in September, my husband and I hiked up The Saint's Path located on Mt. Brandon in Dingle, Ireland. The Stations of the Cross lined the path and led to the highest point of the peninsula. At the top, the winds were fierce and the view almost heartbreaking in its staunch beauty.

  Days later, I awoke to the bells of the Christchurch Cathedral in Dublin, in a lovely hotel room. A dream tugged at my mind. So powerful, so insistent, that for the first time in my life, I was compelled to write my dream down, worried that I would lose the threads of the story that had captivated me in my sleep.

  Over the last few days of our trip, I babbled incessantly to my ever-patient husband as he politely listened to me play with characters and plot.

  Soon, my dream had expanded from one book into a seven book series.

  Sometimes, you just have to follow that moment. That brief hint of inspiration that lights you up inside. That…something…that keeps niggling at your brain. The Mystic Cove books are those stories. The ones that I think about when I'm doing yoga or in the yard playing with my dogs. The ones that make me ache to return to the shores of Dingle and spend many a day soaking up the beauty and charm that the
small village has to offer.

  Thank you for taking part in my world, I hope that you enjoy it.

  Please consider leaving a review online. It helps other readers to take a chance on my stories.

  As always, you can reach me at omalley.tricia@gmail.com or feel free to visit my website at triciaomalley.com.

  You can sign up for new releases here http://eepurl.com/1LAiz.

  Author’s Acknowledgement

  First, and foremost, I would like to thank my husband for his unending support as I pursue this wildly creative career of being an author. It isn't easy to watch someone follow the creative path, and uncertainties are rampant. Josh, thanks for being my rock.

  I'd like to thank my family and friends for their constant support and all of my beta readers for their excellent feedback.

  And last, but never least, my two constant companions as I struggle through words on my computer each day - Briggs and Blue.