Four more days until she had to catch a plane home, and with all of them holding firm on the not leaving Baile thing, she had no idea how she was going to manage that. Bronwyn was also no clearer on whether she wanted to be on that plane back to the States or not. Actually, that was a lie. She wanted to stay, but she couldn’t drop her entire life in the States and shack up with a bunch of strange witches in England.
Or could she? Deidre would have been all for it. Perhaps Deidre had wanted this for her all along. Dee probably hadn’t known about the English witches, or else their family might have run for the safety of Baile before any of their avoidable deaths.
Her anger rose sharp and clear. The Beaty women didn’t have an unfortunate way of dying young at all. Instead they had a determined enemy trying to ensure they didn’t live. Well, she’d gotten her answers about why her family died young. Rhiannon had killed them, and now she wanted Bronwyn.
Last night she, Roderick, Maeve, and the Cray women had sat in the kitchen and dissected every word of Alexander’s. Well, Roderick had done the dissecting. The rest of them had provided information and eaten the excellent dinner Alannah had served. They’d also tried to stay out of Roderick’s pissed off arc. All except Sinead, who was determined to modernize his thinking.
A knock on her door brought her back to the present.
“Hi.” Alannah peered around the doorjamb. “Feel like joining a rescue mission?”
As opposed to sitting here and brooding? “Damn straight I do. Who are we rescuing?”
“Maeve.” Sinead put her head next to Alannah’s. When Sinead wasn’t wearing her habitual scowl, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart. “We’ve got to do something about that dress of hers.”
“I think it’s all she has.” Alannah looked crestfallen. “She wears it every day.”
Bronwyn hadn’t really given it much thought, and the distraction opportunity was more than welcome. “I guess she didn’t pack for the journey they undertook.”
“We should find something for Roderick too,” Sinead said. “But I can handle that.”
She looked delighted by the prospect, and Bronwyn had to laugh. “You’re going to torture him, aren’t you?”
“A wee bit.” Sinead smirked. “I mean, he could do with a bit of torturing, don’t you think?”
“Just a wee bit.” Bronwyn made a tiny gap with her thumb and forefinger. “All that medieval manliness does make me want to put him in his place.”
Alannah laughed. “Which is where exactly?” She motioned Bronwyn to join them. “He owns Baile, or as near to owning Baile as anyone can, and he was the first coimhdeacht. That makes him everybody’s…great great great grand-something.” She cocked her head. “Is he even related to any of us?”
“Probably.” Sinead looked struck by the idea. “I’m going to do a bit of digging through the library. There are lots of personal journals in there. Want to bet me I find Roderick manwhoring his way through quite a few of those?”
“Um…no.” Bronwyn had listened to what Hermione had said about Sir Roderick. Even though she had been talking about a mythical man at the time, there was probably still some smoke to the fire around Roderick and the women of Baile.
Alannah carried a large canvas tote with her as they walked down the corridor. “Maeve is a little shorter than us, but we can alter anything to fit her.”
“Hang on.” Bronwyn ran back to her room, grabbed a pair of jeans and rejoined them. She held up the jeans. “Something to add to the cause. From one short girl to another.”
Maeve answered their knock on her door and blinked at them. With her blond hair and blue eyes, she oozed Disney-fairy prettiness. “Hello. Is everything all right?”
“Yup.” Sinead held up a tote like Alannah’s. “We come bearing gifts.”
“Oh?” Maeve’s face lit with interest as she studied the bag.
Alannah gave Maeve her lovely, serene smile. “We thought your look could do with updating.”
“My look?” Maeve glanced from one to the other of them. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“Your dress.” Bronwyn didn’t want to cause offense. “We noticed you’re wearing the same one you were unfrozen in.”
Maeve’s face fell. “Yes. I need to make another, but with all that’s been happening—”
“You made that?” Sinead stared at her. “Like yourself?”
“Ye-e-es.” Maeve looked at Sinead as if one of them had lost their marbles and both of them knew who it was. “How else?”
“We buy our clothes now.” Bronwyn held up the jeans. “These are mine, but I have another pair like them that I prefer. Same size and style, but I just like them better than these.”
Alannah gaped at her. “Isn’t it amazing how that always happens?”
“No, it doesn’t.” Sinead shook her head at them. “It’s all in your min—”
“Those are breeches?” Maeve flushed as she stared at the jeans. “I’m not sure I dare.”
“Of course you do.” Sinead upended her bag on Maeve’s bed. “Now we have a few other things for you to choose from. If you can sew, that solves the problem of them being too big for you.”
Maeve approached the bed slowly. “Are all those for me?”
“The ones you like,” Alannah said. She blushed. “But first we need to deal with the…er…undies.”
Maeve looked confused for a second and then blushed alongside Alannah. “Oh.”
“This is a bra.” Sinead rooted around in Alannah’s bag and came up with a lilac lace bra. “Actually the full word is brassiere, but nobody uses that anymore. Niamh has those huge knockers, but we guesstimate you are a similar bra size to Alannah and me.”
Frowning, Maeve studied the bra. “There’s not much to it, is there?”
“How much more do you need?” Sinead turned the bra to her and studied it. “Boobs go in the cups and the straps hold them firm. You don’t need any more than that.”
“I suppose not.” Maeve kept her hands behind her back. “Is this what everyone wears as underthings now?”
“Well, these and knickers.”
“Knickers?”
“What Bronwyn calls panties.” Sinead hauled out a couple of packs of panties. “These have never been opened.” She tore a pair out the pack and held them up for Maeve.
Maeve stared and then giggled. “Those are tiny.”
“You’re tiny,” Sinead said. “And there will be no wearing of granny panties on my watch.”
“What?” Maeve wrinkled her nose and looked ridiculously adorable.
“Never mind.” Alannah came to her rescue. “Let’s get these on you first and see if everything fits. Then we can try some clothes.” She motioned the bed. “Anything catch your eye?”
Maeve swung to Bronwyn and pointed. “The breeches. I want to wear the breeches.”
The new witches all wore those breeches, and Maeve had been coveting them since she’d first seen them. They clung to a woman’s legs and bottom in a way that both scandalized and intrigued her. One would not have to worry about stepping on those, or trailing skirts through the mud. Even if they did leave your hidden parts exposed.
“We call these jeans,” Alannah said. “Nearly everyone wears them, because they’re so comfortable, and you can wear almost any top with them. It depends on what look you’re going for.” She handed the jeans to Maeve. “Of course, we’ll get you your own clothes, but these should do for now.”
First Maeve got into the underwear. The bra was simple enough, and Bronwyn did the fastenings for her. The panties were tiny and made her blush, but she wanted to get to those breeches, so she forged ahead.
The jeans fit. The fabric felt rough against her skin, but the jeans allowed her a surprising freedom of movement. She walked across the room, then back again taking longer strides.
“What do you think?” Bronwyn had a strange way of speaking that had taken Maeve a day or two to accustom herself to. “They look great on you.”
“Really?” She peered over her shoulder at her bottom. It appeared very round and very there. “Does everyone’s bottom stick out so far?”
Bronwyn laughed. “Did you just ask if your ass looks fat in those pants?”
Then Alannah and Sinead laughed as well, and Maeve found nothing funny in what she’d said.
“Sorry.” Bronwyn caught her expression and sobered. “It’s an old joke, and then the first thing you asked...” She waved a hand. “Never mind. We’ll get to all the stuff eventually.”
“You look gorgeous.” Alannah handed her what looked like a chemise with impossibly thin straps. It was covered in the prettiest little flowers, however, and Maeve liked how cheerful it was. “Try this on.”
“By itself?” The fabric was awfully thin, and in the right light, a person might see right through it.
“No.” Sinead pointed. “You wear the bra under it.”
“Or not.” Niamh slunk into the room. “If you’d like to drive Roderick out of his tiny, Cro-Magnon mind, you could wear it without.”
“Niamh.” Alannah giggled. “He’s not that bad.”
Sinead snorted. “No, he’s worse.” She turned to Maeve. “Is he always so bossy?”
“No.” The need to defend him roared through her, but the truth couldn’t be denied. “Well, yes, but he is the first coimhdeacht and that is—was—a position of considerable power.”
“Huh.” Sinead wore a crafty look on her face that augured ill for Roderick’s wellbeing.
It felt disloyal to say out loud that she was rather looking forward to Sinead taking on Roderick. It had been too long since Roderick’s authority had been challenged. These women might be her friends. They were already her coven sisters. The thought pushed her loneliness back far enough for her to draw a deep breath. It felt like the first true breath she’d drawn since she woke in that time.
The shirt fit loosely, but she did like the way her bare arms and shoulders looked. “It’s very daring for the daytime.”
“Sister.” Niamh grinned and tucked her arm through Maeve’s. “Let’s have this conversation again in a month or two.”
Niamh had the same undeniable sensuality Edana had displayed, but there was a warmth to Niamh that Edana—may she rot in hell—had never possessed.
“There.” With a smile, Alannah stepped back. “All done. Are you ready?”
“Not really.” If she appeared like this, people might laugh at her. Roderick might not like it at all. Which should not bother her one bit. Indeed, if Roderick did not like her jeans, he could walk around in skirts. On that thought, she followed Alannah out of her chamber.
Maeve watched the strange one, Roz, as the woman made her odd clicking and whirring sounds and then scuttled out of the kitchen. “What ails her?”
“We’re not sure.” Niamh wrinkled her nose. “But she thinks she’s an owl.”
Certain she had misheard, Maeve stared at her. “She what?”
“Thinks she’s an owl.” Niamh heaved a sigh. “She wasn’t always like this.”
Sinead snorted. “Come on, Niamh, Roz has always been a bit weird.”
The way they used words in this time was different as well. Maeve didn’t think Sinead meant that Roz had the power to influence destiny. “Do you know her blessing?”
They all stared at her.
Had she said something odd? “Like I am a spirit walker.” She pointed to Niamh. “You are a guardian, the twins are wardens, Bronwyn a healer. Blessings.”
“Argh!” Bronwyn smacked her head with the heel of her palm. “That’s why Roderick calls us Blessed.”
Slack jawed, the others stared at Bronwyn.
“I can’t believe we didn’t make that connection,” Sinead said.
Mags wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a piece of bread and ate it. She left again without a word. Seers were like that, locked in their own minds. Time was a circular concept to a seer—
“Locked in her own mind.” Maeve had heard rumors about witches who had shared Roz’s fate in the past. “Does Roz have your blessing?” She looked at Niamh. “Is she a guardian?”
Niamh thought it through. “She could.” She pulled a face. “To be honest, I never had much to do with her when I was a child.”
“It makes sense if Roz was like Niamh.” Alannah nodded. “I remember Sinead and I had a cat called Cupcake who liked Roz so much better.”
Sinead held up her hand. “For the record, I didn’t choose the name. I would have gone with Ragnarok.”
Rolling her eyes, Niamh said, “No wonder the cat preferred Roz.”
“Well, what would you have named her?” Sinead ruffled up. She was passionate and outspoken like Lavina—like Lavina had been.
“I don’t name them.” Niamh shrugged. “They sort of put a picture in my head and that’s how I think of them.”
The others stared at her as if they had never heard the like. Maeve was starting to grasp how much these new witches didn’t know, and it terrified her.
“I had no idea,” Alannah said.
“You never asked,” Niamh said. “And I never questioned it. It’s always been something I do.”
Maeve let that simmer in her mind. There was a truth there that escaped her at the present moment. “What element is Roz?”
“I don’t know,” Niamh said. “She’s been like that for so long we don’t know much about her.”
Alannah sighed. “Poor thing. We really should do something about her.”
“The healer can help,” Maeve said. In her experience, healers could do almost anything given enough experience and natural magic.
Bronwyn straightened in her seat. “I can?”
“Well, yes.” She now understood Bronwyn had come from somewhere far away from Baile, which was why she spoke as she did. “Once your vows are spoken and accepted.”
All gazes snapped her way and stuck.
That missing truth hovered frustratingly closer, and Maeve tried to grasp it. “When you take your vows to Goddess and she accepts your service is what I meant.” They still looked baffled, so she added, “The free will around being Blessed, that you can choose to spend your life in service to Goddess or not.”
“So-o-o.” Sinead took a deep breath and glanced at the others. “I know who Goddess is.”
“Of course you do.” Maeve laughed. Sinead really did have an irrepressible sense of humor. Except nobody about the table was laughing with her. “Don’t you?”
“Of course we know who Goddess is.” Alannah had the kindest smile that lit its recipient from within. “Although, up until recently, we assumed she was a legend connected to Baile. A bit like…gosh, I don’t know…Athena or a valkyrie or Xena or something.”
Maeve had no idea who those other women were, but that truth she was chasing inched closer. Her horror outstripped everything else, however. “Goddess is not a legend; she’s real.”
“Well, we know that now.” Sinead folded her arms. “You can hardly blame us for not taking Goddess more seriously before. No offense, but you people thought the earth was flat.”
The earth was flat, any fool could see that, but Maeve chose a different battle. “If you did not believe Goddess real, then you did not ever reach her through Goddess Pool.” Desperation tightened her voice. “Did you?”
They all stared at her.
Bronwyn cleared her throat. “Why don’t you tell us about Goddess? Start from the beginning and take it slow.”
“I think I must.” Dear Goddess, if they knew nothing, then Rhiannon had succeeded in her horrific plan. The day she had murdered the coven, she had buried magic and Goddess forever. “We don’t know when or why Goddess came into being, but she did, and she created all you see about you.”
“Wow!” Sinead grimaced. “The church must have loved you back in the day.”
“Not at all.” Again she had the feeling she’d missed the point, but this was too important to stop now. “In times long past, things were peaceful and harmonious. We lived with nature and she provided all we needed. Then came two brothers who fought.”
The others listened, rapt.
“One of whom wanted what the other had, and they fought. The envious brother killed the other in what we call the original wrong.”
“I like this version so much better than the paternalistic bullshit I grew up with,” Bronwyn said.
Sinead held up her hand. “Right there with you, sister.”
They smacked their raised palms together.
“Carry on,” Alannah said.
Mags appeared in the doorway. “Oh good, I thought I’d missed it.” She took a seat at the table and beamed at everyone. “Maeve is about to tell us something we all need to hear.”
Maeve had yet to meet a seer who wasn’t peculiar.
“These brothers.” Bronwyn sat forward. “They weren’t called Cain and Abel, were they?”
The brother’s names were hardly the important point to her story. “I have no idea, but the older killed the younger because of envy. It was the first time Goddess had seen such ugliness amongst her worshippers, and it made her angry. She withdrew from the world.” Her audience hung on every word she uttered. If it were not so frightening how little they knew, Maeve might have been flattered. “Goddess is life, and the taking of life is against all that she is. It is why we, as cré-witches, can never use our magic to harm, even under fear of death.”
They all looked at her as if they knew none of this.
“After a time, Goddess missed her creation and felt remiss for having abandoned it.” This was a story told to every baby witch from the moment they could understand it, but not these witches, apparently. “She returned to find the darkness hidden within her creation had grown and almost choked out her essence. She called the first four witches to her service, to remind and guide her creation back to a time when they were in harmony with the essence of life.”
Alannah shook her head. “I had no idea…”
“This is much bigger than anything we thought we were.” Sinead glanced at Alannah.
“Oh, we’re the remnants of a dying order,” Mags said, looking strangely cheerful as she said it. “We’re the ones who need to defeat Rhiannon.” She made a helpless palms-up gesture. “At least Bronwyn is going to get the ball rolling on that.”
Bronwyn stared at Mags. “Say what now?”
The prophecy! Bronwyn was the daughter of life, and no doubt, Alexander was the son of death. This was the battle, the true battle, at which the victor would be decided. She and Roderick had been sent here, to this time, to weight the scales in the favor of life.
Sitting at the kitchen table, almost four hundred years out of her time, Maeve finally got the answers to questions she’d posed before she and Roderick were spelled into stasis. So much of her previous life had been uncomfortable and inexplicable. A spirit walker raised to her full power so much younger than any other, a loner with few friends and fewer who understood her, suddenly the bonded mate of the most powerful coimhdeacht of all time. This was why. This was their purpose. She’d been right when she told Roderick they needed to bring magic back, but her task was bigger than she could have guessed. She had to teach these new witches how to be witches.
From their conversation thus far, she could guess none of them had ever been through any of the binding ceremonies required of a witch. If they had known nothing of Goddess, then it stood to reason they had never bound themselves in service.
That infuriatingly insubstantial truth slammed into her with the force of a steel spike; Roz was lost to the magic, warped, because more witches than Maeve’s mind could grasp had been wielding magic without Goddess to ground and steady them.
Maeve had been wandering around in a fog since Alexander had wrenched her out of a statue and pushed her back behind Baile’s wards. The fog cleared, and her first step was obvious; the new witches needed to make their pact with Goddess. Goddess needed them, and they needed to understand the power she represented.