In her dream, Bronwyn sat with Deidre in their kitchen at home, a house that would be hers when she returned. It was early on a summer morning, the air sticky and hot, greenery running wild in Deidre’s garden. Beyond the garden, the dark blue smudge of the sea filled the horizon.
They sat at the scrubbed wooden table in the center of their ordinary, rather drab kitchen. Deidre cradled a mug of tea between her palms and she was smiling at Bronwyn.
Even as one part of Bronwyn registered this was a dream, Deidre seemed so real to her. The lightening of her lashes at the tips, the deep smile grooves on either side of her mouth, the sunlight catching the faint peach fuzz on her top lip that she refused to wax were all so heartbreakingly familiar. Bronwyn could even smell the wood and jasmine that she always associated with Deidre.
Birds outside went quiet. Sunlight dimmed, and she and Deidre looked out the window. A large cloud moved over the sun and Deidre frowned. “That’s not right.”
Rolling and expanding, the cloud grew darker and thicker.
“So wrong.” Deidre’s favorite mug, the one with the picture of the pillar of cats that used to make her smile, dropped from her hands and hit the table. Tea splashed over her lap and the mug rolled off the table, hit the tile floor and shattered.
Deidre stared at the cloud, now black and covering the entire sky. Her eyes widened, eyes the same shade of green as Bronwyn’s. “It’s coming.”
Bronwyn wanted to run, but she couldn’t move. She was stuck in her chair with her arms useless by her sides. She opened her mouth to scream at Dee to run, but no sound came out.
The black cloud filled the garden. Nothing moved, leaves withered on their branches and died and still the black cloud came.
It swelled through the garden and pressed against the kitchen window. The window moaned under the pressure.
Bronwyn’s scream got trapped in her skull. Copper and decay made the air reek.
“Go,” Deidre whispered. “She’s coming for you. It’s you she wants.”
I can’t leave you. But the words didn’t come out.
“You must live.” Pale and shocked, Deidre looked at her. “You are the one.”
The kitchen window cracked, jagged lines shooting across the glass.
“Go.” Deidre’s wood and jasmine scent rose, more intense than Bronwyn had ever smelled it before. “Everything. All of it, has all been about you.”
The window imploded in a shower of glass.
Bronwyn screamed and woke in her bed in the Hag’s Head. Her breathing was heavy and labored, and sweat covered her body. She could still feel the oily stench of the thick black cloud,
She snapped on a light. The lopsided wardrobe faced her bed and beside it a chest of drawers of a darker veneer. The red gingham armchair in the corner still held yesterday’s clothes.
Everything as it was before she fell asleep, yet she shivered.
Outside the window, a halfmoon rode the sky above the sea. And that’s where she needed to be. Some people loved mountains, others liked rolling grasslands, but for her it was always water. Dee had told her she’d been swimming almost before she could walk properly. At just two, she’d apparently walked straight into the ornamental lake at a public park. Fortunately Deidre had been there to pull her out. That had been the first incident of many, and for safety’s sake, Deidre had taught her to swim.
“What the hell was that, Dee?”
Of course Deidre didn’t answer. Deidre had died a year ago.
Bronwyn ached for the tranquility the sea gave her, so she got out of bed and hauled on her clothes from the night before. Taking only her room key and her phone with her, she crept through the silent inn.
The night air smelled odd and clung to her skin in a way that reminded her too vividly of her dream.
Deidre had been trying to warn her of something. The knowing whispered of danger. She checked her phone. It was three fifty-three in the morning, and the village of Greater Littleton was deserted.
A stray cat sat on a wall and made eye contact, watching Bronwyn pass. Maybe going out alone at night in a strange place was not the safest thing to do, but her need for water drowned her caution.
The closer she drew to the beach, the more her sense of foreboding quieted. She slipped between a fish and chips shack and a store that in the daytime sold sunscreen, hats, and espadrilles. The stony beach crunched beneath her Chucks as she picked her way to the water’s edge.
The tide foamed and bubbled up the stones toward her, ran over her Chucks and the icy cold seeped through the canvas. The air was lighter here, but lingering heaviness felt like cobwebs hanging in her face. Keeping her feet in the water, she followed the shoreline as it meandered closer to the cliff Baile perched on.
As soon as she clambered between huge boulders to a small tidal beach, silver in the moonlight, the nasty sensation disappeared, like a soap bubble popping.
Yes, Deidre’s voice whispered in the darkness, so softly it merged with the gentle onshore breeze. Other women’s whispers rode that breeze.
Welcome.
Sister.
Water calls, Sister.
The voices should have freaked her out, but they were strangely comforting. They pressed back the dread left by her dream.
A sane person would be running away from disembodied voices in the middle of the night, especially considering the average lifespan of the women in her family. She didn’t know if the same curse, or genetics, or plain bad luck ran in the men in her family, because the men never stuck around for long enough to be relevant.
Alexander had crashed into her life so unexpectedly and with the force of a derailed train that she had to question her response to him. Was she doomed to repeat the Beaty woman legacy? Perhaps like her, the other women in her family had met a man, had this intense attraction and acted on it. Only to have him leave before the sweat was dry on the sheets.
Tucked against the cliff, a small path rose from the beach, and Bronwyn took it. Wind pushed against her back, as if it were trying to help her with the steep climb.
Bronwyn had no idea where she was going, but she knew she had to get there. Conviction bloomed in her as she followed the path snaking upwards along the cliff edge.
Abruptly it ended in the dark maw of a cave entrance. Leaning her hands on her knees, Bronwyn stopped and caught her breath and gave her aching thighs a rest. She must have been at the entrance to the caverns that ran beneath Baile that Hermione had told them about.
She took a tentative step onto the wide ledge in front of the cave entrance. Dare she go in there? She was straight up trespassing and being that dumb bitch from horror movies, the one who went into the haunted house, followed the weirdo with a chainsaw, or was not content to say Candyman once, twice, three times or four.
“Bronwyn.” Mags appeared so suddenly out of the cave that Bronwyn jumped and may even have shrieked.
“Jesus.” Her heart was trying to leap out her throat. “You scared the shit out of me.”
In the moonlight, Mags looked even paler than ever. She turned her face to the breeze and closed her eyes. Her expression was almost blissful for a moment. “Sorry. The dream has us both spooked.”
“Dream?” Bronwyn’s hackles rose.
“The dark cloud.” Mags looked at her. Her eyes glowed opaque silver. “The one that’s coming for you.”
Bronwyn couldn’t think of a single intelligible thing to say, so she stared at Mags.
“I get these dreams.” Mags shrugged as if she hadn’t completely blown Bronwyn’s mind. “Dreams. Feelings like premonitions. Not all the time but they always come true.” Mags smiled suddenly. “Like knowing you were coming.”
“You keep saying that to me.” Bronwyn’s mouth dried.
“I know.” Mags wrinkled her nose. “Niamh tells me I freak people out. Did I freak you out?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I had. I was going to fix it when you came to lunch, but you’re here now.” Mags closed her eyes and turned her face up. A light breeze ruffled the ends of her long hair. She looked like some strange sort of moon goddess in her long pale dress.
Trust, Dee whispered. We rest here.
“I need answers.” There wasn’t space for lies between them, so Bronwyn went with the truth. “I came to Greater Littleton looking for answers.”
“Hmm.” Mags opened her eyes and nodded. “Best we have some tea then.”
Bizarrely, Bronwyn couldn’t think of a better thing to do, so she followed Mags up the stairs cut into the side of the cliff. No handrail guarded the sides, and a wrong step would send her hurtling to the rocks far, far, far beneath them.
She was frankly amazed she’d climbed that high. The tide was starting to eat its way up the beach, and she wouldn’t be going home the way she’d come. A tug at her heart made her feel like she might be home after all. When she’d made the decision to come looking for answers, she’d had no idea how strange her search would get, or how emotionally draining it would become.
Alexander had not seen her later last night, as he’d said he would, and she hated how much she hated that he hadn’t.
At the top of the stairs, Mags opened an arched wooden door in the stone wall and led Bronwyn into the bailey. The wall blocked the wind, and the same sense of peace and rightness Bronwyn had experienced last time she was in Baile settled over her.
“Here we go.” Mags opened a door and light spilled out.
Blinking against the sudden brightness, Bronwyn followed Mags into a kitchen. It hadn’t been part of the castle tour, and despite looking like a step back in time, the kitchen had a lived-in feel. A huge range sat in the alcove that had housed the original hearth. A modern dishwasher beneath the super-size enamel farm sink looked completely out of place.
That farm sink hadn’t come from Restoration Hardware.
A small pack of dogs appeared through an archway and came to greet her. Of various sizes and breeds, they lolled their tongues at her and invited her to share the joke of having tea in the wee hours of the morning.
“Hey.” Niamh drifted into the kitchen with a huge ginger cat cradled in her arms. “The dogs are excited about you being here.”
On Niamh, sloppy track pants and an oversized Winchester Family Business T-Shirt managed to look movie star sexy.
Mags filled a copper kettle and put it on the range. “Tea?”
“Please.” Niamh dropped into a ladderback chair and leaned her elbows on the rectangular scrubbed oak table in the center of the kitchen. “Did you drive here?”
“I walked up from the beach.” Nobody seemed the least bit phased by her being in their kitchen at four a.m. “I had a bad dream and went for a walk.”
“Ugh.” Niamh pulled a face. “You had that too? The animals woke me from it, but what the bloody hell was that?” She looked to Mags for answers.
Mags shrugged, but a frown creased her brow. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.”
“True that.” Bronwyn’s agreement was enthusiastic.
“Hello, Bronwyn.” Alannah slunk into the kitchen with a beautiful smile like she was hitting the Paris runway. “Your shoes are wet. There are some slippers warming by the range.”
“Right.” Her Converses were making puddles on the flagstone floors.
Alannah went over to the range and brought her a pair of slippers. “Here we are.”
Bronwyn took the seat opposite Niamh and slipped her wet Chucks off.
Alannah picked them up and propped them near the range. “There.” She smiled. “Those will be dry and toasty before you know it.”
“Thank you.”
A thump sounded from somewhere beyond the kitchen. “Motherfucker! Niamh! That fucking badger is blind.”
“Sinead.” Alannah rolled her eyes. “I’d better get the coffee on. Would you prefer that to tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Alannah looked as close to an angel as Bronwyn had ever seen, and she moved about the kitchen like she was in her domain. She shooed Mags away and got a large brown pottery teapot from a shelf near the range. “Now.” She smiled at Bronwyn. “Scones, I think.”
“Fucking hell, Niamh.” Sinead appeared in the doorway wearing a scowl. Her hair was escaping in a snarl from an elastic band and she wore men’s striped pjs. “That badger nearly tripped me down the stairs.”
“He can’t help it.” Niamh shrugged. “He’s blind.”
“I know that.” Sinead threw herself in the seat beside Bronwyn. “Hi.”
“So then watch where you’re going.” Niamh cuddled her cat and stroked a dog’s head at the same time. “Because, clearly, he can’t.”
Alannah brought a white enamel pitcher to the table along with a stack of glasses. She distributed the glasses and poured water into each. “Drink.” She pushed a glass at her twin. “Coffee won’t be much longer.” She smiled shyly at Bronwyn. “I make my own you know.”
“What?” Bronwyn blinked in the radiance of that smile.
“Coffee. Grow our own beans and roast them too.” Sinead grunted. “We’ve got a knack for growing things.”
Niamh snorted and gently placed the cat on the floor. The dogs sniffed it as it passed and then followed the cat to the hearth. They all found a place and lay down. A weasel shot out from beneath a cupboard and joined the animal family at the hearth. They all found a place like they did this every day.
Mags caught her watching and winked. “Niamh has a way with animals.”
Her mind might be slow, but she was starting to get the gist here. “Dreams and premonitions.” She pointed at Mags.
Mags nodded.
“Growing things.” She glanced at Alannah.
“Yes.” Alannah gave her an encouraging smile and carried on mixing dough in a wooden bowl. “Sinead and I have the same knack. Probably because we’re twins.” The kettle boiled, and she put her bowl down and poured water into the teapot. She swished the hot water around to warm the pot and tossed it away. From a tin canister, she added three spoons of tea and then more hot water. It was like a beautiful ritual to watch, and it made Bronwyn’s heart hurt. Deidre had always turned making tea into an elegant ritual.
A cold nose nudged her thigh, and Bronwyn looked down into the melting brown eyes of a retriever.
“You’re sad,” Niamh said. “She can feel it.”
“And you’re good with animals.” Bronwyn put her final piece of information into place.
Alannah brought cups to the table and then the teapot. She put a mug of coffee in front of Sinead and then Bronwyn. It smelled like pure heaven, and Bronwyn took a deeper sniff.
“Milk?” Alannah laughed. “Or do you like cream like they do on the telly?”
Bronwyn laughed with her. She didn’t know how she could not. “Cream please.”
“I’ll get it.” Sinead shoved back from the table. “Shit!”
Her glass toppled over, and water ran across the table.
Bronwyn’s hand shot out, and she reached for honey and sage. The combined scents hit the air and the water stopped running and sat still on the table.
They all stared at the static water that should be running off the side of the table.
“Well, that answers what you’re doing here.” Alannah dropped a cloth on the water. “Sinead and I draw earth. Mags is air, and Niamh is fire. We always did wonder why none of us drew water.”
Water calls, Sister. One of the voices on the beach had said that. Bronwyn wasn’t sure what this all meant, but inside, her confusion stilled and cleared. Like a door thrown wide, enlightenment streamed in, and Bronwyn knew she was exactly where she needed to be.
What she didn’t know was why. “I’m supposed to be here,” she said. “There’s something here I’m supposed to do.”
Mags rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”