~

“So, the Outlander knows about us, does he?” Gran’s evil, devious mind was working overtime. I could see the cogs turning from the other end of the dinner table.

My stupid sister, Moira, had let the cat out of the bag — not a real cat because that would be cruel, and witches were never cruel to cats. No, she’d announced to the family that Jack knew about witches.

Oh, stupid, stupid, lassy.

“Now, Gran…” I started to protest, trying my best to calm thing down, but, of course, it was Gran.

“I think a curse is in order,” Gran decided, and everyone else groaned.

My father even lifted his hand and shaded his eyes with it as he mumbled something unintelligible. I got the gist of it.

“We really don’t need to…” Mother started, but of course, Gran cut her off.

“Maybe the boat carrying him back to the mainland could sink?” Gran said to herself, tapping her fingertips against her chin as she stared at the opposite wall in contemplation.

“We have a road bridge connecting us to the mainland now, Gran,” Moira offered, amusement dancing in her eyes as she shot a look at me.

“I know we have a road bridge,” Gran snapped back at her, and it served her right. “Do I look senile to you?”

“That’s a loaded question,” Moira mumbled.

“Perhaps we could get the sheep to chew through his brake lines.” Gran tapped her fingertips against her chin a little faster, as she looked at the ceiling for answers.

I was sure that my heart was sinking lower, and lower, and lower toward my stomach. At least, it felt like that — if I stood up, I might give just give birth to it.

“I don’t think there is a need to curse the lad,” father spoke words of wisdom, but the death glare that Gran shot at him made him pull back in his chair, probably expecting her head to explode, and when nothing happened, he offered a small grunt and looked a little bit constipated.

“He’s not a lad — he’s a detective.” I could follow Gran’s reasoning before she’d even said it. “And what if he goes blabbing to the mainland that there are witches on the Isle of Skye?”

“I don’t know,” Dad offered back. “Perhaps they’ll lock him in an insane asylum.”

“Oh, that would be a good outcome,” Gran said with a look like she’d just struck gold.

I groaned inside my mind once more. Moira and her big mouth — she was always getting people in trouble. “Gran…” I tried again.

“No. I don’t trust the outlanders as far as I can throw them — that’s throw them without my magic.”

She’d known what I was going to say and she was sticking to her old ways like a castaway to the beach in hopes of rescue.

It was a simple way in anyone’s book. The Islanders were good – the outlanders were bad.

“It’s not like the witch hunts are still on,” Mother offered, and she wished she hadn’t said a word when Gran turned her steely gaze on her.

“They hunted the faeries — they wanted the faeries help — they wanted the faerie flag — what’s going to happen when they decide to hunt the witches? Because, unless you didn’t notice — we’re the witches!”

Oh dear, Gran was in ranting form tonight. That didn’t bode well for Jack. I would have to keep my eye on her in the spell department.

“Perhaps we can work on more matchmaking spells tonight?”

I needed to distract her and keep an eye on her. If we were working together, then it followed that I could do both.

“Sure, punish me, why don’t you?” Moira grumbled.

“Well, you are the big mouth at the table. Perhaps you’d like to just toss your other foot in?” I snapped back.

“See! That’s what happens when the outlanders find out about witches. We turn on ourselves,” Gran said, almost as if she was celebrating a victory and relishing her win.

“See what you did?” I snapped at Moira, and the witch was stupid enough to offer me a smirk back.

I had my lady razors, and I was going to use them as soon as she fell asleep.

 

~

 

Of course, I didn’t do it.

I was a witch, not Attila the Hun. Although, some might say that she’d well and truly deserved it if I had done it, but, her eyebrows live to get all judgy for another day.

I was more interested in what Jack wanted with someone who knew about magic. Now that I’d had time to climb down from my high horse and think about his motives, and not just the accusation and implications of what he’d said, I’d actually come to the conclusion that we – our family collectively – might just need to keep an eye on Jack and his investigation.

Especially, if he was trying to link it with magic.

That wouldn’t be good for any of us. Our ancestors had narrowly sidestepped the witch hunts and hysteria – very narrowly – and folk were still suspicious of anything to do with magic around these parts.

I mean, it wasn’t exactly ancient history around here, only a few hundred years had passed.

Most things that went wrong on the isle were blamed on the faeries; they were the island version of Gremlins, which was good for when Gran messed up a spell. Still, better to be safe than sorry; I’d need to keep a close eye on Jack.

That’s an eyeball for Gran and one for the detective – I sure hoped nobody else needed watching I’d just run out of eyeballs.

 

~

 

“Gran…” When I said her name and she jumped; I knew something was wrong. When I heard the clinking of bottles like she was trying to hide something, I was certain that I’d caught her doing something mischievous. “What have you got there?”

“Me? Nothing,” Gran lied.

Before she could hide what she was doing, I strolled over to the counter, and I eyed the contents of the bottles. I knew exactly which bottles she’d had her hands on — she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was — she might have pushed the bottles back, but they had scattered the others around them.

“Dragon’s blood?” I looked down my nose at her as she turned innocent eyes on me.

“Yes, it’s very good for…” She looked constipated.

Ha! She was stumped. I’d caught her in the act, and now she was running to keep up.

“Mixing with that graveyard dirt?” I folded my arms and berated her with just a look.

“Graveyard dirt?” She tried for innocent again but came up woefully short.

“Gran.” I huffed as I unfolded my arms and snatched up the Dragon’s blood and the graveyard dirt.

On their own, not so bad — mixed together, and you could come up with the rather nice hex.

“I was just sorting through my inventory,” Gran lied again.

“Liar — liar, let’s go build a witch pyre,” I said, snorting my contempt for what she was about to do.

“Yes, well — why don’t we get started from where we left off last night?”

That was it. That was all I was going to get.

Heaven forbid that Gran should ever admit to doing anything nefarious. But I knew my Gran; she had been about to hex him.

“And what if it comes back to bite you in the backside?” I asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Gran said, shrugging her shoulders, and ending the conversation there.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do, Gran.”

“Margaret McFae!” Gran exclaimed, raising her voice to shrew-like qualities, and I knew I should have bent over and kissed my backside goodbye, but I was right about this one, and she wasn’t wiggling out of it.

“You always told me not to do anything that could come back to bite me. Well, this can come back to bite you,” I reminded her, as if she needed that reminder. She was the one that had hammered that into our brains when we first started spell working.

“Oh, I have so much more experience than you. Don’t you think I know how to protect myself?” Gran waved an absent hand in the air in front of my face and almost caught my nose.

“So, you admitted it then. You were going to hex him.”

“Perish the thought.” Gran offered me one of her steely glares, and I knew that the conversation was all but over.

It wasn’t just Gran’s backside that I was protective of, but Jack’s as well. Not that I wanted anything to do with his taut backside … oh, never mind.

“Fine. But I’m taking this graveyard dirt with me when I leave.”

“Isn’t it lucky for you that I’m going senile and don’t remember where the graveyards are on the island?” Gran announced with glee. I seethed. She wouldn’t — the look in her eyes said she would. “Now, all of those things that you gathered under the sight of the moon last night — let’s get those things infused. We are on a strict schedule, you know? The full moon isn’t going to wait for you to get your backside into gear.”

“Fine. But this hex thing ends here.”

“I don’t know what you mean, dear.” And she was back to denial again. Proof positive if ever I needed it. When Gran called me dear, something was definitely up. “Now, make sure you have everything you need before you start.”

“Red cloth, red rose petals, basil, cardamom seeds, cinnamon sticks, a red garnet, cheesecloth, brandy, and a jar. Check.”

“You won’t need the brandy, the cheesecloth, or the jar tonight.”

“So, can I drink the brandy?” I shot Gran a broad smile, and she shot me a death glare. I guess the brandy was off the menu.

“You have to take this seriously…”

“I know.”

“This is people’s lives we’re talking about…” Gran berated me again.

“I know.”

“And not just any old life — their love life.”

“Yes, Gran, I know.”

Of course, I knew, and Gran knew that I knew, but, of course, she wanted to get her own back for being busted — and called on it — because even when you busted Gran doing something wrong, you were not supposed to call her on it.

“Well, good. Just as long as you’re aware.”

“I’m very aware,” I muttered as I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and counted, not to ten, because I never got that far when Gran was around, she never let me.

“Because this isn’t a joke…”

“I know. I know. I know.”

“Just so long as you know.”

I groaned, and I’m sure she smirked. Payback was a witch, a witch with the moniker of Gran.

“Are we done talking? I have a spell to start, and I wouldn’t want to get any negative energy in the mix,” I berated her.

“That would be bad…”

“Wouldn’t it? Like, Roger the sheep and Mrs. Doony bad, no?”

I had to get my digs in where I could. I wouldn’t be a productive member of this family without them. Gran huffed.

“That was not me,” she grumbled.

“Good to know,” I muttered back.

“Now, if you’re done flapping your lips and casting aspersions in my direction…”

“Not quite, but I can hold my tongue…”

“Then we can begin the second stage of the spell.” Gran chose to ignore my last remark. Progress.

“I’m ready when you are.”

“Good. Clear your mind of any negative energy; then you want to put the herbs, spices, and petals on the red cloth with the garnet, sending thoughts of love as you recite these words; with these sacred offerings from the Earth, I bring love into life. Then fold the cloth and place them by the window under the moonlight.”

And so began my new venture into the world of matchmaking. If this spell worked, then I would be a fully fledged matchmaker.

Then there was my other side job — keeping my eye on Gran. I was a busy woman.