~

 

“It’s my fault, all my fault, and I must fix it. I did this – I did this, and I must fix it…” Gran was walking around her greenhouse somewhat aimlessly when I got there, and no, I wasn’t the first through the door because Moira had pointy little elbows and had winded me.

I hated it when she did that, but not as much as I hated the sight of Gran in such a tizzy.

“What did she do?” Moira was the first to get up the courage to ask my father as he stood there looking all distracted again. Although his eyes were following Gran around the room as she flittered about her plants and herbs, he looked like he didn’t know what to do.

“I have no idea,” he said with a look of bemusement and a big old shrug. “She announced that she’d done it the moment I walked through the door and then … this.” He looked kind of helpless as only a man can in times of uncertainty.

I took matters into my own hands and walked towards Gran, approaching her in a calm manner, because there was no way that I wanted to get my backside – accidentally – fried. “Gran,” I reached for her hands, and they were ice-cold and shaking. She finally brought her gaze to mine, and her eyes stared at me for a long moment as if she didn’t recognize me.

“Someone get the scotch!” Moira announced, and we all shot a look at her. “What?” she shrugged. “It looks like she’s in shock, and it’s what Gran would do.”

We all mumbled in begrudging agreement and turned to look at Eileen. “Why me?” She sounded shrew-like.

“Because you hate this witch stuff,” I said, getting her right between the eyes with that one.

She huffed, turned a three-sixty and disappeared out the door like she needed a pee break and couldn’t wait to get back to a movie. 

“Gran,” I tried again, and she just stared at me.

“Well, something happened!” Moira stated the obvious and I shot her a sneer.

My sister, the genius.

“Ya think?”

When Eileen shot back in the room like the hounds of hell were on her heels, I offered her a berating glare, and she ground to a halt and blew the hair from her eyes. “Got it,” she said as if she was totally innocent.

“Well, pour a dram, she’s not going to drink from the bottle,” I berated her, but that got Gran’s attention, and she snatched her hands from mine, reached for the bottle, unscrewed the top in record time, and as my sister held out a wee glass … Gran put the bottle to her lips and swigged it like a sailor on shore leave.

Who was I to judge?

“Way to go, Gran,” Moira couldn’t help herself, and as Gran came up for air and practically breathed out fire, Moira sniggered.

It was all fun and games until that dark magic touch reached out for my sister. Then she’d be more intent on discovering what Gran knew.

“Alright, let’s give her a moment to…” Dad stopped as Gran went back in for more of the same. Now, in Scotland, we were practically raised on Scotch from the cradle, and we had a lifelong relationship with it until the grave, but I’d never seen my Grandmother knock back the drink like that before – at least, not all at once. “Sober up – someone put the kettle on.”

 

~

 

 “You said that you’d done it…”

We were back around the dinner table once more. The plates had been pushed away into the center, and we were all eager to hear what Gran had to say, not least because she was still cuddling that bottle of Scotch and looking decidedly white, and pink-cheeked at the same time. One was the fright, and the other was from the Scotch.

“I did!” Gran announced, slurring her speech slightly and eyeing my father like he was a priest. “Not just me – there were others.” She tossed up an absent hand.

“Did what, Fiona?” Mother asked and got a caged look back.

“It!” Gran tossed that absent hand in my direction, not literally, it didn’t fly off her arm or anything.

“It’s official,” Moira announced and I felt my nose twitch with knowing that there was going to be a punchline to that one. “You’re an it.” She smiled sweetly at me, and I sneered back.

“Now is not the time,” Gran berated her. “You’re all in danger…”

“What?” Eileen was the first to an irrational squeal like question.

“I should have known.” She pulled her head back on her neck and made three chins. “I should have figured it out when Earnest died…”

That got everyone’s attention. “What?” I got there first, but that word was echoed around the table, only Eileen was slow to act that time.

“Old Mr. Croon,” she asked, playing catch-up. Gran nodded.

“What does Mr. Croon have to do with this?” I asked, although my mind was trying to put two and two together and coming up empty.

“He had magic once,” she said, and I shot a look at the faces of my family. We all looked dumbfounded.

“How do you lose magic?” Eileen asked. It was a good question and one that was certainly on my lips, but I could see why she’d want to know.

“His brother…” Gran said and left it there with a long sigh.

“Brother?” Moira prompted.

“Twin brother, they shared a womb, shared a mother and father, and then Angus stabbed him in the back and siphoned his magic right from him,” Gran spat out as if she had the bitterest taste on her tongue.

“How do you siphon…?” Eileen started, and shut up rather fast when we all glared at her.

“Not happening,” I informed her and watched as she skulked back in her chair again.

“When you say stabbed…?” Moira asked, and Gran scowled.

“Not literally,” she said, giving a small shake of her head. “But, he did use a spell to hold the man down and steal what he wanted. Then he was gone – like a thief in the night – the bas…”

“Gran!” Eileen snorted a chuckle before Gran could get the rest of the word out, and I for one, and probably Moira for two could have killed her for it.

Gran never swore, and it might have been strange to hear it, but just once wouldn’t have given her such a moral high ground to stand on.

“So, why is this your fault?” Dad asked, and I wanted to know, but I’d much rather wind time back to the moment when Gran swore so I could silence Eileen and hear it.

“It was the spell,” she admitted, full of shame, and I for one had never seen my Gran like that. It must have been bad.

“Spell?” Moira dropped it in as if she couldn’t care less, but I could see that she was chaffing at the bit to hear the rest.

“The power of three,” Gran said and then said no more. Now I was chaffing at the bit to know.

“Go on!” I practically bit her head off to get her to spill her guts.

“You all know the history of the Isle where you were born, where you’ll live your days, and where you’ll be buried…” Gran started as she always did – like it was a fairytale.

Why she didn’t just say once upon a time and be done with it, I’ll never fathom that one out.

“Of course,” Eileen chimed up, like a kid at Christmas. The bookworm was back in her element.

“The ancient magic in the land that runs like veins beneath the Earth. The faeries, witch clans, and the unmentionables…” Gran dropped her voice on that word, and I scowled.

“Wait,” I didn’t want to stop her there, but I kind of had to do it. “You mean the unmentionables are real?”

“Very real,” Gran said.

That couldn’t be. I’d lived on Skye all of my life, and I’d never heard or seen anything to even make me wonder about such things.

“Gran’s had a little too much…” Moira tipped up an imaginary bottle before offering Gran an innocent smile.

“Vampires are real,” Dad said, and you could have knocked me down with a feather.

I gawked, Moira gawked, and Eileen offered a small squeak as she looked around her.

“One is not going to jump out and get you, you…” I bit out at my youngest sister and then rolled my eyes as she shuffled uncomfortably in her chair.

“You think Gran has one stashed in a coffin in the basement just waiting to pounce on us this day?” Moira sniggered at Eileen and got a glare back in return.

“Where are they all?” I asked.

I didn’t think I wanted to run into a vampire down a dark alley at the back of a Portree pub or anything, but I’d still like to know if someone was a vampire.

“Not on Skye,” Gran said. “Not anymore.” Well, that was certainly good to know. “The Isle is protected. It was agreed…” she sounded put out as if someone had upset her apple cart.

“By who?” Dad asked.

“When?” Mother said.

“Why?” Moira added, and Gran looked overwhelmed.

“Wait,” I held up my hand to stop everyone talking at once. “Go back to the beginning – not the beginning of time when dinosaurs roamed Skye, but take it from where you started.”

“Where was I?” Gran looked around at us for help.

“The unmentionables,” Eileen said, and I was glad someone listened to Gran when she spoke.

“Yes, those,” Gran snorted her contempt. “Well, back in the ancient days dark magic was as much a part of the spell working as light. The faeries and the Picts worked against each other to form a balance in nature…”

“But I thought faeries were…” I silenced Moira with a hard glare. “Keep going.”

“But the earth, those magical veins, still hold the memories of the past…”

“And Maggie tapped into a vein?” Eileen announced, and I thought my head might just explode as I grumbled at her and she frowned but pressed her lips together.

“Did you tap into a vein for dark magic?” Dad asked her, and I could have throttled him.

“No!” Gran announced, all wide-eyed and with squealing indignation.

Her voice had pitched so high that all the local dog's ears had probably pricked up. The look on her face was priceless though – stunned disbelief, classic. It was almost the same when she’d been flirting with a tourist in my bistro and told him to guess her age, bad move, he’d added ten years.

“I had to ask,” Dad said and gave her a shifty look from beneath his eyebrows.

“No, you didn’t.” Her tone was like cut glass, good Scottish glass, and dad got the message loud and clear. “It was decided that the faeries alone shouldn’t have to be entrusted to keep the veins pure, after all, it was all of our burden to keep.” She dropped her gaze to that bottle of Scotch.

“Why am I sensing hesitation from you?” Dad asked, and it was a stupid question, but it was designed to prod her along before she decided to climb back into her cups again and drink the bottle dry – maybe even try to lick it clean.

“The power of three,” she said on a sigh as if she’d finally got it off her chest after all those years, and yet, she couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and she didn’t look a happy bunny.

“That’s us,” Eileen stated the obvious once more.

“Yes, but it wasn’t supposed to be,” Gran said.

“Ok, now I’m more than interested in that one,” I said, and I was because we’d always been told that it was fate – destiny, and now we heard that it was something else.

Go figure.

“We were young, the six of us,” Gran said. “We decided that what Skye needed was the power of three to protect the Island and the witches, and to help the magic flourish.”

“You have to understand that when I was a lassie, things were different. Nowadays everyone and anyone can announce they are a witch, buy some candles, cast a spell, and nobody cares. Back then, witches were still being arrested.”

“Imagine that,” Moira said, and she’d caught that bad taste on her tongue too.

“Which is why we still don’t tell,” Gran said. “Who knows who is in those database things these governments create. Especially the red coat government.”

I groaned inwardly at the snotty reference to the English parliament. I was almost surprised she didn’t shout; freedom!

I believed in live and let live, and it was true that some of my ancestors were shipped over to America like common criminals during the clearances, all so the sheep would have more of a home, but still, from what I hear they did pretty well for themselves in Salem and New Orleans.

Not that it was right mind you. Gran was older and had a better memory than I did. Not that she was alive back then, but by the way she talked about it you would have thought she’d watched the house burnings herself.

“So, there were six of you, and we weren’t supposed to be the blessed ones,” I said, snapping her back to the present, well, almost.

“Charmed,” Eileen corrected me.

“Pleasure,” Moira chuckled.

“Moving on,” I growled at my sisters and turned my attention back to Gran.