~

 

I headed straight into the kitchen where Moira was busily cooking up a storm. I could feel my heart trying to escape my ribs, and the damn thing was pounding in my ears like a runaway drummer from a Highland band that had the English redcoats on his heels.

Not that our proud and noble men ran, no, they stood and fought for freedom – for as much good as it did them. But that too was another story for another time.

“Did we have a mini heatwave, and I didn’t notice?” Moira asked, alternating her gaze between the pans and my face.

“What? No…”

In mid-autumn, chance would be a fine thing – actually, most of the year round you would be hard-pressed to come up with a heatwave, and when the temperature did rise; it was still usually blowing a hooley – that’s fierce winds to the outlanders.

“You remember that summer that Eileen cursed you to be allergic to strawberries?”

“Of course I do,” I grumbled.

I loved strawberries and hated that everyone else in the family could tuck into them, and did, right under my nose, while I was left wanting and trying to figure out what had caused my sudden allergy. I should have known it would be one of my own devious, mischievous kin.

Oh, how I repaid her for that one – it was the winter when she looked as if she had a blue tinge to her skin – like a Smurf – and she couldn’t cover it with make-up.

“You look like that. Did you annoy Eileen again?” Moira asked as I snapped up a pan and flipped it over to check out my reflection. My cheeks were certainly flushed, but that had nothing to do with being hexed.

“No!” I snapped back, returning the pot to its place and blowing upwards in a stupid attempt to cool myself down.

“Or is this just a happy by-product of you talking to Detective Doofus again?”

Moira started plating up Ross’ breakfast like a juggler, and I remembered why I’d dashed into the kitchen before she’d distracted me with a walk down memory lane, and a load of nonsense.

 “When you take him his breakfast…”

“Why do I have to have that displeasure?”

She looked as if I’d slapped her with a fresh kipper, and was that thought tempting? You bet it was.

“Because some miserable old busybody has gone and spilled the beans…”

She rushed in with her mouth again, and I wondered if we had a fresh kipper in the fridge. “I have nae made beans, this is the first breakfast of the day, and wouldn’t you know it would be for Mr. Mac-Dribbles. I’m not sure where that Ross puts all the food he eats, but he certainly fills his boots…”

“And you have so much hot air you could play the bagpipes for a week straight without stopping!” I shot back, and she pulled her head back on her neck and gave me that look – the one that said she was calculating just how much Belladonna she could slip into my toddy without killing me.

“Sounds like somebody put their knickers on back to front this morning and they’re chaffing.”

There were more times than not, when I wanted to use my magic for evil, and most of those times involved Moira. This was one of those times, but I might just see if I could find a nice thistle on the way home, and then we’ll see how she liked chaffing knickers.

“I will say this only once…” I bit down on my need to do her harm, because, as we all know, the first rule of being a witch is; if it harms none.

Obviously, whoever made that a law had not met my sister.

“Then you’ll self-destruct?”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction…”

“Pity.”

“Can I continue?”

“If you must.”

She cocked her left eyebrow at me and raised her chin. Magic be damned, if I shaved that stupid eyebrow off in her sleep then I wouldn’t technically be breaking any rules, now would I?

“The gossip mill told Jack that we deal in magic…”

“Whoever spoke out of turn; I curse them to…” I moved quickly to slap a silencing spell on her lips, and she grunted in annoyance.

“No you don’t, Miss Apocalypse-whenever, you know it’ll come back thrice-fold to bite you in the bum,” I warned her, and her eyes were more expressive than her words could ever be. Right then she was telling me of all the ways that she was thinking about killing me.

I reluctantly released her from my spellwork, and she bit out a string of words that would get her in trouble with Gran before she slammed the pot she was holding down on the counter and rounded on me.

“So, why do I need to go out there? You want me to try to erase his memory?”

I groaned inwardly and sighed outwardly. “No,” I shook my head in case her thick head couldn’t get the message from words alone.

“You want me to hex him because you don’t have the heart to do it yourself?”

I snapped a look at her, and she was smirking. Then she wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I was determined to shave them both off at my earliest convenience.

“Why would I not have the heart?” I demanded, folding my arms, and offering her my best – I’m about done with your messing – stance.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re sweet on hi…” I silenced her again with a nod of my head and a grunt of annoyance.

She rounded on me and narrowed her eyes as if she meant business, but I knew my sister – she preferred to blindside me than come head-on.

Still, she did look as if she’d sucked on a rather potently sour lemon. Bonus points to me.

“He was told; I’m a matchmaker,” I hissed, and she snapped on a frown.

She opened her mouth, and her lips were moving, but the sweet sound of silence was a blissful thing.

Moira stopped flapping her lips, stomped her foot on the floor, and huffed without sound. I took an extra moment to savor not having to hear her voice, and then I begrudgingly released her from my spell.

“Stop doing that!” she hissed, and her eyes shot daggers.

“Stop yapping like a pup at the mail van then.”

“You only just started matchmaking, so whoever was yapping, does nae know us as well as some,” she offered back, and I considered it.

“I did think along those lines, but the point remains – Jack thinks I’m a witch.” I tossed up my hands at the audacity of the man for accusing me like that.

“Err, newsflash,” she offered me those raised eyebrows again, and I mentally added lady razors to my shopping list.

“Err, editorial, we all know I’m a witch, but we don’t all flaunt it. Especially, and most importantly, to outlanders,” I snapped back, and by snapped; I mean that I actually felt my last nerve snapping.

“Point taken.”

“Finally, and can you please take Ross his breakfast before it’s frostier than the blood in Gran’s veins, and be nice.”

“Nice?” She snorted with contempt.

“Yes.”

“To Mac-Dribbles?” She snorted like a pig in search of truffles.

“He was helpful.”

“Fine,” she bit out, festering with annoyance. “Just this blooming once.” She picked up his plate and started for the kitchen door.

“Give him an extra cookie treat,” I called after her.

“Scooby snack,” she ground out, and I had to laugh.

Poor Ross.

 

~

 

“Maggie!”

I’d know those deep tones anywhere, and even though the sound of them made my heart pound, my blood heat up, and my shoulders try to mimic ear muffs.

I felt the dread born out of knowing that I needed to stay away from Jack for the foreseeable future until he forgot all about the silliness of me being a witch.

I dropped my chin towards my chest and imagined myself as small as possible as I raced along the pavement towards the bank. Of course, like a child that tossed their hands over their eyes in the hopes that you could no longer see them, without a little magic to back it up – I still stuck out like a sore thumb, but a hunched one – like an old crone.

“Maggie McFae!” he called again, and I rolled my eyes at the sheer stupidity of the man.

Really, how many Maggie’s had answered his first call for him to feel the need to add my surname to his next shout? And he was the best and the brightest in the police force? Geez.

I tossed a look back over my shoulder, and he was rushing across the road towards me. I couldn’t quite feel mean-spirited enough to hope that he got knocked over by a fast moving flock of sheep, but the thought was tempting enough to make me smile at the mental image.

The point was, he wasn’t giving up, even when I’d ignored him. So, I pulled up and sighed inwardly as I waited for him to catch me up.

“I have business at the bank, so this had better not be more of your nonsense about witches,” I said, getting in the first shot across his bow like a pirate ship offering a warning.

“Do I think you’re a witch, woman? Probably not, although, most people, even the rational and sane ones, tend to dabble in that nonsense nowadays,” he informed me.

I saw red on so many levels that I could have pushed him under a fast moving flock of spirited sheep myself, and without any guilt whatsoever.

“Woman?”

Moira’s eyebrow trick was catching, like when an elderly relative did that little, constant nod, and after about half an hour, everyone was sitting there doing it. Gran was starting to do that, and we loved her for it. She said it gave her more character. Well, my eyebrows reached up for my hairline.

Jack grinned, not just any grin, but it lit his eyes with laughter and made my knees go a little wobbly, while stupid butterflies danced in my stomach. I made a mental note to check if my sister had put some equally stupid spell on me when I got home.

A little aura cleanse never hurt anybody. Not when you had my family that was for sure.

“Did you not hear me calling you?”

That’s right, Jack, deflect – well, I am the master of deflection, and I see your hand and call you on it – you devious man.

“Perhaps I was done with your particular brand of stupid for today,” I informed him and watched that laughter start to fade in his eyes – call witches irrational and insane, would you? “After all, the island has its own village idiots; we don’t need to import them from the mainland.”

“Alright, snappy-mac-snap-pot, you don’t need to burn your feminist bra, I was only stating the obvious. Or are you nae a woman?” he offered back, thinking himself clever.

“You tell me – Defective – you’re the one that can’t seem to tear your eyes away from my boobs.”

Jack groaned. He did manage to keep his eyes on mine though, so brownie points for that.

“You’ve a sharp tongue on you, Maggie,” Jack berated me for pointing out his failings, and I felt a pang of guilt.

Maybe I was an irrational woman because I should have enjoyed wiping the floor with him.

“That’s the trouble with us witches.”

I was determined to dig my heels in. I placed my hands on my hips and offered him an evil glare.

“I’ll be taking my leave of you then, Maggie McFae,” he offered back in a snotty tone, and then he promptly turned on his heels and stormed away.

Ha!

That was my job, and he’d stolen my thunder. I felt as if I could aim a lightning bolt right up his…

“I’m done with ya,” I muttered, brushing my hands together like I was trying to get rid of flour from my fingertips.

I think I might have had a crush on detective Jack Mackie, but not anymore.

We were done – not that we’d ever started, but still…