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“Here,” Grams said, wrapping two of the scones in foil and then sliding them into a Ziploc bag. “Take these. They’ll be good for dinner.”
“Thank you,” Daisy said, accepting the bag. “I appreciate it.” To me, she added, “Call if you need anything. Don’t worry if it sounds silly. As I said, my instincts say this is nothing to play around with and whoever did this means business. I’d rather waste a trip over nothing, than have you reluctant to call and ended up finding you on the floor, dead.”
There it was. Stark, but clear.
“Will do,” I said, glancing at Grams. She was focused on the stew, but it was obvious by her expression that she had heard what Daisy said. I walked the sheriff to the door. The rain had slowed, though it was still drizzling. “Stay dry,” I said as she zipped up her jacket.
“Stay safe, and I mean it. Call if you think anything might be wrong.”
“I will. I promise.” As I waved to her, I glanced up at the sky. The wind was picking up again, and the storm threatened to continue throughout the evening. Once Daisy vanished down the drive, I glanced at my shop. The windows were still firmly boarded and it looked abandoned and lonely. Feeling sad, I shut and locked the door behind me.
* * *
Grams and I were at the table. She was showing me how to tap into the magnetic resonance of the planet, so I could learn how to bring small things close to me. She could do it, which I found astounding. I knew that some witches could perform telekinesis, but this went beyond that. She sat at the table and, by merely focusing on the pencil, she levitated it into the air and drew it over to her, where it floated for a moment before gently settling down on the table.
“How did you do that?” I hadn’t any clue that Grams could move objects like that.
“That’s what I’m going to teach you.”
“Which power does it use? Earth? Air?”
“Both. Or, either, rather. It can be done by using air to lift it, or earth to magnetize it. Since you work with the earth element, that’s the direction we’ll take.” She held up her hand as I snorted, doubtful I’d manage it. “Don’t be so quick to assume. You are from a powerful lineage, but nobody ever fully taught you how to use your powers. I know your mother didn’t forbid you to learn, but she didn’t do much to help, either.”
“No, I’ll give her that—she’s not against magic, especially since she’s of witchblood, too. But neither would she send me to the academy to learn what I needed to learn.”
I’d begged my mother to send me to one of the special academies for magical Otherkin, but she hadn’t wanted to bother. Mostly because it would require me to board at the school, and she wanted an audience for her moods. She also wanted someone around to do the chores she hadn’t wanted to. It wasn’t that she’d worked me to death, or foisted all her work on me, but I’d definitely earned my keep as her daughter.
“Grams, can I ask you something? Given my father died when I was five, and Grandmama too, did you know how I was being raised? Mom’s parents were always on the move, even back then. Aunt Ciara knew, but she had her own family to worry about. Did you know that I wasn’t being raised to embrace my magical lineage?”
Grams picked up the pencil, staring at it for a moment before she answered. “No, I didn’t. Your mother wasn’t the best communicator. I think she would have preferred if I had just disappeared out of her life.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your paternal grandfather was long dead, and when Malcom died, I believe something snapped in Catharine. When you first came along, she wrote to me once a month and sent pictures. She seemed to be happy to be part of the family. But when your father died, something changed. You probably don’t remember it, but I do. Once the dust settled and Malcom was laid to rest, the letters began to dwindle. And once your grandmother Elisa died, they dwindled to a bare minimum. Usually when your mother needed financial help.”
“And you gave her money?”
“I gave her money so you would be taken care of.”
“I wonder why she pulled away.” I said.
“I think she was afraid I’d step in and try to steer your development. Your mother isn’t duty-bound to the clan like your father was, or like your aunt is. Your aunt is actually interested in finding out more about the Clan MacPherson since her blood stems from it, too.”
“I didn’t know that. I’ll have to talk to her, later, when she’s feeling better.” I thought back to when I was a very little girl. “I do remember my father showing me all these pictures of the family home in Scotland. I remember him telling me about the countryside, and about growing up in a haunted mansion where he was friendly with the ghosts. Because of him, because of those stories, I wasn’t afraid of ghosts when I was young. And I’m still not all that afraid of them.”
“We have many ghosts in the mansion. It’s actually a small castle, and it’s two hundred years old. We heavily renovated it and that woke a number of them up. Most are safe, and the ones that weren’t, we evicted.”
I smiled, remembering a fuzzy image of my father. He would arrive home from work and sweep me up as I ran to him, spinning me around. We’d laugh, and then he would set me on the nearest chair and take my mother in his arms and kiss her hello. I always felt they loved each other, and I always felt safe when they were both around.
“Are you all right?” Grams asked. “Your eyes are misty.”
“I’m just remembering…good memories. Before my mother became the way she is now. I remember my father, though over the years the images in my mind have grown blurry. And then, I have a sharp memory of the night he didn’t come home from work. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but late that night, I woke up to hear my mother screaming. I ran out to the living room. A police officer was standing there and my mother was crumpled on the floor, huddled over, crying. And then I never saw my father again.”
I looked at my great-grandmother. “Do you think he was murdered? I don’t remember much, but I do remember my mother once saying that he’d never kill himself, that I wasn’t to believe anybody who said so. But, she also told me not to say anything. Don’t argue, she told me. Don’t argue with anybody. Pretend you believe what you’re told. Someday, I’ll tell you why. But she never did.”
“I wasn’t here,” Grams said. “But maybe we need to look into it. Your father was strong-willed and it was hard for me to believe that he’d kill himself, especially when he had a wife and young daughter.” She didn’t sound like she was looking forward to it, but I knew her well enough by now that, if I said I wanted to know more, she’d go digging for information with me.
“Okay, well…let’s plan on doing that. But for now, teach me how to pick up the pencil. I’ve had so few magical lessons over the years, and I never realized that I feel a lack in my life because of that.”
