A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,14

dancers and the smell of cider melding into a dream world. Flying through the universe at the speed of light. Even the rocks under her feet danced.

And then she reached the last note. Flung it out into the world, dueling winter and cold and the thousands of miles between her heart and those she loved most.

Celtic defiance. Nobody did it better than Cassidy Farrell.

Even if she'd had to leave home to do it.

The throngs on the dance floor clapped and whooped and hollered - for Margaree, that was a standing ovation. Cass brandished her bow in quick acknowledgement of the dancers and took a seat, heart thumping and soul glad.

It wasn't the accolades she played for here. It was the rightness.

Buddy nodded once and started up again. Something the speed of mere mortals this time. Cass shouldered Rosie, grinned, and found a more comfortable position on her stool. Back to second fiddle. Buddy was set to go for hours yet, and it would be entirely embarrassing if her butt got numb before his did.

Her heartbeat slowed, moving in time to the slower pace he was setting. She breathed in, feeling the rocks settling back into their eternal solidness.

It wasn't often she could make them dance.

Her mind cast back, remembering the first time it had happened. She'd been thirteen and walked the two miles to the cliffs, bringing along her fiddle. Her old fiddle - the flirtatious and temperamental Samantha. She'd flung notes out into the waters below, some long-forgotten teenage hurt streaming out of her heart and fingers.

And the rocks had risen up to meet her. Twirled her in a slow, waltzing circle and helped her young soul feel whole again.

Cass reached out, thanking the solidness beneath her feet. It had always been the firm ground beneath her footloose, defiant soul.

She felt the steadiness of the rocks enfold her. And, defiance blown away into the ether, heard their new message. A gravitational pull. An offering, and a choice.

Her bow moved slower now, following Buddy's lead.

And destiny settled onto her shoulders.

Her anonymous and strange Internet tracker was tugging. Dave had pointed her in the direction of some obscure inn south of Peggy's Cove. And the rocks were calling her west across the waters - but not far.

No self-respecting Irish witch ignored one sign. Three of them were tantamount to a dare.

Cass tucked Rosie more firmly under her chin. A few more hours of fiddling with the angels, a good night's sleep, and then she would go.
Chapter 4
An Irish traveler, following her heart. Cass looked out the window of her sporty ride, watching the steady flow of traffic across the bridge in the other direction. It wasn't exactly a dusty road and a rucksack.

But still, she walked the path of generations that had gone before. The footloose. The restless souls. Those with stories to tell and a need to move to do it.

It had always perplexed her parents, much as they loved her. Only her nan had understood - the grandmother who could count on one hand the number of times she'd left the village of her birth. It had been Nan who stood quietly at the window the day Cass turned nineteen, letter from Juilliard in her hand, and told her to go. To walk the road she needed to walk.

Juilliard had only lasted six months - but the road had stretched out twenty-six years now. Mile after mile, the first ones full of Ramen noodles and cheap bus tickets, the last ones well supplied with beef stew and good chocolate.

Cass grinned as a blast of icy wind pummeled the side of her car and hoped the bridge was built on good Nova Scotia rock. Hell of a day for a walkabout, even with Dave's care package riding on the seat beside her.

But the need to go had been clear.

The purple light had gone off on her computer right after she'd packed her bag to leave in the morning. Maybe she'd scared it off with her fancy new firewall - but her heart couldn't shake the conviction that it quietly approved of her travels.

A little tugboat whose work was done.

And Dave's care package had been on the table when she'd come down for breakfast.

But it was the rocks that had spoken most firmly. Across the waters and not much farther.

She looked out the window at the expanse of gray ocean rolling under the bridge. Water nearly crossed. So long as there was food and a little peace and quiet on the