A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,53

was contagious.

"You can tell me what's in her music. It pulled my son here all the way from California."

Shock hit Nan's face. "That's not possible."

That wasn't the answer Nell was looking for. "People say that about Aervyn a lot. They're almost never right."

Sophie spoke quietly, still standing over by the counter. Always the watcher. "Maybe a different question will help."

Nan met the eyes of her fellow healer. "And what would that be, heart sister?"

Sophie's face flashed surprise at the old form of address. "Aervyn wasn't the first person pulled here. Cass arrived, and now you've come."

Ah. Moira hadn't connected all those dots. She smiled at Nan. "The quiet ones always have the trickiest questions."

"Indeed." And when their visitor spoke this time, it was with deep respect. "It's a very good one - and perhaps teases at the answer as well." She looked over at Nell. "I'm wondering if perhaps your boy has a touch of the old magics."

For the first time, fear flitted across their warrior witch's face. "Aervyn doesn't have just a 'touch' of anything."

The old magics were fickle, unpredictable, and largely untrainable. Moira felt the fear taking root in her own heart.

"The rock magics are gentle and steady. They're not to be feared." Said with all the conviction a wise Irish grandmother could bring to bear. "I've listened to the rocks my whole life. If your boy hears them, that's a thing to celebrate. The old magics are dying."

That they were. But still, Moira worried. Very little was easy with their small boy.

"Your son has a dangerous life ahead of him." Nan spoke to Nell, her eyes not flinching from the truth. "If he hears her music, perhaps my Cass is meant to help him one day."

Nell nodded, her eyes gazing out a window and far away. "Perhaps." A mother readying for the unknowable.

Moira's heart hurt for the mother of the small boy she adored. Even for their very bravest, power could be a heavy burden.

The sounds of music from the parlor swirled down the hallway. Something happier now. More rousing.

Moira leaned into its comfort. And tried to trust.

They'd somehow ended up back on the beach.

Cass pulled her new hat, knit late into a night of insomnia, down over her ears. "It's colder today."

"You didn't finish your porridge. Nothing keeping your belly warm."

Nan was a great believer in the powers of a bowl of morning oatmeal. Cass scowled. "I ate enough."

The old lady beside her merely gazed out at the winter waves. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you, a leanbh mo chroi, or are you just going to sulk and grump?"

Forty-four was probably a bit old for sulking. "The rocks - they're not making sense." Just quiet, monotone humming. Nan was one of the few people on earth who would understand how disturbing that was. "For two days now."

"Ah. Interesting."

The Irish never spoke in one-word sentences. "What's interesting?"

"It sounds to me like they've a message for you."

"And what would that be, exactly?" The sulks were back in full force.

"I think you know, child." Nan's voice carried steel - she'd always been tolerant of exuberance and strong feelings, but never of poor manners.

"Sorry." Cass kicked a rock in disgust. "This is the time of year when I let everything go and come here to relax and remember why I play in the first place. I didn't expect mysterious messages." Or all the other things that had come with her arrival in Fisher's Cove.

"I think that's exactly right." Nan looked entirely too pleased. "Remembering why you play. That's precisely what the rocks are asking you to think about, Cassie mine."

Now her grandmother was being just as mysterious as the rocks. "I play because I love music."

"Aye." A long pause, punctuated by two mad seagulls and one very unlucky oyster. "And?"

Because it filled a space in her soul nothing else could touch. Because it made the rocks dance. But none of those were new. "Something's changing."

"Yes. For forty-odd years, the rocks have done nothing but support and anchor you."

Fear battered the inside of Cass's ribs. "And what, I don't need an anchor anymore?"

"That's the question of an impudent teenager." A wise healer at her toughest. "And you'll not get anywhere at untangling the mess in your heart until you find a better one."

She hadn't been on the receiving end of one of Nan's lectures for almost two decades. Cass blanched, even as she tried to hear the words.

Her grandmother's eyes softened. "It's not the rocks that are changing,