A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,54

love. It's you. And perhaps the anchor you need is changing too."

Cass's soul rose up in protest. "I don't want to change."

"Indeed." Nan's eyes twinkled now. "And you've done a very good job of dragging your heels."

Cass stared, nonplussed.

Nan turned toward the water. "Home is just beyond the horizon there. Green hills and rocky shores."

"I know that." The shortness in her voice had a mind of its own.

"You believe it's there." Nan had plenty of temper to match. "Even though you've never seen it from here, you believe Ireland's just beyond what your eyes can see, no?"

It was basic geography. "That's different."

"Not so very, child." Strong fingers reached for hers. "What runs through our blood has always been just beyond what our eyes can see, but we know it to be there."

"We hear the rocks." And there it ended. Especially if they stopped making sense.

"Yes, and that comforts me, even when you don't come home nearly often enough. But that's not all that moves in you, and part of you has always known it." Nan paused, her eyes taking in the gray ocean waters. "And part of you has always run from the knowing."

That sliced something Cass hadn't known could bleed. "I'm a traveler, not a runner." Runners were cowards.

"Aye." Nan's voice soothed as skillfully as it had cut. "And you've the courage of ten, love, and I'm not saying any different. You ran to your music, and a glorious thing you've done with it. But when you're ready, there's a piece of the journey you've yet to take."

Cass felt a weight settling on her shoulders. "I'm just a fiddler."

"You've a rare gift. One that you've shared with the world all your adult life."

That sounded final somehow. "I'm not done playing."

Lilting Irish laughter floated out over the water. "Of course you're not." Nan paused a moment, still looking off toward Ireland. "The most powerful thing a woman can know is who she is. You've always had a very good sense of that, and it's taken you far."

It had taken her to the ends of the world and back. Cass wasn't sure she was ready to let go of that. "Who I am is a traveler. A musician."

"Who you were, child of my heart."

Cass felt her frustration bubbling up. "What are you saying?"

Green eyes didn't waver - they never had. "Who you are is changing, my girl. It only remains to be seen if you're willing to listen and brave enough to let Cassidy Farrell grow into the woman and witch she's meant to be next."

To make room for more than the music.

The idea terrified Cass all the way down to her thick wool socks. "How do I do that?" The words hissed through a throat half closed.

"You trust." Wise eyes looked deep into hers. "You're used to being in control of every note. This time, let the song find you."
Chapter 14
It was Nan who had taught Cass that the best cure for a sad heart was to go on living. So she was visiting a friend for breakfast, good Irish oatmeal in the pot under her arm. And trying her damnedest not to be sad.

Even if Nan was winging away on some impersonal plane in the early-morning sky.

Cass took another breath of the sharp morning air as she walked up to Sophie's cottage. And smelled something other than oatmeal and Nova Scotia sea breeze. Paradise - but not the edible kind. She opened the door and sniffed again.

Yes. Yummy and definitely not food.

Curious, she stripped off the layers of woolens that seemed to be having babies the longer she stayed in Fisher's Cove. And then giggled as a stream of creative cursing emanated from the kitchen.

A head popped into the hallway. "Good morning. Come on back. I have my hands full at the moment."

Cass followed Sophie's disappearing shadow - and found herself in the middle of what looked like an exploded herbals shop. "Wow. What happened?"

"I'm making potions." Sophie turned from the stove, her hands covered in something slimy and pink. "My new funnel slipped out of my hands when I was trying to fill the bottles, so I'm hunting for it. It's in this pot somewhere."

Sane people didn't stick their hands into a pot on the stove.

Sophie looked over her shoulder again, eyes kind. "How are you doing today?"

"I'll be okay." Or not, but talking about it wasn't going to help. Cass held up her own pot. "I brought breakfast, if you're hungry. Oatmeal cooked the old Irish way."

"Yumm.