then it makes sense.”
“What are you talking about?” Aerin asked, sweeping her hand through her damp hair. “None of this makes the least bit of sense.”
Claire fiddled with a buckle, her long lashes swept down over her cheeks. “Sometimes, when I look deep enough into the flames, I see… things.”
“What, like dead people?”
“Maybe? No. I don’t know. Like scenes of a movie or a montage. If that ever happens, I know that I’m going to see that exact same thing happen again, or hear about it happening later. Usually it’s something awful. Something that terrifies me.” Claire finally lifted her head, tucking her thick locks behind an ear in a self-conscious gesture. “If this Malcolm was anything like me, if he had an affinity for fire… who is to say it’s not called a prophecy?”
Moira went to Claire and sat on her opposite side, placing a hand on her back in a careful way, as though she didn’t expect Claire to accept her gesture. “Sometimes, when the bayou is real still and clear, and no critters have churned the bottom, I’ve seen things in the water.”
Claire’s whiskey eyes brightened. “The future?”
“The past.” Moira’s aquamarine gaze filled with a pain wrought of knowledge that she obviously didn’t want to possess. “Things that have already happened, things I can’t change. Though one time I did see Uncle Red try to fix his carburetor with a frozen catfish on account of its little mouth was stuck open and he was too drunk to tell the difference. So it weren’t all bad.” They chuckled.
Aerin’s mouth was suddenly dry, but she forced her admission through lips drawn tight with trepidation. “I—feel things.”
“You sure about that?” Moira asked sardonically.
“I mean it,” Aerin tried to keep the sharpness out of her words, but it didn’t work. “I can feel…” She looked for a description that didn’t sound too hokey, eschewing words like “energy,” “vibrations,” and “empathy.” She didn’t want to sound like she was some kind of bullshit hippy.
Cringing, she threw Tierra an apologetic look, though the woman had yet to look up from the book and Aerin was pretty sure she couldn’t read minds.
“I can sense change in electromagnetic wavelengths caused by the alterations in the neurotransmitters or chemicals of the pituitary, amygdala, hypothalamus, and endocrine system. Namely oxytocin, adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, norepinephrine, peptides, et cetera.” Letting a deep rush of breath out of her throat, she realized that she felt lighter. “Feels good to get that off my chest. I’ve never admitted that out loud before.”
Looking up, she met more than one blank stare. “I’m still not sure you’ve exactly admitted to anything.” Tierra wrinkled her forehead.
“Other than the fact you may have violently raped a medical dictionary at some point,” Claire snarked.
“She’s sayin’ that she can feel other people’s emotions, ain’t that right?” Moira arched an eyebrow.
“Yes. Kind of. Maybe.” This was crazy. They all sounded insane.
“You all should have been there the first-time plants and animals started communicating with me.” Tierra rolled her eyes. “I thought I was losing my mind, but it was just my earth magic manifesting itself. I suppose I was lucky to be raised by a witch, so she could tell me just what was going on.”
Aerin held a hand to her roiling stomach, wishing like hell everyone would stop saying stuff like that. Magic. Witches. It was all too fucking weird.
“Listen to this, guys.” Tierra jangled a hand at them. “This Malcolm de Moray writes that he is a Druid and King of the Picts. He wields earth magic, like me!”
“de Moray,” Claire repeated the name. “What is he like a million generations back great-grandfather?”
Tierra studied the book, chewing on her lower lip. “Apparently. He says that three de Morays are granted innate elemental and seasonal powers every generation since the evolution of man. His sister, Morgana is a water witch, and his cousin, Kenna, is a fire witch.” She looked up to Claire. “She must have the gift of prophecy, like you.” Claire gave a low whistle.
“He writes that there’s a prophecy in this book, written in the language of the first Celts that is called the Doomsday Prophecy or the Prophecy of Four.
Aerin was almost afraid to ask, which meant she bowled ahead and did it anyway. “What does the prophecy say?”
“He said that he’s translated it into English for he knows that’s the language we’ll speak.”
Tierra didn’t seem like the kind of woman who easily rattled, so when she shifted her feet and took a