Page 170 of A Winding Wave of Magic
I was quiet for a long minute. Was that what was wrong with me? Had Gran been all wrong the entire time, hiding my status and so much of the fae world from me? Was that the reason that every time I used my abilities, everything devolved into chaos?
“Smell that?” Aoife murmured, watching me.
“Sure, I do,” her nephew replied. “Comes off her in waves, I’ve noticed. When she’s turning over something in her mind. Something important.”
“I never realized how much shifters have in common with seers,” I said dryly, eliciting sharp laughter from my audience.
“What is it, then?” Aoife prodded. “Is it related to why you’ve come here?”
I swallowed, unsure of how much exactly to tell them. Clearly, they knew more about the rumors surrounding Gran than Jonathan or anyone else probably realized. But they didn’t know about my inheritance, my status as an oracle, or the fact that the box Gran had been guarding was currently in a closet on the Connollys’ second floor.
“I can’t explain it entirely,” I said. “Not—not yet, if you don’t mind. But it will require me to meet the Council sooner rather than later. So, I came here to apprentice with Caitlin Connolly. Learn my abilities in ways I never did before. And I’m…struggling, to say the least. But it, um, starts much earlier than that.”
I went back and told them of Gran’s death, but not the package that had arrived. As I described her horrible end, both Aoife and Caomhán shuddered. I talked about meeting Jonathan as the executor of Gran’s estate, and the fact that I was inheriting her position on the Council. And then, without mentioning the part about being proclaimed an oracle, I explained as best I could the nature of my abilities. Their relationship, the touch. The pandemonium of it all.
“So I’m wondering if your theory has something to do with my problems,” I finished. “Maybe I can’t control these things because I’ve been in the dark for too long. Caitlin says I have to find my shape to control things, but maybe I can’t. Maybe something in me died, just like Penny.”
Aoife watched me for a moment more, nostrils twitching as she inhaled. Then she got up without a word and left the room, only to return a few minutes later carrying a bowl of water. She set it on the desk in front of me and resumed her seat behind it.
“Do you See anything now?” she asked. “In that chair, maybe? Something important that happened here?”
I was about to shake my head—since having this conversation, any of the bits and pieces of memories attached to the house had quieted. Perhaps with my focus on family. I really didn’t know. But as soon as she mentioned it, a vision of a little girl with brown pigtails and a blue pinafore sprang from my touch on the chair arm. An adorable, gray-eyed child, pouting as she received chastisement. For what, I couldn’t tell, because just as quickly, she was overrun by sights, smells, and sounds of all sorts.
I pressed both hands to my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. The visions ceased. “I did just then. Too much, as always.” It was like a faucet that either ran at full blast or nothing at all.
“You said you feel calm in the water,” Aoife said. “At peace.”
I nodded. “That’s correct. Penny taught me a mantra, actually, to help calm my Sight.” I closed my eyes, and Gran’s weathered, wise face came to mind. “Touch the water. Breathe the air. Feel the earth. Light the fire. Hear the silence.”
A loud snort emitted from in front of me. I opened my eyes to find both Aoife and Caomhán not even bothering to hide their laughter.
“What?” I demanded, temper flaring. “What’s so funny?”
“Calm down,” Caomhán replied. “Jaysus, Cass, if I didn’t know you had shifter blood before, I would now.”
“Isn’t it just like a witch to steal our song?” Aoife commented.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“That’s a lullaby we sing to the kids, teaching them to control their more, ah, feral instincts,” Caomhán explained with a toothy grin that made him look more like a shark than a seal. “I’m guessing Penny learned it from Ciarán and taught it to you.”
“Not entirely,” Aoife said. “She left half out. Added a line to fit her message.”
“How does it go, then?” I wasn’t sure whether to feel hurt or fascinated. It was such an essential part of my upbringing, this mantra.
“Well, it’s typically in Irish, but I’ll give you the English version for your sake.” Aoife cleared her throat, then sang in a competent, if plain voice:
Touch the water
Breathe air
Light the fire
Hear the silence
Scent the wicked
Taste the good
