Page 111 of Twist of Fate
“Twenty-five,” I reply. “And you might be surprised. I was a spoiled, self-centered brat during uni.” And for every year before that. “Everything came easily to me. I took nothing seriously, and the only thing I really cared about was rugby.”
“So, what changed?”
“My father wanted me to work for him. I—” I swallow a ball of nervousness, unable to reveal the truth to her. Sure, I promised my da I wouldn’t share the sordid details of my forced exile, but I know that’s not the only reason I’m withholding my real name—my full name.
I’m ashamed.
Ashamed of how I handled myself and how I lived my life with such reckless abandon that my own father walked away from me.
“I didn’t want to work for him, so I decided to do my own thing, and that’s how I ended up here. And then I guess I just grew the fuck up.”
“Good for you for knowing what you wanted—or at least what you didn’t want. That takes guts.”
If she only knew.
“Rock!” Her hand shoots out, and I turn to see where she’s pointing.
“Oh, good. We’re here.”
“Where is here?”
“The Witch’s Stone.”
“Shut up! Are you serious?” Then she grabs my hand and pulls me the rest of the way. The excitement in her voice makes me feel like a fucking king.
Usually, this is one of the busier spots in the gardens—because who doesn’t love witches—but thankfully, we’re the only ones here right now. I offer a brief word of thanks to the witches or Druids or whoever the fuck lingers in these woods, because all I want is some alone time alone with this girl.
“Okay, what’s the story, Tour Guide?”
She thinks she’s taunting me, but strangely enough, hearing her call me that kind of turns me on. “Well, there was this witch—” I motion to the boulder. We’re standing in front of the sign, and from this angle, it’s about five feet tall and maybe three feet wide. The smooth surface on top is adorned with coins from dozens of countries and even a few trinkets and treasures. “They call her the Witch of Blarney.”
“Blarney, you say?” she teases. “Original. What else?
“Legend has it that she has been around since the dawn of time and was the one who informed MacCarthy about the power of the Blarney Stone.”
“That’s one old witch. All right, continue.”
I can’t help but grin as it tugs at my lips. She’s so feisty today. “At some points, she was captured and put into the stone.”
“In the stone? How does that even happen?
“How the hell do I know? Magic?”
“Okay, so she’s inside the stone. Like her spirit? Her ghost? Or her whole damn body?”
“Her soul, maybe? Who knows.” I shrug because, honestly, the entire story sounds made up to me, and I’ll show her why in just a second.
“So, why the coins? Do I get to make a wish?”
“You will, but not here,” I say. This is the only stop I have planned. “The coins are meant to keep her tethered to the stone during the day.”
“Just during the day? Wait, does that mean she can get out?” She takes a step back but ends up slamming into me instead.
I let out a deep, rumbling laugh as my hand wraps around her waist to steady her.
“Are you planning to stay past closing?” My mouth is just inches from her ear. She shivers.
“No.”
