Wild Irish Witch

by Tricia O'Malley

  “I can’t believe this is ours. It’s perfect,” Fiona beamed up at John as he lowered her to the bed.

  “I want everything to be perfect for you. My kind-hearted, beautiful bride. I would give you the world if I could,” John said, caging her on the mattress with his arms, his eyes alight with love.

  “Thank you for my chair, for our home, for being you. You’ve made this the perfect day― I can’t wait to start our life together,” Fiona said, reaching up to run her hand down his cheek.

  “How about our family? Think you’d like being a mother, Fiona?”

  With her heart in her throat, Fiona nodded.

  She would do anything to keep a piece of John with her. Forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Fiona stood at the kitchen sink, whistling as she washed a bowl out, mindlessly daydreaming. It was a grey day, as was wont to happen during a winter in Ireland, but her mood was anything but.

  Well, it was almost spring, and Fiona could feel it in the air. The subtle changes, the popping up of a few shoots of leaves, and the birth of new life.

  John wrapped his arms around her from behind, and Fiona leaned back into him, enjoying his warmth and solid presence behind her.

  It had been almost nine months since their wedding day, and true to his word, they had started a family on their wedding night. Fiona had known it, just as she now knew she carried a daughter. She’d dreamed about her― a little girl with strawberry blonde hair and sherry colored eyes, but she didn’t yet know which magickal gift would be bestowed upon her bloodline.

  Both sets of grandparents-to-be were over the moon about the impending arrival, and they’d filled up the second bedroom at the cottage with all sorts of gifts suited for babies all the way up to toddlers.

  Her life with John was perfect. He continued to work with his father, but at Fiona’s prodding, he’d also begun carving and selling his wood furniture. Fiona sat in the rocker he had made for her every night, rocking their baby in her womb, and listening to John tell stories by the fire.

  Fiona’s practice had picked up as well, and not only was she beginning to be paid for healings, but her skincare and tonic line was in high demand. They’d been able to put away a nice nest egg in case of any emergencies and Fiona found there wasn’t much else they needed. She loved her cottage― was thrilled with the cottage. It wasn’t too large, was easy to clean, and was a perfect little spot for her to nest in. She hiked the hills every day― no matter the weather― and had continued her walks even when John had begun to plead with her to stop as she neared the end of her pregnancy. Finally realizing she wasn’t going to stop her walks into the hills, John had given up and started joining her.

  Fiona felt good― strong and healthy― and she just wanted to finish cleaning up her kitchen before her labor started.

  She’d dreamed it the night before. The morning had been spent finishing up some food preparation and now that her kitchen was tidy, she was ready. Closing her eyes and leaning back against John, she gave her body permission to let go.

  As the first twinge of labor hit, she turned and smiled up at John.

  “It’s time.”

  “What? Right now? It’s time?” John’s eyebrows rose and he immediately began to dance around the room, not sure what to do.

  “Call Dr. Collins to come out. I’ll be giving birth here,” Fiona said gently, watching as John raced in circles around the room.

  “Here? But, but…”

  “There won’t be much time. Now, I’ve already covered the bed. Call my mother as well, please. I’m going to heat some water.”

  Fiona laughed to herself the entire time as John ran around in hysterics, and even later― through the pain― she continued to smile and laugh with John hovering over her. She was determined to laugh her way through her daughter’s birth― and in doing so give both her daughter and her husband the gift of a laughing mother and wife.

  And so she smiled her way through her delivery, even when she yelled in pain, she smiled anyway, finally laughing in relief when her daughter was pushed rapidly from her body and into Dr. Collins’ waiting arms.

  “It’s a girl,” Dr. Collins crowed.

  “Do you hear that, Fiona? We’ve got ourselves a pretty baby girl,” John said, clenching Fiona’s hand as he kissed her.

  “Aye, that we do. Baby Margaret.”

  “Welcome to the world, Margaret O’Brien,” John whispered, looking down at the pinch-faced pink baby as she opened her mouth to let out her first wail.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The wails did not stop.

  Fiona smiled down at her inquisitive child, now three years old, as they walked through the hills. Lir, a full-grown sheep now, followed them. Though John had tried to leave Lir at the farm, he’d insisted on following them. Now they owned a small yellow fluffy cat and a pet sheep.

  Margaret squealed and babbled to the sheep before yelling for her mother.

  She had yelled through most of the first year of her life, until Fiona had figured out that her young daughter was an empath. Which meant that whenever she picked up emotions she couldn’t understand, she would communicate in the only way she had known how― by crying.

  John had taken it all in stride, patiently rising to walk with Margaret cradled in his arms, his love always instantly soothing his fussy daughter. Now that Fiona understood her daughter better, she was able to shield her from many of the emotions that pressed at her and caused her such distress.

  Even though they’d had a fairly turbulent first year with Margaret, Fiona was happy here. John continued to be the patient and loving man she’d married and she continued to love him with all her heart. Never a day went by that she didn’t wake in the morning and thank God for one more day with this man who loved her and Margaret so.

  Even Celeste had commented on how happy John was. She’d had one drink too many one night and admitted she hadn’t thought Fiona was going to be a good fit for her son. Yet three years later, John positively hummed with happiness and nobody could deny that he was a dedicated father.

  “You’re going to see grandma and grandpa today,” Fiona said down to Margaret as they hiked across the hill back towards the cottage. Bridget had requested a day with Margaret in the village, which would give Fiona a day on her own to work on one of her tonics that wasn’t quite where she wanted it to be yet.

  “Puppy?” Margaret asked, looking up at her with her two pigtails bouncing.

  “Yes, Grandma will take you to see the puppy,” Fiona agreed, smiling down at her daughter. There was a new litter of puppies at a farm down the road from her parents’ house in the village. Bridget had been taking Margaret to see the puppies each week to watch them grow.

  John stood by his truck, holding a little bag that Fiona knew carried some of Margaret’s favorite toys. As soon as Margaret saw John, she raced across the grass as fast as her little legs would take her and he bent down to swing her high into the air when she reached him. Her giggles were contagious and Fiona was laughing by the time she reached them.

  “She wants to see the puppies. Tell mum she should take her,” Fiona said.

  “Aye, I’m sure she knows. That’s all Margaret talks about is the puppies,” John said. He held Margaret in the crook of his arm and bent down to slide his lips over Fiona’s in a searing kiss. The years had not dampened their love as Fiona had initially feared. Instead, it seemed to grow stronger and hotter each day― all but consuming her. Margaret patted both of their cheeks as they kissed, causing Fiona to turn and laugh at her.

  “A kiss for you too, my little queen,” Fiona said, smooching her daughter before turning to give John one last kiss.

  “I love you,” Fiona breathed against his lips. Every time she kissed him, she felt like a thread of power wrapped around them, creating a small circle of love that pulsed with its own energy.

  “I love you even more,” John said as brushed his hand across her cheek, his eyes warm with love.

  She se
nt them on their way, her mind already on the tonic she couldn’t figure out. Fiona was quite certain that if she added a little anise, it might just do the trick.

  Hours later, Fiona was deep into mixing a fresh batch of tonic― having discarded what she had started working on that morning― when the phone rang.

  A wave of foreboding hit Fiona so hard she gasped, the spoon she held clattering against the bowl as she dropped it. Turning, Fiona stared at the phone― still a novelty to them this far out in the country― as it jangled loudly from its small table in the kitchen.

  Fiona wiped palms that were now sweaty on her pants and moved briskly to the phone, shaking her head at herself. It could very well be nothing. She always defaulted to the worst case scenario in her mind. She picked up the phone, cradling the smooth receiver by her ear, and took a deep breath.

  “Hello?”

  “Fiona, it’s John. We’ve had a bit of an accident here. I think Margaret’s broken her leg.” Fiona could hear Margaret howling in the background and every motherly instinct she had kicked into gear.

  “I’m coming.”

  “No, stay. We’re on our way out. It will be easier to bring her to you and have you heal her in our home. We’re leaving right now.”

  Fiona almost told him to stay― that she would come to them.

  It was an ignored impulse she would regret for the rest of her life.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Fiona paced outside the cottage, praying that Margaret would be okay and that it was just a simple break that could be easily fixed.

  Clouds had rolled in, as they were wont to do in Ireland, and the broody grey day suited Fiona’s anxious mood. Lir toddled around the cottage and out towards the field to investigate if there were any plants that he had missed grazing on. Fiona strained her ears, listening for the approach of the truck, as she paced, her nails digging into her palm.

  The noise of an engine finally greeted her ears and Fiona blew out a breath in relief. There was nothing worse than waiting― feeling as though she was powerless to make a difference. Now that they were almost here, Fiona could take action instead of just sitting there worrying.

  Fiona tensed as she saw John’s truck race around the corner of the road that hugged the cliffs.

  But what was happening? The truck was going impossibly fast and Fiona’s heart quite simply stopped― just for an instant― when she saw her father’s face behind the wheel. John sat in the passenger seat, cradling Margaret, a look of terror splashed across his face.

  They say that things happen so quickly― in an instant, really. Yet for Fiona each hairs-breadth of a second hung suspended, dragging out over an eternity, as the truck careened into the low stone wall, its speed and trajectory causing it to launch into the air. It flew for a moment― while Fiona’s life hung in the balance― before it crashed on its nose, toppling end over end, the cab crushing in on itself in an awful sound of crushing glass and bent metal.

  It was as though she had flown. Fiona had no recollection of racing across the fields, her heart in her throat, tears streaming from her face, screams echoing across an empty field.

  What greeted her was utter destruction. She took in every detail and yet couldn’t bear to look.

  Fiona crouched by the flattened cab, closing her eyes for a second before her mind tried to take in what she was forced to look at.

  Her family― her heart― lay crumbled in a tangle of limbs and blood. It was hard to make out who was who, until Fiona could focus on where John had turned his body to shield Margaret, cupping her into his embrace. Margaret stared out at Fiona, her eyes dazed as shock began to set in.

  Fiona almost choked on a sob when John let out a breath that rattled deep in his chest. It sounded like the death rattle heard on battlefields, and Fiona knew instantly that she was about to go into war.

  Reaching out, she placed her hands on her daughter’s chest, and gasped when they were met with a sticky wetness. Pulling her hand back, horror roiled over her as she saw blood dripping from her fingers.

  “No, no, no,” Fiona began to keen, and closing her eyes, she reached back in and began to do a mental scan of Margaret’s small body. Her eyes flashed open as she realized how close to death Margaret’s tiny frame was. Gulping back tears, Fiona pulled her hands back and touched John next, doing a mental scan of his body.

  It was worse than she expected, the blue light of his soul barely flickering, like a flame caught in a breeze.

  “John, no,” Fiona sobbed, so scared she didn’t know what to do.

  “Save. Her,” John breathed, his eyes slitting open for a moment to focus on Fiona. “Love you. Now and forever.”

  His eyes closed and Fiona wailed, feeling― for the first time in ages― completely helpless.

  Her hands trembled as she wrapped them around Margaret’s mid section and closed her eyes. Damned if she was going to listen to John, Fiona thought. She’d save them all― even if it meant she would die trying.

  Her hands shook as her power poured from her, filling Margaret’s body with light, as Fiona raced against time to heal the wounds that threatened to take her small daughter’s soul into the next world.

  “Stay with me, baby,” Fiona whispered frantically as she raced through her daughter’s body― knitting bones, healing torn arteries, and piecing together a skull fracture that made her dizzy just looking at it. As she neared the end of her healing, Fiona’s entire body began to shake with exertion, her seemingly endless supply of healing power sapped.

  “Momma, momma, momma,” Margaret whispered, her eyes open, as she blinked up at Fiona.

  “Oh, honey, oh I love you,” Fiona sobbed, wiping blood from her daughter’s cheek. Gently, she untangled John’s arms from around Margaret and pulled her from the wreck, hugging her tightly once and then laying her down on the grass next to her.

  “Baby, you must stay still. I have work to do,” Fiona said to Margaret, biting out each word as she bent and stuck half of her body into the crushed cab of the truck to wrap her arms around John. Closing her eyes, she went deep within, racing through John’s body with her mind’s eye, trying desperately to find the flame of his soul.

  When the smallest flicker of light greeted her, Fiona wept, pressing her face against John’s chest, not caring that his blood ran over her cheeks.

  “John, you can’t leave me. Stay strong, my love,” Fiona whispered, near exhaustion from her first healing, but determined not to let the light of John’s soul slip into the next world. She closed her eyes, power flowing from her hands, as she began to work on the largest injury she could find, a tear of his carotid artery. Blackness crept over her vision as she dazedly tried to repair the torn artery.

  “Fiona, you must stop.” A gentle voice with a hint of steel behind it washed over her. Fiona ignored it, so focused was she on trying to save her husband― the man she would love for all time.

  “Fiona, I am ordering you to stop this instant,” the voice said again, and this time, it came with a mental slap of energy that made Fiona pause in her healing. Being interrupted at something so serious infuriated her and she turned to scream at the voice.

  Fiona froze.

  The land behind her was gone, as was her daughter sitting next to her on the ground. Instead, Fiona seemed to be almost floating in a cylindrical tunnel of white and blue light, with warm rays of pure love caressing her skin.

  “What is happening?” Fiona croaked, turning to look back at John’s body, only to find that she could no longer see him either.

  “You’re killing yourself,” Grace O’Malley stepped into the light. Fiona knew instantly who it was, as she’d seen a rendering of Grace in the leather-bound book that had been passed down from generation to generation. Her eyes burned fierce, waves of hair flowed from beneath a red scarf, and she wore a regal dress. Grace threw her chin up and tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

  “I’m not killing myself. I’m saving John,” Fiona said, desperate to get back to healing the
love of her life.

  “You can’t heal them both. Your father either. You must choose,” Grace said, her hands at her hips.

  “I can’t choose. You can’t force me to make that decision. They all matter to me in different ways― different types of love,” Fiona gasped, pain ratcheting through her chest as she thought about what she could lose.

  “If you continue to try to heal John, you will die. You must choose to stay alive and be a mother to your daughter― while also healing hundreds upon thousands of people in your lifetime― or lose your life yet save your husband. You can’t have both.”

  It was like a thousand pounds of weight crushed against Fiona’s chest and she gasped for breath, frozen. How could she make such a decision?

  “I’ll save John then,” Fiona decided, immediately offering up her life.

  Grace walked forward and stopped in front of Fiona, reaching out to smooth her hand down Fiona’s cheek― much as Bridget did to offer comfort.

  “Daughter of my daughters, you’ve been given a great gift. One of lifetime, really. You’re needed in this world. The lives you save in the future will one day shape the pillars of our society― our world as we know it. In order to become the healer who can change the world, you must know sacrifice. Until you come this close to the edge and come back, you’ll never be a true healer. This is your line― this is where you decide if you live or die. Though the choice is yours, as I can’t impinge on your free will, I will strongly suggest you stay and be a mother to your child as well as a healer to this world. Even if it means losing your husband and your father.”

  Tears raced down Fiona’s face, clogging her vision, making it difficult both to breathe and to see. There was no way she could make this choice.

  And yet, with a finality that ripped her heart in two, she knew that she must.

  Her head hung low as she nodded once.

  “I’ll bring him to you in your sleep. John will walk your dreams with you. It’s the best I can do, to alleviate such a loss. I’m sorry, a ghra, my love, blood of my blood. It must be this way,” Grace said softly, the light beginning to dim as she faded away.