The Cursing Stones

by Sonya Bateman

  They walked to the door, rang the bell, and John answered in less than a minute. “Thank ye for coming,” he said with a smile for Rain and a sidelong glance at Kincaid. “Please, come in.”

  He stepped back, and Rain walked inside first. The cottage was just as neat inside as out, with a lot of wood furniture and cheerful flower prints. There was a fireplace in the den, and the biggest fish she’d ever seen mounted over it on a plaque.

  She shuddered a bit in sympathy. Being able to communicate with animals, she knew how the fish must’ve felt.

  The door closed, and John extended a hand to Kincaid. “John Brannon,” he said. “We haven’t met, but I appreciate any help ye can offer.”

  “Kincaid Nolan.” He shook hands and seemed to relax a little. “I know Lachlan mentioned that he’s not sure what we’re dealing with, since we haven’t seen it. But we’ll do what we can.”

  “All right, and I’m glad for it,” John said. “Anything I should do?”

  “Can you bring Rain here to Mrs. Brannon?” he said. “Oh, and if you have any tacks, they’d be useful.”

  “Course. Right this way, Miss.”

  While Kincaid headed for the corner of the den, Rain followed the man of the house down a short hallway and into a bedroom. Mary Brannon lay on the right side of a large oak frame bed, in what looked to be a troubled sleep. She was a small woman with a cloud of ash-colored curls and laugh lines framing her eyes and mouth. Her skin was pale and waxen, damp with sweat, her closed eyes sunken and ringed with dark discoloration like bruises. She twitched occasionally, and one hand clutched the coverlet tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

  She moaned softly and John rushed to her side, taking her hand and smoothing damp tendrils of hair from her forehead. “I’ve brought help, Mary luv,” he said, his voice breaking at the end. “We’re going to be all right. Ye’ll get better, I promise.”

  Rain’s heart ached for the both of them. Somehow, she had to find a way to save this woman. “John,” she said as a thought occurred. “Curses are usually laid by someone. Do you know anyone who’d want to harm your wife?”

  He stared at her as if she’d asked the question in Greek. “No one,” he said. “She was a school teacher before she retired. And she’d never hurt a fly, my Mary.” He squeezed his wife’s hand gently. “Ye think someone did this to her?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Just making sure we’ve got every possibility covered.” She offered a smile and hoped it was encouraging. “I will need a few tacks, if you’ve got them.”

  “Aye, we do. Back in a moment.”

  John left the bedroom, and Rain walked slowly toward the woman in the bed. She wasn’t sure why the idea that someone had cursed Mary popped into her head, but her intuition — which she’d never bothered listening to much before — told her she was on the right track.

  But if that was true, then someone had technically cursed a banshee and sent it after Mary. It’d have to be someone powerful to pull off a spell like that.

  Before she could follow this new, dark path of her thoughts, something grabbed her hand. She managed not to scream. It was Mary, and her eyes were open. Wide and bloodshot, staring at her.

  “Druid,” the woman rasped. “Did you send the spirit for me?”

  Rain frowned. She was starting to see why Kincaid was so uncomfortable around the villagers — and she wondered how Mary had known she was a druid, since she’d never met the woman. “No, I didn’t.” she said. “I’m here to help you. My friend and I brought protection spells.” She brandished the bundle of twigs.

  “Protection,” Mary mumbled, her eyes closing slowly. Then she forced them open with a gasp. “It spoke to me,” she said. “What did it mean?”

  “Um. I don’t know. What did it say?”

  “It whispered in my head, right before it screamed.” The woman relaxed again, her gaze unfocusing. “It said … for the sins of thy fathers, I curse thee.”

  The words sent shivers down Rain’s spine. Before she could try to process anything, Mary’s eyes closed. Her breathing eased, and her hand fell away.

  Just then, John came back into the room with a box of plastic pushpins. “Will these do?” he said.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  She hung the protection bundle quickly, tacking it to the wall through the ends of the ribbon, and then took leave of the couple and went to find Kincaid. He’d just finished sprinkling the last corner of the house and was coming into the den. “I found out something,” she told him. “No idea if it’s going to help, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “Let’s go, and I’ll tell you.”

  John Brannon was a moment behind her. He thanked them profusely as he saw them to the door, overriding Kincaid’s attempts to remind him that they weren’t sure if this would work. The man seemed convinced it was over and his wife would be okay.

  Before they left, Rain scribbled her cell number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Listen, call me if anything happens,” she said. “Anything. All right?”

  “I will,” he said. “I can’t thank ye enough.”

  She was tempted to reply with one of her father’s favorite sayings: don’t thank me yet. Instead, she said goodbye and followed Kincaid back to the bike.

  “So.” Kincaid frowned. “What did you find out?”

  “The banshee spoke.”

  “Banshees don’t speak,” he said. “They wail.”

  “I know.” She decided to leave her intuition out of it for now and stick to the facts. “But Mary said it spoke to her. In her head, not out loud. And it said, ‘For the sins of thy fathers, I curse thee’.”

  “Bloody hell. That sounds bad.”

  She nodded. “I have to let my father know,” she said. “But I’ll just call him for now. There’s something else I have to work on, and right now we can only wait to see what happens tonight.”

  “Aye, true enough.” Kincaid grabbed the helmets from the handlebars and gave her the red one, while he took the black. “Where to, then?”

  “The apothecary.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You know it’s closed, right?”

  “Yes. Poppy and I talked Da’ in to letting me reopen it.” Her mouth twitched down as she recalled the condition. “But I have to work with someone I don’t know, or at least I don’t remember knowing. Her name’s Brigid.”

  Kincaid’s mouth fell open. “Brigid?” he blurted. “Lachlan wants her to work with people? He must be—” He cut himself off and stared hard at her. “You really mean to tell me that you don’t remember my sister.”

  “Your…” Suddenly a flood of memories came rushing in. A flame-haired girl with a fiery temper to match, such a terror that she had to be removed from the school because she kept hexing the teachers. A girl whose personality switch was permanently set to brutal honesty, who had once suggested that they set her Poppy out on an ice floe like the Inuits did with their elders when they became useless. For as long as she could remember, everyone just called her the Witch — and Rain had forgotten her actual name. “Oh, Lord,” she said as her eyes widened. “That Brigid.”

  “Aye. She is the only Brigid on the island.” Shaking his head, Kincaid smirked and strapped his helmet into place. “Well, good luck working with her,” he said. “It was nice knowing you.”

  “Thanks a lot,” she drawled. “I feel better already.”

  Chapter 19

  Druid Encampment – The Apothecary

  When Rain got her first look inside the shop, she spent a good long moment wishing she knew a few cleaning spells.

  The electricity was still on. All the better to see the dust, grime, and outright damage that had accumulated in the apothecary over four years of abandonment. Most of the fixtures seemed solid, if filthy. The shelves, bins, tables, and cabinets were made from carved oak, built to last centuries — and had, so far. But at least two of the light fixtures had shattered, and there was a huge spider-web crack in the glass display case tha
t ran along the back, next to the register.

  The sight of the big, old-fashioned brass register sparked a vivid memory of a cow standing in the shop.

  Glynis had posted prices on everything she offered at the apothecary, but she didn’t collect much money from her customers. If they couldn’t afford it, they didn’t pay. Some paid in favors or trade instead of money. And once, a farmer had insisted on giving Glynis a full-grown cow as payment for a hair growth tonic.

  She’d been a beautiful Charolais with a fawn-and-white coat, huge brown eyes, and a face that always seemed to be smiling. The poor thing had been so confused at being indoors and surrounded by people who didn’t look at all like her herd, but she’d stood there and let children pet her for a while before Glynis finally brought her outside. She kept the cow out back of the apothecary, by the stream-fed pond where she cultivated comfrey and bergamot and water mint. After about a week, she’d had a few of the camp boys bring the cow home to her herd in the middle of the night.

  Sweet and gentle as she was, the villagers had still turned on Glynis. And maybe they’d do the same thing to Rain if she made a mistake. But she had to try and help them anyway. Right now, that meant cleaning up this mess and opening for business.

  Which was going to take longer than she’d hoped.

  First, she decided to take inventory of everything that was left. She went to the space under the register and found the stack of notepads that were always kept there, dusty and warped but still usable, along with a few grease pens. The display case had been cleaned of everything but a small pile of dark, polished stones and a handful of raven feathers, so she started with the herb drawers.

  Most were empty. A few were filled with dust or sludge that used to be herbs, and the drawer for basil leaves was half-stuffed with shredded cotton, for some reason. There was hardly anything usable left.

  As she moved to the rolltop bins, movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Something white and fluttering. She turned, but saw nothing.

  Then a small voice whispered, “Are you a witch?”

  Her heart stuttered and raced. Breathing slowly, she faced the back of the store and saw a girl no more than sixteen or seventeen in a stained white dress, crouching behind the display case and peeking nervously around the corner. “Hello?” she said cautiously. “Um. Who are you?”

  “I said, are you a witch?” The girl’s eyes were wide and frightened, and she was practically trembling.

  “No, I’m not a witch. I’m a druid.” Rain took a slow step forward.

  “Stay back!” the girl shouted breathlessly. “You’re a witch. I know you are.”

  “I’m not. Promise.” She bit her lip and glanced around, as if something in the apothecary would tell her why this girl was here — and what she should do about it. “My name is Rain Finlay,” she said. “What’s yours?”

  “Isobel,” the girl whispered.

  “All right, Isobel. Will you come out here?”

  “As long as you’re not a witch.”

  “Nope. Still a druid.”

  Isobel stood slowly and stared at her from behind the counter with shocked blue eyes. “I thought no one would come back,” she said. “It’s been so long. So quiet.”

  “Why are you here?” Rain said. “Are you from the village?”

  The girl shook her head. “I live here.”

  “You’re with the clan?”

  “No. I live here,” Isobel said, sweeping her arms out.

  Rain frowned. “You live in the apothecary.”

  “Yes. No one’s been here in … wait.” Isobel pursed her lips and came around the counter slowly. The rags of her dress hung just below her knees, and her feet were bare. Had she really been living here alone, all this time? “I know you,” the girl said. “Well, I don’t know you. But you were here before, when the people were.”

  “Well, yes,” she said, startled all over again. “I used to work in the shop. But how did you know that? Are your parents on the island somewhere?

  Just then, Rain heard the apothecary door open. She turned and caught a flash of bright red hair and a sneering expression before a female voice snapped, “Who the hell are you talking to?”

  “Brigid?” She couldn’t help staring. Kincaid’s sister was stunningly beautiful. Long ember-red hair, flawless skin the color of cream, grass-green eyes, and a perfect figure. But those eyes were cold and mocking, and the cruel, haughty look on her face made a lie of her physical appearance. “I, um—”

  “You must be Rhiannon. And you must be deaf, too,” Brigid said. “Let me repeat. Who were you talking to?”

  “The girl,” she finally managed. “Right there by the counter. She…” But when she turned to point, Isobel was gone.

  With Brigid’s entrance, she couldn’t really blame the girl for hiding. She kind of wanted to join her, wherever she’d went.

  “Great,” Brigid said, throwing her hands in the air as she stalked further inside. “I finally get an apprentice, and she’s insane.”

  “Apprentice?” Rain stammered.

  “Yes, apprentice.” Brigid flashed an unpleasant grin. “Your father’s informed me that you’re an idiot, and I’m to watch you carefully to make sure you don’t poison any of those worthless villagers. I know everything there is to know about herbal spellwork. And you’re an outsider.”

  Rain felt sick. Her father couldn’t have actually said those things. Could he? “I’m not an outsider,” she said. “I was born here, same as you.”

  “And you’ve been gone five years. That makes you an outsider.” Brigid ran a finger across a nearby shelf and crinkled her perfect button nose at the filth coating her fingertip. “This place is disgusting,” she said. “Cleaning is your job. I’ve got my hands full gathering enough stock to serve the unwashed masses, for all the good my work’ll do them. They’re not smart enough to use it properly.”

  Rain clenched her teeth. “Wow. That’s really impressive,” she said. “I don’t know how you can stand being so amazing. It must be exhausting.”

  “Watch yourself, apprentice. I’m not above hexing you if you get out of line.”

  “Try it.”

  Brigid laughed. It was the most cheerless sound Rain had ever heard. “Well, you’ve got a lot of work to do here,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it. But you’d better work fast, because I’ll expect you to have everything ready for the stock I’m bringing in the morning.”

  Rain had to practically bite her tongue to keep from saying something nasty as Brigid walked out, still laughing.

  The door closed, and she let out a long sigh. She’d worry about Brigid — and her father — later. Right now there was a homeless girl somewhere in the apothecary, and she had to do something about that. She just had no idea what.

  “All right, then. She was a witch.”

  Rain flinched at the sound of Isobel’s voice. “I’ll give you that,” she said as she spotted the girl hiding behind the cabinet. “Why did you run off?”

  “Because of the witch.” Isobel stepped out cautiously. “Is she gone?”

  “Yes.” Rain cleared her throat. “But she’ll be back. Listen, you can’t stay here anymore,” she said.

  The girl looked startled. “Why not?”

  “Because we’re going to reopen the shop,” she said. “Me and the witch.”

  “Oh, no.” Isobel’s lip trembled on the verge of tears. “I don’t like her,” she said. “But I’ll stay away from her. I won’t bother anyone, I promise.”

  Rain’s heart sank at the desperation in the girl’s tone. “Don’t you have anywhere to go?” she said. “Family, friends … anyone?”

  She shook her head, and whispered, “Please don’t banish me.”

  “Banish?”

  “I don’t want to be banished. I like it here.” Isobel crossed to the display case and went behind the counter, then turned to face her. “Please let me stay? I can be very quiet.”

  Rain could only gape at the girl.
Her mind was still trying to process what her eyes had just seen. Isobel had walked through the counter to get behind it. “Er. You’re…”

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re a ghost,” she blurted.

  Isobel gave a little sniff. “I prefer spirit, or being,” she said. “Ghosts are scary.”

  “Good Lord,” Rain said weakly. This was just terrific. She had a horrible witch of a druid giving her orders, who thought she was crazy because the ghost haunting the shop was too scared of her to show herself.

  So much for the apothecary making her life easier.

  Chapter 20

  Druid Encampment – Finlay Cabin

  “No, I did not tell that girl yer an idiot, or that I thought ye’d poison anyone.”

  Rain glared at her father from the middle of the main room, where she stood so she wouldn’t touch anything. After five straight hours of cleaning, scrubbing, and scouring, she was coated with filth. Not to mention exhausted, frustrated, and more than a little angry. He hadn’t even glanced at her when she came in. “Well, she said you did. She also said that I’m her apprentice.”

  “That last bit’s the only true thing she said, then.”

  “What?” Rain nearly shouted. “Da’, I’m not going to be that witch’s apprentice. She’s awful.”

  “Aye, she is.” He finally looked up from his work table, and there was no compromise in his stare. “But that’s how it works in this clan,” he said. “If ye don’t know a thing, ye learn it from someone who does. Being my daughter does not exempt ye from the rules.”

  “I wasn’t asking for an exemption.”

  “Aren’t ye?”

  “No!” she said. “I just … isn’t there someone else I can learn from? What about Kincaid?”

  “Master Nolan has other duties. He’ll not have time to tend that shop.” Her father drummed his fingers on the table. “Brigid may be a right terrible example of a human being, but when it comes to herbs and potions, she’s the best there is. Ye’ll learn from her.”

  She started to protest again, but then she realized something. He thought she couldn’t do it — or maybe that she wouldn’t, and she’d quit. Then again, he had to know that would only make her more determined. So he might be trying to goad her into learning the spellwork.