Page 146 of A Winding Wave of Magic
Inis Oírr, to be exact, the smallest of the Aran Islands, where no more than a few hundred denizens called each home, but most of whom still spoke Irish as their primary language, and where I was supposedly going to learn how to be the “oracle of a generation” or some rot like that.
I groaned and shoved my heavy head under my pillow as I recalled yesterday’s conversations in front of the fire with the Connollys. Three types of clairvoyance, and supposedly, I was the only seer of my generation to command them all: telepath, bard, and prophet all wrapped in one. Last night, Jonathan had said my dreams were forms of divination, but I wasn’t so sure. A kissing cat and a whirl of water just seemed like sleep-addled wishful thinking to me, not a future prediction, though I found my journal anyway and dutifully logged the entry.
The bird screamed again.No, it called. A lonely gull, crying for fish on the late spring tide.
I sat up, my head a blur, as it had been since leaving Boston. Honestly, I could have used a few more days to acclimate. Get over the jet lag and remember how to speak conversational Irish, not just the academic sort I’d learned in school. Learn the rhythms of this quirky, old-fashioned family and teach them mine, too.
Instead, my guide was deserting me, and Caitlin and I would start my training immediately.
Through the little window, the ocean swelled thick and glassy, calling to me with crash after crash on the rocky shore. I kicked off the blankets and swung my legs to the ground. If I was going to jump into the fire, I was getting wet first.
The house was still quiet when I started down the beach to the nearest surf break, my board balanced on my head. The water was uncharacteristically glassy—a perfect day for a perfect wave.
As soon as the frigid water touched my face, something in me calmed. The fogginess cleared like smoke from a fire. Cold and clean, the water gave me what I craved. And I threw myself into it with abandon.
Two hours later,I returned to the cottage to find Caitlin Connolly scrubbing a big cast iron pot hard enough to make her knuckles turn white. The rest of the kitchen smelled of warm bread and the sweet tang of fresh goat cheese. A glance at the wall clock told me it was just after seven-thirty.
She looked up, startled as I entered the house through the kitchen door. “There you are! Wondered if you’d even be back.” She glanced behind me at the wetsuit dangling over the side of the porch rail. “Jonny said you’d likely gone to the ocean.” The expression on her face made it clear she thought that was absolute lunacy.
“Did he?” I pulled my towel tighter around my swimsuit. “Is he gone?” I wasn’t sure what answer I preferred.
“No, his flight doesn’t leave until ten.” She looked me over as she took up her pan again. “Go upstairs to dress, and I’ll get you some breakfast together.”
I looked around doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
The Connollys had taken me immediately, but I felt a bit awkward treating Caitlin like a bed-and-breakfast. Unfortunately, this kitchen intimidated me out of doing anything more than pouring a glass of water or cutting up anapple. While it did have running water and electricity, Caitlin still cooked with a wood-fired stove and oven and stored necessities in a tiny, ancient refrigerator while the rest of their food was kept in the cellar pantry.
“I could just walk to the village pub for a bite,” I offered.
“The stove is still hot,” Caitlin replied in her no-nonsense way. “I’ll fry up some eggs and rashers while you clean up.”
“You’re amazing,” I told her honestly. I hadn’t eaten this well in my life—even Gran wasn’t a cook like Caitlin.
“Be gone with you,” she said gruffly, though her cheeks shone with pleasure.
Fifteen minutes later,I had traded my wetsuit for a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt and was seated at the kitchen table laid with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, toasted rye bread, churned butter, and two types of jam. The Connollys maintained sixty acres of limestone-divided fields they used to raise sheep, suckling cattle, and a few goats, plus a crooked chicken coop framed by several enclosed fields. Nearly everything on this table was raised right here, and I honestly wondered if anything had ever tasted this good.
“Where is everyone?” I asked through a mouthful of bacon.
“It’s Monday, so the girls are off to school, and Robbie’s in the northeast field with Jonathan, tending the rye.” Caitlin checked the stove to make sure the fire was out, then came to sit with me at the table, a mug of tea in hand. “Which means you and I can finally begin.”
Since arriving yesterday, I’d been on a steep learning curve getting to know the family that had once counted my grandmother as part of them. I still didn’t quite understandthe connection. Gran was in her seventies when she died, but Caitlin couldn’t have been older than forty-five. She talked about Gran like a sister, but Penny would have been old enough to be Caitlin’s mother. It was confusing, but I had been too timid to inquire about the inconsistencies. So far.
Caitlin watched me over the rim of her mug. I took another bite of eggs and then felt a distinct pressure at the corners of my brain.
I swallowed and set down my fork. “Please stop that. I’m trying to eat.”
The pressure ceased, and Caitlin offered a lopsided smile. “Just curious what you’re capable of.”
“If you want to know something, just ask. I’ll probably tell you, but I’d rather do it on my own terms.”
“Smart girl,” she murmured. “Although you’ve got no more shielding skills than the twins do. I needed to know your limits. Gives me an idea of where to start.”
The final bite of bread seemed to stick in my throat. “Now?”
“Well, what did you think we would do once you got settled in? Sightsee?”
I gulped again, forcing the bread down with another sip of tea. “No, of course not.”
