Page 14 of A Winding Wave of Magic
I carried the smoking bundle with me back into the hallway and into the pink-tiled bathroom, where I ran a steaming hot bath. As the water ran, I waved the smoke around the small room, forcing myself to breathe it in while I chanted the words I knew so well.
A Bhríd, beannaigh an teach. Cosain sinn. Dall orainn. Coinnigh slán muid ó fhuaim.
Brigid, bless this house. Protect us. Blind us. Keep us safe from sound.
“Light the fire,” I hummed as my breath caused the embers I held to burn, then turn to smoke and ash. “Touch the water.” I reached down to let the running water flow through my fingers. Its porous essence instantly calmed me. “Breathe the air.” I followed suit. “Feel the earth.” The tile would have to do as I flexed my toes on the ground. “Hear the silence.”
I extinguished the juniper in the sink, then removed my blanket and folded it on the stool in the corner. The smoke glided over and around me until I felt the urge to cough. Only then did I open the window to release the smoke and the remaining noisy prisoners into the afternoon.
When the air was clear again and the scent of crackling juniper infused the whole of the space, I closed the window. Then I slid into the tub and allowed the water to wash away the day and heat my bones through. Closed my eyes. And enjoyed some peace at last.
I awokesome hours later after moving from the tub to my bed and promptly falling asleep. I shoved my hands over myforehead, feeling more tired than normal. It was the smoke, maybe. But I checked my watch to find that it was nearly seven o’clock at night. I had slept for more than five hours, lost in my own spell.
“There has got to be a better way to do this,” I muttered as I pushed myself up.
A pair of piercing green eyes appeared in my mind’s eye.
I shook my head at my thoughts. “No, not that. Now get up. You’ve got work to do.”
And I did. Starting with a dissertation to finish. I couldn’t be lolling around on a Saturday evening like I had all the time in the world.
The effects of the smoke were wearing off, but the apartment was still mostly quiet as I padded back out to the kitchen in search of a snack and a cup of lavender tea.
I put on the hot water and sat down at the table to examine my package again. Aja was still out, either at her boyfriend’s or in a study session. More than likely she’d be back for a bit before leaving for another event this evening. If there was going to be a disruption, now was a good time to deal with it.
I set my palm on the box, and this time, I kept it there.
The barrier appeared in my mind again, and this time it stretched against my hand until, with another hard mental poke, it disintegrated completely. A space in the front of my conscious mind opened, like a picture-in-picture where the light had just been turned on.
I had no idea what I had done. I never did, in spite of Gran’s claims that I’d figure it out one day. But now I could truly See the clear yet random overlapping images, sounds, smells, noises, all attached to the journey this package had taken to reach me.
All at once, the memories coalesced. They lost that feathery, cacophonous quality of my own impressions and settled into a scene with perfect clarity. These weren’t my visions—they wereGran’s, bound to the package in a way that I (and likely only I) could See them.
There were her hands, long-fingered and capable, holding the box while she trotted down Laneda Avenue in one of her signature red skirts. I listened to her haggle about postage with Jerry, the scruffy postmaster with the gray handlebar mustache, while she asked if Connie Chapman had gone to the pictures with him. And he had better be careful with that box, else she’d make him think he was a toad. I smiled. No one ever suspected that she could be as good as her word on that one.
“’Tis for Cassie,”Penny confirmed. “A wee care package until she makes her way back home this spring. A present for her graduation, and something else. For therealwork to do on her education.”
“Isn’t Cassie starting a job as a professor?” Jerry wondered as he tapped the address into his computer. “I’d think she’d have enough school, huh?”
Penny shook her head, then pointed her finger at the mailman while she murmured something else under her breath. The motion cast a brief scent of sage through the air, and I recognized the signs of an erasure spell. Once she was out the door, Jerry would have no recollection she was ever there.
“There’s school, and then there’s learning, Jerry. Cassie’s got a lot of the one, but now she’ll get the other. I’ll be making sure of it.”
The kettleon the stove whistled, interrupting me from Gran’s wagging finger. I pulled my hand from the box, and the visions disappeared. I doubted there was much more to See anyway. Gran’s message was clear, the same she’d imparted at Christmas, when I’d last seen her. I was coming home, and there was no getting around it. It was time to finish my education. A seer’s education.
The problem was, I was a terrible pupil. In fact, I was an outright dud.
I preferred my books. My gloves. My quiet apartment.
After making my tea, I tugged the sleeve of my shirt over my hand, then tucked the package under a protected arm and took everything back to my room, still partially protected by the saining. There I took a sip of tea, set the mug on my nightstand, and sat on the bed to sink the blade of a letter opener into the creased tape.
Inside, I found carefully made bundles of juniper and rowan twigs. Enough to last me at least another month or more. I took them out and set them on my desk, relishing the love and care thrilling through each one.
Under those was a soft package wrapped in old newsprint, out of which I drew a brilliant red dress. It wasn’t the first time Gran had sent me something out of her wardrobe. I had a number of sweaters from her childhood home in Ireland. Three vintage mod minidresses from the sixties, a few hats and gloves, and random accessories she thought I might like that would remind me of her with memories attached to each. Because of my abilities, it was a mode of storytelling like no other. A way ofkeeping in touch from miles away, every time I slipped a sweater over my head.
This, however, was different. It was special.
The dress was the color of holly berries—similar to Gran’s skirts, but silk instead of thick wool. As I held it up, silk billowed out of the box and down to the floor, a lush spill of color that seemed to illuminate the entire room. Hardly a day dress for a rural beach town, it was more fitting for a royal court.
