Page 13 of Charmed

A moment later, Riley's bedroom door closed, but he didn't move. Couldn't. He stared ahead, his mind in mutiny and his heart undecided if it should pound or give up.

Twilight came and went. The sun rose.

And still, there he stood, shrouded in past regrets, today's fears, and last night's clothes.

Chapter Four

Fiona blinked repeatedly and glanced at her surroundings. Yep, she was definitely in the old stone cottage. How she'd gotten here was a mystery. Last she'd checked, she was in bed, trying to fall asleep while not thinking about Riley.

Maybe that was it. She was dreaming?

The one-room structure had been Celeste and Aunt Mara's home after they'd made the voyage from Ireland three-hundred plus years ago. It was tucked close to the hedge wall that separated their yard from the meadow and cliffs. Since the boxes holding the keys to breaking the curse were hidden inside on a different plane, Aunt Mara had spelled the cottage so it couldn't be destroyed or damaged. Fiona rarely, if ever, came in here.

A straw sleeping pallet and a pine table with a chair were the only items besides the stone fireplace. Above the mantel was a painting of Aunt Mara, Celeste, and her baby daughter, Hope, that Fiona's aunt had painted two centuries before. Dust motes hung in the fractured streams of sunlight and the room smelled faintly of mildew.

Confused, she turned and found a woman in the doorway. Her long, wild auburn curls caught the breeze at her back. She had an opal charm necklace and wore a peasant gown, specifying she wasn't from this chunk of time. Though Fiona had never met the woman, had never come in contact with her, she knew exactly who she was looking at.

Irritation pounded her temples. "Celeste Galloway, honoring me with her presence. Pardon me if I don't gush in gratitude."

Aunt Mara's painted likeness of Celeste was remarkably accurate, down to the light dusting of freckles and her fair complexion. Ceara had her hair, Fiona her eyes, and Kaida her facial shape, but all four of them bore the distinct Galloway mouth. That Fiona had gotten any of the witch's characteristics only amped her resentment.

A nod of resigned acceptance, and the woman stepped forward. Blue eyes the color of the sea met hers in understanding. "You are angry with me." Her voice held notes of an Irish accent and her tone implied her statement was fact, not a question, despite the slight lift in her brows.

"Anger is merely the tip of the iceberg." Fiona shook her head, fury a hot ball in her gut. "Why am I here?"

"This is but a dream." Celeste let out a quiet breath, searching Fiona's expression. "It was a means to contact you, nothing more."

"I don't care to hear anything you have to say."

"Aye, you got my pride." Celeste canted her head to the side as if considering something. "It'll only take you so far. Look what it did to me."

"Pride's about all I have, thanks to you. And you have no right complaining. You did this to us, to your own blood." Fiona clenched her fists. "Hundreds of years of misery. For what? Because your precious feelings got hurt? Your love couldn't last, so you made sure no one else's would, too?"

"Because I had to." Patiently, Celeste held up her palm to silence Fiona. "Believe me or don't, but it's the truth. Both households were on a dangerous path." Her gaze dipped to Fiona's wrist. "You bear the mark. Your time has come to pass."

Fiona gnashed her molars. "Don't worry. I'll complete my task and finish this thing you started. I'll make damn sure no one else suffers by your hand."

"You can't do it alone, middle Galloway. Anger will only cloud your mind and confuse the greater purpose."

"We're all alone in the end. Every one of us." Especially true for the Meaths and Galloways. But Fiona would do her part to fix the mistake so others after her would get the happiness never afforded to those who came before. She squared her shoulders and forced a breath into her lungs. "I don't need your advice."

Celeste's eyes grew sad, her expression weary. "It's daunting being the strong one, isn't it? Always fighting a losing battle, it seems." Her gaze drifted across the room, then rested on Fiona. "Lonely doesn't mean alone. There is strength in numbers."

"We've already joined forces with the Meaths. Forgiveness has been granted on both sides and we're working together."

"Hmm." The thin press of Celeste's lips signified she didn't agree with Fiona. "Letting go instead of giving in? It's freeing, you know." She smiled. "Blessed be."

A gasp, and Fiona's eyes flew open. The scent of mildew and pine faded as she scanned her bedroom.

Striped yellow wallpaper. Pictures of her family on the white birch dresser. Botanical books lining her small shelf. Sunlight bathing her bed and sheer curtains billowing on a breeze. Nothing was amiss, yet her chest grew tight in warning.

Tossing the covers aside, she rose and opened her bedroom door. The house was quiet, indicating Ceara and Aunt Mara had already left. She stood another moment, then sighed as the dream slowly came back to her. AKA—the cause of her unrest.

Celeste could go to hell. Which was where she'd thrust both families the past three centuries. No way was Fiona going to listen to a thing the witch said. That the woman behaved like she cared, was concerned, made Fiona's blood boil.

Whatever. She wouldn't give it another thought.

She had lotions to make to restock the shop, so she dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a loose black swoop neck, leaving her feet bare. Since no one would see her until she headed over to the Meaths for training tonight, it didn't matter what she wore. Vanity won, though, and she applied cosmetics before heading downstairs.

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