The Reckoning Read online

  “Thank you for coming,” she sang to each of them, careful not to make eye contact. “Go on into the dining room.”

  Her father, Pat, arrived while she stood in the doorway. He hurried inside, tossed his computer bag and suitcoat aside, then produced paper horns for everyone. They all started tooting before she got the door closed. She wasn’t about to tell them they were trying too hard. If the horns kept them occupied until she could get her courage up, all the better.

  Soni didn’t feel like eating, but she wanted to make her mother happy, so she filled her plate and tucked in. With herself being the only thing everyone had in common, she became the topic of conversation, with everyone talking about her like she wasn’t there. Actually, it suited her fine, since she was still busy summoning courage.

  She suffered through the stroganoff and the usual stories of her adoption, of her reading at an early age and potty training late. Of dressing up the dog and climbing trees so high the fire department had to be called. When the only stories left were about how they discovered she had powers, her parents grew uncomfortable, and the Muirs showed them pity by changing the subject.

  It was enough that DeAnne and Patrick Blakeburn accepted her as their own, even though she could do things they didn’t like to talk about.

  Her mother glanced at the gifts on the sofa table.

  This is it. Present time!

  "Time for cake and pressies, aye?" Soni's mother gave her a nod. "Help me get the wee plates."

  When they returned to the table, a brightly wrapped box sat before her chair. It was the size of a long loaf of bread turned on its end. Lorraine had carried it into the house.

  "Happy Birthday," the sisters said in unison, then watched avidly as Soni tore into the paper. Inside the box was a sculpted piece of wood. Reaching in from the top, she grabbed onto a head and pulled it out.

  "A family heirloom," Lorraine said. "Not something you'll be bragging to your friends about, but we thought you should have it. Doesn't seem as if Wickham and Ivy are likely to have any girls, after all. So it would be passed down to you in any case.

  Soni could see the wheels turning in her father's head as he tried to figure out, once again, how Wickham could be their brother when the sisters were obviously in their fifties and Wickham was still a man of thirty. What bothered him most was the "great" part, and just how old their brother Walter had been if he was Soni's grandfather. Sixty or so, he sometimes muttered when he was trying to work things out. Which would make the brothers thirty years apart.

  All those numbers were possible--if only the Muir siblings would stop slipping and calling Walter and Wickham twins!

  "Pardon me," the sisters would say, after such a slip. "We often use the word twin for sibling. My sister, my twin. Wickham's brother, Wickham's twin. A hazard of being a Muir, I suppose."

  And her father would be pacified for a while.

  Soni turned the carved doll in her hands and marveled at the wild curls of hair that were still intact, despite how old the doll was. "It's a Rowena."

  The sisters' eyes sparkled with approval, pleased she'd remembered the story she'd been told years ago.

  "What's a Rowena?" Her mother held out her hand and took the doll to examine it closely. "It definitely looks like rowan wood. And you can see the original speckled bark in the folds of her gown, there. Do ye see?"

  "It is rowan." There was a sharp edge to Wickham's tone that made Soni turn. The sisters pretended not to have heard it. "Rowena was a rather famous Muir witch. Her story has an excellent moral to it--be careful what you wish for." He looked directly at Soni when he said the last.

  The sisters shook their heads and waved a dismissive hand, mirroring each other. Soni's dad laughed. "For a younger sibling, sir, you sound like the cautious one."

  Wickham grinned. "Someone has to be, considering my sisters."

  Soni barely heard the exchange while she was concentrating very hard on keeping her relatives out of her thoughts. But she suspected it was too late. Be careful what you wish for?

  How could Wickham know what she was up to? She hadn't let her guard down since his pickup stopped in front of the house! And the sisters? Just how far into the future could they see?

  Her father tapped the table. "Who's going to tell us about the doll?"

  Wickham turned his smile on her. "Let Soncerae tell it."

  Auch, aye. He knew. So much for her carefully planned speeches.

  Chapter Two

  "Well,” she began. “Just like it was told to me, then.” She used her best storyteller voice. “Rowena was a Muir witch born a long time ago. She’s become folklore, really. First, I should tell you that she was what is called a Third. It’s the daughter of a witch who was also the daughter of a witch. Nearly always, a Third is very powerful.

  “So this girl’s family was fairly worried, since Thirds often had troublesome childhoods and many ended badly.” She looked at the faces of her parents and laughed. “Obviously you can relate to that, at least.”

  Wickham and his sisters laughed, and her brave parents joined in half-heartedly. Her mother started slicing the cake and handing generous portions around the table. Her father pretended to be interested, but turned visibly paler as the explanation went on.

  “Her hair was nearly as red as the Rowan berries that come on at the end of summer, so her father named her after that tree. Her mother watched the lassie carefully, but the bairn got into no more serious mischief than the average witch-child, and she reached her maturity with little trouble.”

  She smiled, hoping her father would appreciate that happy detail. He managed to look doubtful.

  “Rowena had talent with the weather, which was a rare gift. She could scoot a cloud, push a storm a bit to the west, or surround herself in a heavy fog if she wanted to hide—though her laughter usually gave her away. She was quiet. Loveable. And when she was eighteen, she fell in love with a young man outside the clan, a piper named MacAdo.

  “Her parents couldn’t have been more pleased, for it meant the powerful potential in her blood would be watered down, as it were, when being passed on to her children. And though the rest of her kinsmen usually took great pride in the magic that surfaced in the family, none could begrudge the marriage for two reasons.

  “First, having four witches born in a line of four generations was rare indeed, and this marriage made those chances slimmer. If Rowena married a male with any power at all, their child might have been a very bad dude. Second, they couldn’t begrudge the marriage of two young people who were so evidently in love.

  “Before the wedding, however, Robert the Bruce arrived in Muirsglen and put a different sort of passion into the blood of Rowena’s betrothed. Before they had time for a simple handfasting, the lad was swept up in the Bruce’s excitement. He was honored by the request to be a piper for the rightful Kind of Scotland. Rowena had just enough time to demand MacAdo’s vow that he would come back to her, no matter what happened.

  “Muirsglen was nearly washed away from the storm that followed. Her kinswomen had to break down her door and beg her to stop her weeping, and just in time. But at Bannockburn, her young man fell.”

  Soni’s mother finally sat. Her protruding lip proved she’d been listening.

  “But don’t forget. Her true love had vowed to come back, no matter what. And a vow to a witch cannot be broken without consequence. And so, when the men of Muirsglen returned,” she paused for dramatic effect, “the ghost of MacAdo returned with them, and his ghostly pipes besides.

  “Rowena had to be content with just his spirit, and for the whole month of July, she was grateful to have him. But the pipin’ and hummin’ began to wear on her, and on the neighbors, and again, the womenfolk came to her and begged her to make it stop.

  “At first, she resisted, but soon she acknowledged that the pipin’ and the hummin’ was all she would have of her MacAdo.” Soni grinned at Wickham. “Be careful what ye wish for, aye?”

  She took a break so she c
ould eat some of her pretty pink birthday cake. After a drink, she continued.

  “Rowena told MacAdo he could go, that she released him from his vow. But he refused. She was forced to go to the Grandfather, which is like the chief of Clan Muir, a powerful man who is wise in all matters.

  “The Grandfather told her all promises must be made in the flesh, that she shouldn’t have demanded her betrothed’s vow in the first place. But it was too late. Nothing could be done. Years pass. Rowena aged. MacAdo remained with her every day, though she convinced him to stop piping and humming.

  “Again, she went to the Grandfather, begging for help. She asked if there was a way to bring her MacAdo back to life, if only long enough to make another vow, to move on to the next life. The Grandfather told her, ‘Bringing him back from the dead will cost yer own life. And that sacrifice is too great.’

  “But Rowena knew she couldn’t go on living anyway, the way things stood. So she went to the old man again and convinced him she was willing to die if it meant MacAdo could be at peace. The Grandfather finally consented.

  “He worked a spell that brought a mark to the surface of her arm, then told her to will it into the spirit of her beloved. She closed her eyes, did as she was told, and MacAdo was brought instantly alive again. Hale and hearty. But Rowena…didn’t die.”

  Soni’s mother sat forward. “She didn’t die?”

  Soni fought to keep from grinning, she was so pleased her parents had listened so patiently to a story about a witch. Usually, they found a reason to leave the room or the house, so they didn’t have to apply everything they heard to their own daughter. But there they remained, content to hear the rest, though it wasn’t a cheerful tale.

  “The mark disappeared,” Soni continued. “She asked the Grandfather why she hadn’t died. He told her she had, that a year of her life had been taken from her in order to bring MacAdo back for a day. But in order for it to work, she had to be willing to sacrifice all.

  “With her beloved alive once more, they married quickly and savored their precious time together. In the morning, the Grandfather returned. He was supposed to take MacAdo’s breath away, but instead, he declared the man to be wholly mortal once again. The ultimate sacrifice Rowena was willing to make had caused the miracle.

  Soni’s father snorted from his end of the table. “Yer basic chick flick.”

  She laughed. “You expected blood and gore? From me?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t such a happy ending, though, because MacAdo died in a fight just four years later. Rowena lived a long life, but alone.”

  Wickham reached across the table and picked up the doll. “As I said, it has a good moral. Be careful how ye use yer powers. Be careful what ye wish for.” He looked the doll over, then pushed it back to Soni’s mother.

  “Isn’t it interesting,” DeAnne said, “that the rowan is called the quicken-tree? And Rowena brought him back to life? Quickened him?”

  Lorraine nodded. “T’is also known as the witch tree.”

  Soni’s father cleared his throat. “Time for more pressies, aye?”

  Chapter Three

  Wickham's gift was a small cedar box with a lock on it. "Ivy picked it out,” he confessed. “I have no ken what sixteen-year-old girls like, but Ivy said if you can’t buy privacy, a locked box is the next best thing.”

  "Soni doesn't keep secrets from us," her dad said. "And she never has to worry about us snooping, isn't that right, love?" He turned and captured his wife's hand and gave it a squeeze. And while he looked into his wife's eyes, the rest of the dinner party bit their lips and looked away. After a wee smooch, her dad lifted a box from the floor, set it on the table, and scooted it Soni’s way. Lorraine, who sat between them, pushed it the rest of the way.

  "Nice big box," Soni said, intrigued. She'd been careful not to read their minds and ruin the surprise.

  Inside that box was a smaller one, also wrapped with birthday paper. Then another box, and another, until she finally opened a flat box that had an envelope inside. Was it possible her parents knew about the Perfect Plan? If they'd tried to read her journal, they'd have found blank pages--a spell that protected her private thoughts from anyone but her. So the only way they'd have known would be if Wickham or the sisters told them!

  Her fingers shook, along with her world, while she pried the envelope open. She was careful to school her features appropriately when she pulled out--not an airline ticket, but--two hundred-pound notes.

  "I've asked and asked her," her mother explained to their guests, "and she never told me what she wanted. I wouldn't dare presume to choose clothes for her, so now she can shop for herself. Now that she's grown, I fear I'll never again be able to both surprise her and make her happy at the same time."

  "It's perfect," Soni said, then slipped the money back into the envelope and tucked the edge beneath the carved statue. Her heart pounded in her chest. The moment was at hand. "In fact, I have been thinking of something I want..." She glanced at Wickham. He sighed and gave her the slightest nod of permission to go on. "Since it's so cold--"

  "February in the Highlands?" Her dad scoffed. "Are ye new here, then?"

  "I would absolutely love it if I could...uh, that is, I want to take a trip."

  "A trip?" Her mother bit her bottom lip and eyed the envelope. "A day trip to Paris or something?"

  "Something like that. But I was thinking Spain, or Italy. Somewhere warm. Just for like a week or so."

  "A week or so." Her father rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. "And just whom would ye like to travel with? I cannae take holiday time just the now--"

  "Maybe we can plan something for the summer," her mother suggested with eyebrows high and hopeful.

  "I was hoping to get out of the cold now, actually."

  There was no point arguing about classes. They knew she had no problem keeping her grades up whether she attended or not. They chose to believe it was because she was brilliant and diligent and that it had nothing whatsoever to do with her peculiar powers. So she knew they wouldn't use school as an excuse to say no.

  Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Ye ken I cannae leave work without notice. So who is it ye plan to go with? At sixteen years old, and only just?"

  Soni shrugged. "I thought maybe Wickham. Or one of the sisters?" She turned winning smiles on her blood relatives and waited for them to take her side. Her father watched closely. Too closely. In fact, the man wasn't even blinking!

  She glanced around the table. Her mother had frozen in place as well, but the sisters moved freely, looking back and forth between herself and their brother. Waiting for someone to speak.

  Soni grabbed Wickham’s arm. "Will you teach me that?"

  Her uncle gave her a dark look. "No." Then he softened. "Perhaps when ye're older."

  "You must hurry," said Loretta, moving her mouth only slightly as she spoke. "We mustn't move much if ye don't want them to notice."

  "What are ye up to?” he asked. “Ye'd have me lie to yer parents and I would ken why before I agree to anything."

  "Well, ye're not going to like it."

  "Tell me. And be quick about it."

  The speech she'd rehearsed was long and involved, but she had to scratch that. "You know Simon?"

  "Yer ghostie?"

  For lack of time, she let it go. "Aye. The big one."

  "Aye."

  "He's...fond of me."

  He exchanged a look with his sisters. "This we know."

  "But he's always liked me."

  "Aye." Wickham's eyes narrowed.

  "Because...he's sure we've met before. Back in his lifetime."

  He said nothing, as if he didn't dare encourage her, but he didn't stop her.

  "Ye ken what I think?" She paused for dramatic effect. “I think we have too."

  Wickham cursed and got to his feet, ignoring his sisters' hissing at him for moving too much. He walked into the living room for a moment and she decided the safe thing to do was wait for him to come back. She didn't dare
holler at him for fear her parents would somehow hear it. All she could do was look at Loretta across the table...

  Who gave her a wink.

  A wink from one of the twins was a good thing, primarily because of their proven record for seeing the future. Maybe they already knew she'd get her way. If they thought she'd fail, wouldn't they pity her instead?

  Wickham came back, took his seat, then fidgeted with his hands for a minute before putting them in his lap. "Ye mean to go back in time."

  "Aye."

  "To when? I cannae go to any point I've already been, lass. And any time around the Battle of Culloden is far too dangerous. So what would be the point? Ye cannot save him. Ye cannot change the past where it will affect the future."

  At least he was discussing it, which is what she'd prayed for. "I don't believe it will change the past, Uncle. I believe it is the past. I believe I was there. Some of the things he says to me are…” She shrugged. “I believe I did know him."

  "But sixteen? Soni. Love. Are ye sure it's not wishful thinking on yer part? Are ye not so smitten with the man--er, ghost--that ye'd believe whatever would make him happiest?"

  "Ye think it's hormones? Ye think a lass of sixteen cannot love truly?"

  Wickham shook his head and closed his eyes. After a moment, after her breathing had calmed, he spoke. "I ken ye well. I ken an old soul because I too, have one. And we all ken there is a bond between ye and Simon that none of us will understand."

  He paused for a long time and Soni feared he was readying an argument she might not be able to deny. But it only meant she would have to try another day, for she was determined to get what she wanted, whether or not it was for her birthday.

  "If yer parents agree, and if Ivy can make do without me, I will take ye back to meet yer Simon in the flesh. But mark me. Ye'll not be able to save him, no matter what part ye might have played in his life. And after one week, I will bring ye home again, whether ye will it or no."