Celtic Fire: Book One of the Guardian Series Read online

  Around the time that I came to the house on Saint Charles, an eight-month-old Gypsy Vanner colt joined the herd. I named him Fergus. He was and still is, my very best friend, besides Emma Connolly.

  I met Emma on the first day of 5th grade at Ursuline Academy. Emma and I were besties from the beginning...me, the outcast from a disgraced mother and Emma, the scholarship student with coke-bottle glasses. We were the misfits, the bullied Emma threw herself into her dance and I refused to be cowed, turning my anger into a shield not only for myself but also for others that didn’t quite fit in. We have been together ever since, every day; all through school, including college. We still see each other at least three times a week. She was a ballet dancer with the New Orleans Ballet Association and now she also owns her dance school, where she teaches ballet and of course, Irish step dance.

  I pull up to the barn and throw my car in park. Grabbing the box, I get out and hear the soft nicker of Fergus, calling me over to bring him his peppermint. I keep them in a jar by his stall door, and he knew they were there.

  “My sweet Fergus, what would I do without you?” He rubs his head along my chest in answer, his big soulful eyes peering at me with love and understanding. He stamps his feet, wanting out. I rub his strong neck and whisper, “Not today handsome. I have to see what Momma left for me.” With one last pet, I leave him and head upstairs to the apartment that Granddad had made for me. My place of solitude, he had said. A place where my wild blood could hear the magic of nature. Opening my door, I once again bask in the view. The entire end of my apartment was made of windows that look out at the river and trees that ran along the other bank. When the sun sets it is so beautiful, setting the whole view on fire. I often curled up on my couch, closed my eyes and soaked in the heat of the sun. Today, I poured myself a glass of fine Scottish whiskey. Normally it would be wine, but I feel like I will need something a little stronger.

  I sit on the couch, curling my feet up under me. I grabbed the quilt that Emma’s mom made for me years ago and pull it over my legs as I pick up the box. Taking a deep breath, I open it.

  Chapter 4

  On the top is a picture of momma. Her eyes are closed, and I am asleep on her chest. My tiny fingers are curled around one of hers, and we both have small smiles of contentment on our faces. I have never seen this picture before, and my heart aches for the love that I see in it. I lay it aside and reach for the next item. It is a folded piece of paper with my name in her handwriting. Even though I haven’t seen it in fifteen years, I would know her handwriting anywhere. Man, she had such beautiful penmanship. I reach for the glass of whiskey and drain it, bracing myself to read her words.

  My Dear Daughter,

  I really don’t know how to start this letter to make it any better. So, I will just start. As you know, momma has cancer, and we thought it was getting better, but for a while now, I have been afraid. Afraid that it is instead getting much worse. If it turns out that it is and that I am going to die, I didn’t want to go without telling you one more time that I love you more than anything or anyone in this life. I am thankful every day that you were sent to me. After I am gone, you might hear things that might make you wonder about me or what kind of person I was. I am sure that you will hear that I disgraced myself by getting pregnant with you. Please believe me; you have never been anything but a blessing in my life. I have always tried to do what is right. I’ve always treated everyone the way I would want to be treated. I have known love and given love, which I can say for sure. You have been the “shining light” in my life. You are my “heart” child brought to me by a magic that we can’t understand. I treasure our time together. Every moment was precious. I am so happy that you are with me now. You will never know what our life together has meant to me. No matter the future whether short or long, know that I have never felt more love for you than I do right now. Please know that if I could change things I would. I can see in you, the strength of your father and want to see the amazing woman you will become. I want to live more than anything. There are so many things I want to tell you, to show you, and places I want to take you. I wanted to be there for every moment, love, heartache and victories.

  But, I also want you to know that I am not afraid of dying. I know there is something more out there.

  I want you to be happy and don’t ever settle for less than you want in life, especially love. I am putting some things in the box to help you understand where you come from. I hope you understand why I asked Joy to keep this until you were ready. You will need strength and faith for the journey you will take.

  I love you, my darling daughter

  Momma

  Tears pour down my face. Sobs racking my body, I clutch the letter to my chest.

  “Oh, Momma.” I set the box on the coffee table and curl into a ball to cry...sliding back in time, to the day she died. It feels like it just happened. I can smell her perfume and hear the sound of her voice, as she sings songs to me.

  At some point, I sleep, my cheeks still wet with tears. I dream of momma, holding me and whispering stories of standing stones, dragons and the Goddess Morrigan.

  As dawn came, I could hear Fergus raising hell below me.

  “Ugh, my head!” I stumble to the bathroom and stare at my swollen red eyes. Jesus, I look like hell. Fergus is getting louder. I stumble from the bathroom to grab some aspirin. I only had one drink but all the crying has me feeling like I’m hungover. The sun is rising through the kitchen windows. My dreams must be getting the better of me. I imagine the sun, reflecting on the water is actually bright shining dragon scales, like the ones in the stories that momma used to tell me at night while we lay snuggled in bed.

  Shaking my head gently, I go down the stairs. When I get there, the horses are all just standing there looking at me like nothing was going on. I guess it was just going to be one of those days. Luckily, it was Saturday, and Emma was supposed to come by this afternoon, which would most likely turn into an overnighter.

  I head back up to my apartment and look over at the box. I don’t feel like I’m emotionally ready to look at the rest of the contents. Instead, I put on a large pot of coffee taking a hot shower while it perks. I just hope the shower will loosen the kinks I have from sleeping on the couch. I pull on some loose pants and my favorite Supernatural t-shirt, while I blast Annie Lennox’s Nostalgia. “I Put a Spell on You” blares throughout my apartment. Swaying back and forth as I make some homemade biscuits and gravy, just like momma used to do. After I put them in the oven, I sit on the couch, sipping my coffee and start to reread the letter. Fresh tears fall, but a sense of peace comes with them. I always knew how much she loved me, but a part of me wondered if she regretted giving it all up for me. Now I know and I’m filled with more love for her, which I didn’t think was possible. There will always be the moments I wish she could see and the things I wish I could tell her. I finally have a sense that she knows these things, that she is with me. Always.

  Chapter 5

  I see Emma sitting on the steps as I walk Fergus into the barn. I had needed a ride to soothe my tattered nerves after rereading the letter.

  “Hey, girl! I brought pizza and beer!”

  “Sounds good. Just let me get Fergus settled in the paddock to cool off and put my gear away.”

  Fergus bumped Emma with his nose, looking for the treats she always had for him.

  “Wait a minute, you big lover,” she laughs, rubbing his nose. She pulls an apple from her pocket and hands it over.

  “I’ll be upstairs, putting the pizza in the oven to warm.” She smiles, turns and bounces up the stairs. The years of dancing had made Emma so graceful that even when she wasn’t dancing, she was. Of course, that often made me look like some kinda klutzy slob, but I love to watch her move. I always had, since my first private recital, in the large dining room of the St Charles House. I remember the chiffon dress, her fairy wings and how she looked like a beautiful sprite.

  I turn, leading Fergus to the tack room door. I pu
ll the saddle and harness from him and stash them away. As I walk to the paddock, he follows me, like the giant puppy he always thinks he is. Opening the gate, I hug him around his massive neck and whisper, “Thanks for always making me feel better.” He looks back at me as he trots away, heading for his favorite spot beneath a huge old oak tree.

  Heading upstairs, I could hear Emma singing Motley Crüe at the top of her lungs. Our guilty pleasure playlist was playing on the iPod. I open the door, laughing to see her dancing like a girl in an 80’s video, using her beer bottle as a microphone. Not to be left out, I snatch up the brush on the counter and join in until the end of the song.

  Laughing and out of breath, I wash my hands and grab a beer for myself. Emma is standing beside the fireplace looking at a picture of us from that first day of 5th grade. Her mom had taken it after school when Emma declared that we were best friends and always would be.

  “I love this picture, and I was right, wasn’t I? BFF’s until the end!”

  “Yes, you were. Always...until the end, as the great J. K. Rowling wrote.”

  “Hey!” she said. “There is a box and a note from your Grandda over here.”

  She brings it over to the couch where I have sat staring at mom’s box.

  “I forgot He said he had Henri put my birthday present here.”

  I unfold the note.

  Sweetpea,

  This year, I thought I would get you something special, something from the old country. I might have known what your dear Joy was up to. I might have even given her the itinerary from your momma’s trip just in case she forgot anything. Anyway, the blood that runs through you is special. I remember the moment you were born; I heard you cry out. I told those doctors that you had the magic of our people in you. Your momma smiled real big at that. My people originated in Scotland and lived for hundreds of years right alongside Loch Roag. It’s said we came from the Fae folk. I don’t know if it is true, but if there was ever magic in our blood, you and your momma have it. So I contacted a fella I met who handcrafts beautiful Celtic jewelry, I told him our people’s story and had him make you the torque that is in the box. I hope you like it and it reminds you of the magic you brought to your momma and me.

  Love,

  Grandda

  I wipe more tears from my face and open the box. Inside is a beautiful silver torque, thick and heavy, with a Celtic tri-spiral design at each end.

  “That is gorgeous,” Emma leans over to look at it more closely. “What does that symbol means?”

  ”I think it is the mother, crone, daughter symbol but I have never seen it quite like this. Let’s look it up.”

  Emma whips out her phone and seconds later; she reads off a website.

  “Represents the drawing of the three powers of maiden, mother, and crone. It is a sign of female power and especially power through transition and growth. You were right; this says it dates back to the first recorded Druidry.”

  I place it around my neck, smile, and look over at Emma, “Do you think the universe is trying to tell me something or just Grandda and Aunt Joy? I guess this year is a year of transition, travel, and growth.” I send Grandda a quick text to thank him, including a selfie with the torque on.

  Emma looks towards the coffee table. Pointing at the box, she asks “Is this it? The box from your mom?” I nod my head in affirmation.

  “I haven’t had the nerve to look to see what else is in it. I don’t know if I am strong enough to do it. I don’t even know his name. What if she tells me something that shatters the fantasy? What if she was hurt?”

  “Shut your face! Yes, you are. I am here to hold you and support you, just like you have always been there for me.”

  I set my beer down and reach for the box, running my hands over the intricate pattern once again. Pulling it into my lap, I slowly open the lid as Emma leans towards me to get a better look. I remove the letter. Below it is a leather bound journal with a raven on the cover. I hand it over to Emma and reach back inside to pull out a crown of dried flowers with ribbons woven through them. Beside it was a faded picture of mom and Aunt Joy, with the crowns on their heads, dancing with skirts flared out around them. The smiles on their faces brings a grin to our own, as I glance over at Emma.

  “Look at how happy they were,” she whispers. I just nod as I look back at the picture and mom’s face. I don’t remember ever seeing that kind of joy. I’m not saying she wasn’t happy, but not this kind of happiness. I can see the love shining in her eyes. I wonder who or what put it there.

  “Look at the love on her face. I wonder if she met him already.” I look at Emma to see if she can see what I do.

  “Oh yeah! I think she’s met him. Do you think he’s the person who took the photo?”

  “I don’t know, but I know someone who might.” I grab my phone and snap a picture of the photo and quickly type out a text to Aunt Joy.

  What seems like hours, but in reality is only minutes later, my phone rings.

  “Hi, darlin’. Man does that picture bring back memories. Do you see how skinny I was? Honestly, though, I can’t remember who took that picture, but I don’t think your momma had met him yet. I think that was the day before. We had just gotten to the Festival, the drums and bagpipes were playing, and we just started dancing.”

  “Oh, well...okay, I just thought...I mean she just looks so in love in this picture.”

  “Honey, she was! She was in love with the land. Have you read the journal yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “You need to because I think her own words will explain it better than I can. I just didn’t feel it the way she did. Read the journal. I really think that will definitely help. I love you and call me if you need to.”

  “I will Auntie and thanks again.” I hang up and look over at Emma. “She said I need to read the journal to understand, but she doesn’t think she had met him yet.”

  “Let’s see what else is in the box and then we can read it together, or I can leave if you want to be alone.” Emma runs all her words together, as she grabs my hand and squeezes for reassurance.

  “No way! You are staying right here.” I throw my arms around her for a quick, hard hug.

  Looking back in the box, I see a beautiful gold bracelet. As I pull it out, I hear Emma suck in her breath. When the light hit it, the gold shimmers. I could see it was an intricate, Celtic dragon design. It was made up of two dragons. Each dragon had a beautiful stone set in their mouth. One stone was snowy white, sorta opaque and the other stone was a reddish-pink color, with hints of a bluish-purple swirl throughout. I glance at Emma and ask, “Do you know what types of stones these are?”

  She shakes her head, “No, you need to take it to a jeweler and see what they say, but man, it’s so beautiful. The red stone reminds me of the pictures we would see at the planetarium. You know, the ones like distant galaxies.”

  I don't remember her ever wearing this. I wonder if he might have given it to her. I can’t seem to stop staring at the dragons, and slowly a memory flits across my mind. I was walking with my mom through the French Quarter, and we had stopped in to get beignets at Café Du Monde. We were sitting on a bench in Jackson Square when a man, with an Irish accent, came up to us, talking about dragons and destiny. He seemed very excited to see her and ended up giving her a tarot card. Mom just smiled, handed him some money and we left. When I asked her about it later, she said that he was just trying to make some easy money.

  I look up at Emma, and she has a questioning look on her face. “Sorry, I was just remembering a day with mom, down in Jackson Square.” I smile and rub my finger across the dragon's head.

  “Put it on!” Emma grabs the bracelet and fastens it on my wrist. The stones shimmer from the light of the candles on the table.

  Slowly, his head turns to the west. She has put it back on, after all of these years. He hadn’t made her up. He would finally be able to find her again, but only if she doesn’t take it off.

  “I feel so close to her. I
don’t even know if I can explain it. Remember how I told you when she died, Grandmother didn’t let me bring much with me when I moved in with her? All I have of her is some of her Nina Simone albums and her favorite sweatshirt from Tulane. This is something she had when she was truly happy...from before, ya know?”

  Emma wraps me in her arms as we both begin to cry. Soon, we are both in the throes of an ugly Oprah cry. It is NOT a pretty sight. When our sobbing eases, we both grab tissues to blow our noses, up until then we have been using our shirts. I look at her, she looks back and suddenly, we collapse into giggles. “Ugh! We’re a mess. I’m going to jump in the shower, and you can go take one, if you want, then we can read the journal.”

  I take the bracelet and the torque off, laying them gently down. We both stand, hug again, then turn to go clean ourselves up. I turn the water to scalding, hoping it will loosen my muscles and calm my nerves. I stand there until the water starts to cool then I reluctantly climb out. I dress in a pair of yoga pants and pull on my mom’s sweatshirt, needing to feel her with me.

  When I come out of the bedroom, Emma is already on the couch. Plates of pizza, two glasses and a bottle of Dewar’s whiskey, waiting for me to join her.

  “I thought we needed something stronger than beer for the journal.”

  “I agree, but I need something in my stomach first.”

  I look at the pizza but decide to heat up some of the biscuits and gravy from this morning. I really need some of my favorite comfort food.

  I sit with my legs pulled up, the bowl in my lap and eat, all the while staring at the journal. Part of me can’t wait to read it, but another is heartbroken by the thought of reading how happy she was back then. I feel pretty angry about the years that were stolen from me, not only with her but with the man who’s my father. I long to have her tell me this story, instead of reading about it. I imagine going back to this place with her. I can even imagine the look on her face when we arrive at this special spot, which brought her so much happiness.