Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Bran’s cell phone rang, jerking him out of a fitful sleep and uneasy dreams. He blinked open gritty eyes, staring up at a ceiling that didn’t look like his apartment in Boston. It only took a second for the past evening to slam through him, bringing with it the realization of where he was.
The apartment above the Shoppe.
Last night, he’d put Aisling in his old room, which hadn’t been updated since he was a preteen.
He hadn’t been able to bring himself to sleep in his mother’s old bed yet and had camped out on the creaky leather couch instead.
It was warm enough in the apartment that he hadn’t needed the musty throw blanket.
He fumbled his cell phone out from beneath the pillow, wincing at the crick in his neck. He quickly muted it so as not to wake Aisling. Considering the time—well after eight in the morning—they probably should get up. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but he answered the call anyway.
“Hello?” he asked, trying to sound more awake than he felt.
“Is this Bran? Juliana Gallagher’s son?” a woman asked.
Bran immediately lost all sense of sleepiness. “Yeah? Who are you?”
“This is Tina Roberts. I don’t know if you remember me?”
Bran knuckled one eye and sat up, slouching on the couch. He tipped his head back and stared up at the mural of the night sky his mother had painted on the ceiling when he was a kid. “My mother’s lawyer.”
“Yes. I was informed by a park ranger this morning about the unfortunate details of her passing. A Captain MacIntyre? He told me you took custody of Aisling.”
“I have her.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Listen, it’s not my general area of expertise, but I have a partner in my firm here in Boston who handles family law cases. I can put you in touch with them.”
“Why would I need to speak with them?”
“Well, Aisling is a minor. She needs a guardian, and that requires paperwork.”
Bran pinched his nose, swallowing against the knot in his throat.
He’d known—sort of—on the drive to Pelham that he’d be responsible for Aisling.
But knowing that and having to talk about it were two different things.
The fact that he had to deal with the logistics of legal guardianship for his little sister right after they’d lost their mother and Ray was a hurdle he wasn’t sure he could overcome right then.
“Is this something I need to deal with right now? Is the Commonwealth of Massachusetts going to take her away from me?”
“No, not if she’s been placed with family. But legally speaking, you’ll need to file for guardianship for her.”
Bran dragged his hand down his face and then shoved himself to his feet. “Yeah. Fine. Give your partner my number. I’ll talk with them later.”
“Understood. You should also know your mother had a burial package from the Amherst Funeral Home. I can give you their number. They’ll handle your mother’s remains for you.”
He closed his eyes against the sudden bout of grief that threatened to choke him. Tina seemed to understand his silence and so quietly gave him the number without him needing to prompt her for it. Bran ended the call without saying goodbye and opened his eyes, staring blankly at the wall.
He gave himself a couple of seconds to get his emotions back under control before typing the phone number for the funeral home into his contacts. When he finally looked up, the sight of Aisling hovering in the entrance to the hallway where the bedrooms were startled him.
“Sorry if I woke you.” Aisling shrugged and gestured at her throat. Bran sighed. “How about you shower first and use more of the healing ointment on your feet? I’ll head downstairs to grab the grimoire. Mac said he’d bring you some clothes as soon as he’s able to.”
Aisling wrinkled her nose at him before nodding and disappearing back down the hallway. The apartment wasn’t all that big, even with two bedrooms. It only had one bathroom, and the living room was right next to the kitchen, a small pass-through the only thing separating the two spaces.
His stomach growled a little. Bran had checked the refrigerator last night, only seeing a Tupperware of leftovers that must have been his mother’s lunch from the other day, which had left him crying on the tiled floor after Aisling had gone to bed.
He’d take his chances with the coffeepot downstairs in the Shoppe.
He popped into his old bedroom only long enough to get dressed before heading downstairs, the steps creaking under his passage.
When he made it to the bottom landing, he opened the door to the Shoppe and reached around the doorframe to flick the light switch.
The vintage-style Edison light bulbs in their ceiling fixtures buzzed on, brightening the space.
The Ye Olde Curiosities Shoppe came into view, the sight of it more familiar to him than even his apartment in Boston.
Antique bookshelves were crammed together along the back wall directly to his right, carrying a hoard of items on their shelves.
The opposite wall held a smaller window and the wooden front door with its witchmarks carefully carved into the frame amid the flower and vine motif there.
To his left was the sales counter that doubled as a display case for jewelry, carved crystals, and other expensive antique pieces.
The register, incongruously enough, was an iPad in a stand situated on top of an old-school cash drawer.
A side door led to the small utility room where cleaning supplies, a small stacked washer and dryer set, and the boiler were located.
Small wooden tables clustered in the center of the Shoppe were filled with all manner of strange and curious items he’d spent his summers inventorying while growing up.
On the opposite side wall to his right, a pair of bookcases bracketed the large circular stained-glass window with its trifecta welded in iron.
The glass was a pale sky blue in every pane, easy enough to see out of into the nearby trees.
Bran drifted toward his mother’s altar behind the display case.
A thin wooden board sat on the back counter, the phases of the moon carved near the top edge.
A larger carving of an oak tree inside a circle took up the center.
A shallow metal dish sat beside it with a half-burned sage bushel left in it.
The three dark purple candles looked new, with barely any wax drippings on them.
Quartz and bits of dried flowers were scattered on the counter, his mother’s set of tarot cards stacked messily nearby.
Bran touched the wooden board, drawing in the sense of his mother’s magic in that altar and all the prayers she had whispered to it over the years.
His fingertips tingled as he stood there in the quiet space where his mother had once worshipped.
Bran’s altar used to sit by hers, filled with carved wood and bone, but he’d taken it with him to Boston.
Ray had never wanted their altars in his home, not comfortable with a religion he didn’t understand.
Aisling suddenly appeared next to him, startling him back to reality.
She stared mournfully at their mother’s altar before moving down the counter to where hers sat, a messy thing of wildflowers and agate and thin branches bent and tied into the shape of a pentagram.
Her candles were tall and skinny, made of beeswax, and she lit them with a match from the Shoppe’s junk drawer.
Bran stood by her, holding his hands like Aisling—raised before him, palms toward the ceiling—and stared into the flickering candle flames. “May the Mother take her home. May the Father steal our tears. May she ever rest.”
Aisling mouthed along silently to his prayer, tears glittering in her eyes. They worshipped no gods or goddesses in the Gallagher coven, for those deities carried the names any true witch stood against. But the eddies of the mortal world and the power found in Nature? They would always bow to that.
Bran let his hands drop down to his sides. “Come on. Let’s get the grimoire and see what can be done for the geas.”
Aisling pulled her phone out of a pair of black skinny jeans that were a little baggy on her.
The jeans were his, and she’d taken the string from the joggers to use it as a makeshift belt.
She’d found a pair of his old flip-flops that were too big for her but worked for now.
He hoped Mac managed to get her clothes from the house.
Aisling rapidly tapped away at her phone before lifting it up for him to see the screen.
I only saw a glimpse of the light before Mom told me to run.
The spell hit me when I reached the trees.
It hurt, but then Mom’s bracelet activated, and I kept running until I reached the cabin. I stayed there overnight.
“When did it attack?”
After it got dark.
“Was Mom the only one home?
Aisling shook her head. Dad was there.
“Ray was found in the forest. It must have taken him when it went looking for you.” Bran didn’t know why, unless the light wanted to play with its food. He didn’t say that out loud, though. “I’m glad it didn’t find you.”
Aisling scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, and he pulled her into a hug. She was too young to have gone through such a trauma, and as much as Bran wanted to grieve, he knew he had to be strong for her.
“I swear I’ll do everything to keep you safe,” Bran confessed into her hair.
Lights could never get through witchmarks, but Bran knew from their coven’s history what could, and he had to prepare for that possibility.
He held Aisling for a minute, rubbing her back, before letting go.
He urged her out of the way and then crouched to reach the latch made to look like a knot in the wooden floor plank.
With a grunt, Bran lifted the wooden door to their mother’s basement stillroom that doubled as a storage place for the Shoppe’s extra inventory.
Bran took the steps one at a time down into the dark, Aisling following at his heels.