Chapter 5 A Witch Comes to Call
A WITCH COMES TO CALL
Asoft knock came at the cottage door late in the afternoon, the day after we'd gone to speak with Robbie.
When I opened it, a small, middle-aged woman stood on the threshold.
A few paces behind her, Robbie hovered with his hat in hand, darting nervous glances between me and the woman like he wasn't sure which of us was more likely to bite.
She looked more like a schoolteacher than a witch. Not that I knew exactly what I expected a witch to look like.
“Ye are the seer,” she said, her voice calm and even—not a question but a statement of fact.
The way she said it—like a diagnosis instead of someone with a name—made my shoulders tighten, uncomfortable with my clairvoyant abilities being acknowledged by a stranger.
“Yes,” I replied, offering my hand but not sure I wanted to.
“My name is Mira. It's nice to meet you.” I said, manners taking over. “Please, come inside.”
She took my hand in a firm shake, her palm warm and surprisingly soft. “I am Sorcha,” she said simply.
I stepped back, holding the door open as they crossed the threshold. Robbie hesitated for just a beat before following her inside, his shoulders stiff, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
“Ye must be Baird,” Sorcha said as he stepped forward to greet her, her tone carrying the faintest lilt of familiarity—as though she'd heard stories about him for years from Robbie.
Baird shot a quick, curious glance at Robbie, one brow lifting ever so slightly.
Robbie stood off to the side, wringing his hands in a rare display of unease, as though two carefully separated corners of his life had just collided in a way he hadn't anticipated.
“Robbie says ye have an enchanted stone in your possession, Mira. May I see it?” Sorcha asked, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.
“Yes,” I said, my throat tightening. A flicker of unease rippled through me at the thought of touching it again. After Baird had pried it from my fingers, he'd locked it away—sealed again in the hard plastic case and hidden it in the safe. “Let me go get it.”
“It cannae hurt you, Mira.” Sorcha's voice followed me as I walked down the hall, wrapping me in something calm and reassuring, as though she could sense the dark thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind.
In the bedroom, I knelt before the safe and punched in the code.
With a muted click, the door swung open.
For a heartbeat, I hesitated, staring down at the box resting in the dim interior. The air felt heavier here, as if the ruby's presence bled out even through the case. Then, with a sharp inhale, I forced myself to scoop it up and carry it back to the living room.
I placed the small box gently into Sorcha's waiting hands.
Her fingers curled around it with surprising delicacy, as though she already understood the weight it carried.
Closing her eyes, she drew in a slow breath, and for a moment the room felt…
stiller. Denser somehow, as though even the air was holding its breath.
When her eyes fluttered open again, she laid one hand lightly on the lid.
“May I?” she asked softly, her tone respectful but edged with quiet purpose.
I nodded dumbly, my throat too tight for words.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Sorcha lifted the lid and reached inside.
Her fingers curled around the stone, and for a moment she simply held it, as if weighing its presence in her palm.
She drew in a sudden breath and her eyes widened—whether in awe, alarm, or admiration, I couldn't tell—but the flicker of raw emotion there made my pulse quicken.
She felt it too. Sorcha's eyes flicked to me.
She tilted her head slowly to the left, then narrowed her gaze and tilted it to the right, as if trying to glimpse something invisible lingering just beneath my skin.
“Ye didnae tell me she was a maker, Robbie,” she said at last, her tone caught between amusement and rueful surprise.
I was used to the word maker, but the way she said it held weight, like it was older than language I was accustomed to. It felt less description and more category, and I wasn't sure I liked being lumped into it.
“A…what?” Robbie muttered, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Men.” Sorcha muttered, her voice prickly as she tossed her head in irritation. Then her gaze settled on me—steady, unflinching, and impossibly intense. “A maker of things—amulets, sigils, talismans.”
The words she used, ancient and heavy with implication, seemed to hang in the air between us like motes of dust caught in a shaft of sunlight.
They drifted and twisted in my mind, their edges shimmering faintly, as though I could almost see them taking shape.
Her phrasing felt odd and archaic, but I guessed it wasn't entirely wrong, especially when the emerald necklace I'd made became something just like that.
“I'm…a jeweler. A metalsmith,” I said carefully, the words tasting almost foreign on my tongue in the presence of her unblinking stare.
“Oh, nae just that. No…” Sorcha's gaze flicked to Baird, keen and knowing, then back to me. “He can see it, eh?”
Baird froze. For a fleeting moment, I saw guilt flicker across his face before he dropped his eyes to the cottage floor, feigning sudden interest in something invisible at his feet.
“See what?” I demanded. “I'm standing right here.”
Somehow, it felt like Robbie and I had been unceremoniously shut out of an inside joke, one shared only between Baird and Sorcha—a private knowledge that left me prickling with irritation.
“The magic ye wield, Mira.” Sorcha stated, as if that explained everything. “Magic seeks magic. The stone found its way to ye because it needs ye. Hold it again,” she said gently as she held it out to me. “Let it explain, then ye can decide.”
Everything in me wanted to refuse, but I was tired of pretending something that knew my name could be avoided just by not looking at it. “Let it explain what, exactly?” I snapped, thrown by the way she seemed to be speaking about me and to me all at once.
Sorcha didn't answer. She only held the stone out to me, her expression unreadable.
I took a deep breath, forcing air into my tight lungs, and swallowed down the knot of fear coiling in my throat.
Slowly, I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the ruby.
The instant my skin met its surface, a searing pulse shot through my palm, sizzling like fire sinking into my bloodstream.
I felt Baird move to my side in a blur, his protective arms encircling me, steadying me as my knees nearly buckled. Then the world dropped away.
The cottage, the firelight, Baird's solid presence—all of it vanished in an instant. I was swallowed by inky darkness, so complete it felt alive. And then the whispers began. Soft at first, curling around me like smoke, their voices neither male nor female—just raw, ancient sound.
We are not whole. We are two. One in your hand…one yet to be found.
Your task is not to keep, but to shape. To forge what binds us. Help us seek the ones to whom we belong. Only then can they be reunited.
We are not yours, yet you are chosen to bring us to life. A maker's hands…a seer's sight. The power lies with you.
The darkness receded, peeling away like smoke until the living room swam back into focus.
Whatever the ruby had shown me, it hadn't felt like a threat, not exactly.
Something about it made me feel seen, special.
And that might have frightened me the most. Three faces stared at me—Baird, his arms still steadying me; Robbie, concern etched plainly across his features; and Sorcha, curious, expectant.
The weight of their gazes pressed on me, but it was the power of the ruby in my hand that anchored me most of all.
I looked down at it, its surface cool now, innocuous even.
Drawing in a slow, deep breath, I held it in my lungs until the tightness in my chest eased.
Then I let it out in a long, trembling exhale.
“It said there were two rubies—I only have one. And my task is to shape it into a piece of jewelry. Somehow that would help it find the other, but…that makes no sense.” I let out a ragged breath, shaking my head at the riddle tangled in my mind.
“Something about a maker's hands…and a seer's sight…” My voice trailed off, and for a moment the weight of it lay heavy in my gut.
Then I turned to Sorcha, my eyes narrowing.
“And what did you mean by ‘I can decide'? Decide what, exactly? I need you to be clear,” I said.
“Because from where I am standing, it doesn't feel like much of a choice at all.”
“Ye are not obligated to comply,” Sorcha said, her face unreadable. “But I would—were I a maker—and been chosen.”
“What exactly is it asking me to do?” I shot back, pacing. “Make a ring? A necklace? And then what? Just sit here until someone happens to knock on the door?”
“Is that how ye make a living?” Sorcha asked evenly.
“What? No—I make something, photograph it, then advertise it on social media and my website.”
“Then that is what the ruby is asking ye to do. Nothing more. The person who buys it will be part of the chain to bring the person back.”
“Bring who back?” I demanded, my voice rising.
Sorcha's gaze didn't waver. “The one the woman wants to live again. The rubies hold the power to bring them back. The ruby's spell is one of reincarnation.”
Robbie backed away from the three of us, his face as white as a pale-skinned vampire could be, his lips moving in a frantic mutter as he made the sign of the cross over and over.