Chapter 10 Granny Margaret Knows All
GRANNY MARGARET KNOWS ALL
We drove to Kirriemuir, the small village north of Edinburgh where my father's relatives lived—the nexus of the Garvie family's clairvoyant legacy.
After lunch with Evie, her fiancé Davey, and Morag's family, Morag and Evie headed off in one car while Baird and I followed in ours to Granny Margaret's house.
We stepped into her terraced home in the village, and there she was—the same gray-haired, bun-wearing, stooped little woman in orthopedic shoes I'd met just over a year ago when I first arrived, the only link I had to the Garvies, courtesy of .
She had a few more wrinkles now and moved a little slower, but otherwise she was unchanged.
Morag had put together a care package after lunch and was busy stacking Tupperware containers in the fridge when I introduced Baird.
“Granny Margaret—this is Baird.” I couldn't help but laugh a little. “The green-eyed man you told me about. I met him the day after I saw you last.”
“Aye—weel, I heard from Evie about him. I'm glad ye took my coonsel. Nice to meet ye, lad. Oh, and a handsome one 'an aw!” she said, squinting up—and up—to take in Baird's towering frame.
“I was hoping you might help me again.” I said. “You were so spot-on last time.”
“Whit's the matter wi' ye, lass?” she asked, her voice kind.
“It's a long story…maybe we should sit,” I said self-consciously.
She nodded and lowered herself onto the small sofa.
I sat beside her. Evie and Morag took the armchairs, leaving Baird standing—every seat claimed by a Garvie woman.
I glanced around the room, then back at Baird.
He met my eyes and gave a subtle nod, a quiet go-ahead to share whatever I felt she needed to know.
Granny Margaret watched the silent exchange with sharp curiosity.
“Spit it oot,” Granny Margaret said, clearly tired of my stalling.
“Okay—“ I took a breath. “I know we have a strong family history of clairvoyance, but…has anyone in the Garvie line ever had something else? Any kind of—oh, I don't know—magic?” I tried to sound casual, but acting, as Baird had reminded me on more than one occasion, wasn't my strong suit.
Granny Margaret's eyebrows shot up at the question. She looked from me to Evie and Morag, then back again, like she wasn't sure she wanted to answer at all. After a moment, her shoulders eased, like she'd made peace with something.
“Girls,” she said, turning to Morag and Evie, “away to the kitchen and make us some tea. And make sure tae bring some biscuits too. We might be here a wee while.” Her tone was gentle, but there was no mistaking it was a dismissal.
Evie and Morag exchanged a glance—one of those tight-lipped, silent ones that said we're not fooled but we'll play along—and disappeared into the kitchen.
Granny Margaret reached for my hand and leaned in close, her voice dropping.
She gave my fingers a couple of soft pats, then looked between me and Baird, and then held his gaze.
“Just so ye know,” she said, voice low but steady, “I ken what ye are. I'm no afraid—but ma daughter and granddaughter—they havnae worked it oot. And they willna.”
Baird gave a small nod, and I echoed it, a quiet pact made between the three of us. “Did you know?” I asked. “Back then—when I first came?”
“Aye,” she nodded, her voice still lower than her usual speaking tone.
“But ye wouldnae have believed me. And I saw he was the one meant to protect ye,” nodding toward Baird.
“So…it all worked oot in the end.” She patted my hand again, but the gesture felt less reassuring now—more a reflex meant to steady herself than to comfort me.
”Now, about yer question—aye. My great-grandmother had strong magic.
My grandmother, less. My ma said she had none at all.
” Granny paused, the look in her eye suggesting she didn't quite believe it herself.
“With each generation, it faded. Now all that seems to be left is the Sight.” Her gaze settled on me, curious and searching. “Why do ye ask?”
“Well…” I glanced at Baird, trying to piece together a version of the truth that wouldn't sound completely mad. “I came into possession of a ruby. It's enchanted.”
Her eyes narrowed with interest, but she didn't interrupt.
“And through a…friend of a friend, I guess you'd say, I met a witch,” I said, hard-pressed to explain Sorcha.
“She confirmed what I felt—that the stone had power.
But then she told me something else. She said I had power.
That I possess some kind of inherent magic—and that's why the stone found its way to me.” I exhaled. “I know it sounds far-fetched.”
She held a finger up to me, and I paused.
She got up on stiff knees and lumbered out of the room without a word, and when she returned a few minutes later, she was carrying an old book—ancient, really.
Its leather-bound cover was cracked and curled at the corners, the pages loose and yellowed with age.
“This book's been in our clan fo years,” she said, settling it carefully in her lap.
“Me ma told me she got it 'cause she was the only lass in her family—but it was meant for the one born wi’ magic.
I dinnae think we've had a Garvie wi' proper magic in 100 years,” she said after a bit of mental math, “maybe longer.” She ran a hand reverently over the cover before opening it.
“Ah flicked through it when I was wee, hopin' to find somethin' tae help me grasp the Sight. But there's nothing in here aboot it.”
She glanced up at me, her eyes soft with understanding. “But the big magic—that had tae be jotted down. Taught. Kept safe. An’ ah think that's how our might withered, generation after generation. We just assumed it'd be there…an’ now, most o’ it's lost.”
Granny Margaret looked down at the book again, considering something, and then looked back to me. “Why's the—witch, ye say?—thinkin’ ye got the magic?” she asked, eyeing me keenly.
I tilted my head toward Baird. This part wasn't mine to tell—only he and Sorcha had seen it—so I let him explain.
“She glows sometimes,” he said. “Like her skin catches light and throws it back out. But she disnae see it.”
Granny Margaret's brows lifted. “When does it happen?”
Just then, Morag and Evie returned, carrying a tea service and a plate of shortbread. They set it down on the table, but Baird was too focused to notice.
He cleared his throat, then smirked—slow and deliberate, and just watching him made my cheeks burn hot. “Mostly when she's in her studio, working. Mostly.”
Granny Margaret didn't miss a thing. For the briefest moment, I caught a flash of the sly, mischievous young woman she must've been once, right before she cut him a look that said she understood exactly what he meant.
“Weel, Mira,” Granny Margaret said turning back to me, handing me the old worn book, “it would seem ye are the Garvie with the most use for this at the moment.
I'll lend it tae ye, for ye tae learn fae.
If Evie—or any of my granddaughters—or their bairns—were to develop magic one day, I'd want ye to pass it back.
But for now, I think it's best placed in yer hands.”
She looked at the book, now sitting on my lap, wistfully.
“My mother always called it the Mother's Book.
It covers aw sorts o' topics. At first glance, it looks like a domestic guide—how tae mak' tallow candles, pit yer medicinal herbs tae work, that sort o' thing.
But tucked awfy tight between the pages are some proper protection spells…
spells tae sniff out somethin'—or someone—lost…an even how tae keep a vampire oot yer home.”
The room went still. I let out a nervous laugh, because Morag and Evie definitely didn't know Granny believed in vampires, and I wasn't about to be the one to break that news.
“Ma,” Morag said, her voice incredulous. “Does it really say that?”
“The Druid and Celts called it Abhartach, or Marbh Bheo, or when a female, Dearg-Due or Baobhan Sith. But they a’ mean the same thing—a vampire.” Granny said. She'd devoured this book as a girl, I could tell, and now she had a reason to share it.
“Mira will be sure to put that last one to good use, won't ye, love?” Baird said, smirking.
I smiled, but my grip tightened on the book. Some jokes hit closer to home than others. “Oh yes,” I deadpanned, rolling my eyes. “I've been desperate for an effective vampire protection protocol.”
Morag and Evie laughed, and I let out a quiet breath of relief.
For now, our little act had held. The book was heavier than it looked, as if it carried more than just paper and ink.
As I cradled it in my hands, a familiar scent rose from its pages: dry leather, plus stone dust, moss, and something faintly metallic.
It hit me like a wave of déjà vu. The box that had held Agnes's portrait had smelled similar.
Apparently, ancient Garvie artifacts all carried the same signature odor—dust, mystery, and the weight of secrets.
I was eager to get back to Edinburgh and pore over the unexpected treasure, but there was one more thing I needed before we left.
“Granny Margaret,” I said carefully, “would you lay hands on me?
I…I don't know if I can trust the witch. Sorcha.” I didn't offer any background—no mention of shapeshifting or what the ruby showed me.
I'd leave Granny to explain away the strange snippets of my story that Evie and Morag had overheard—including the jokes about vampires—after I left.
I just hoped her Sight was as clear as it had been last time.
She nodded without hesitation and raised her arthritic hands to my face. Just like before, her eyes went cloudy, rolling back slightly as she slipped into that trance-like state that would've looked theatrical in anyone else—but in her, it was unsettlingly real.