Chapter 10 Granny Margaret Knows All #2
I leaned in. The room fell still. I could feel every gaze resting on us. I tried to calm my breath, willing myself to be open, to give her every chance to see what I could not.
Minutes passed.
Then she blinked, slow and deliberate, her eyes once again clear and bright.
“She's very powerful, Mira.” Her voice was calm, but her gaze drilled into mine.
I could tell she saw something. Maybe how old Sorcha really was.
Maybe the way she moved between forms. “I dinnae sense any ill will fae her.
She's…pleased wi' whit ye are. Aye, I reckon she thinks hersel' as a bit o' guidin' hand. Keen tae mould yer magic.”
I nodded slowly, relieved by her assessment—but just as I relaxed, Granny kept speaking.
“Mira,” she said gently, “Ah mind ye spoke aboot the dark man, the last time ye were here.” Her expression was guarded, concern knitting her brow.
Was she asking if he still lingered? If he still posed a threat?
She knew what Baird was, even back then, so I suspected she might also know what Bastien was. Maybe she was seeking closure.
“Ah, yes…” I fumbled. “He was…someone Baird knew.” Baird gave me a sidelong look that said Really? and Thanks a lot all at once. “That's all resolved now,” I added quickly, hoping to close the door.
But Granny narrowed her eyes. And when she spoke, her voice carried the quiet gravity of someone who knew. “Aye, that might well be. But the woman ye spied when ye touched the ruby…she's got some link to him. I dinnae ken the how of it—but I ken it to be true.”
As soon as the words left her lips, the swirling infinite—birth and death, darkness and light—coiled through my mind again, wrapping around itself in a never-ending figure eight of color and sound. It was as if her voice had awakened it, stirred the ruby's power that still lingered in me.
Granny Margaret might not have called herself a witch, but her Sight wasn't something to be trifled with.
She always downplayed her abilities—maybe it made life simpler—but she'd tapped into the ruby's current, and I felt it responding.
A silent acknowledgment passed between us.
If I'd ever forgotten that the ruby was alive—sentient, watching—this moment made sure I never would again.
I swallowed hard and let out a slow breath. “I guess that chapter isn't closed after all,” I said to Baird.
He gave a single nod, lips pressed into a tight line, his whole posture edged with tension.
This was the Baird I'd first woken up to on his couch—quiet, guarded, a tempest of thoughts behind troubled eyes.
And suddenly, I felt guilty. For dragging him into this mess—me, my magic, the Garvies, now Sorcha.
But then again…he was a vampire. An immortal with secrets of his own.
We said our goodbyes outside Granny Margaret's cottage, hugging in the soft afternoon light. I held the book tightly to my chest as I pressed a kiss to her wrinkled cheek.
“Thank you—for everything.” I said, and I meant it. Finding them all, but especially Granny Margaret, had been the second-best thing to come out of my decision to come to Scotland last year.
She smiled, and when Baird offered his hand, she batted it away and pulled him into a hug instead, as if to say he was part of the Garvie clan now—again.
I didn't miss the look in her eye. Yes, I suspected she'd seen it all.
She was clever that way—always giving just enough, holding the rest of her knowledge close to the vest until the moment it mattered enough to reveal it.
We'd nearly reached the car when she called out, stopping me in my tracks. “Mira—perhaps ye'll be the one to have a bairn wi' magic someday. Carry on the line, eh?”
I turned slowly and looked at Baird. His expression mirrored my own—quiet, stricken.
He'd told me we'd never have children of our own, that it couldn't happen between a vampire and a human.
We didn't talk about it anymore. Not a sore spot really, just one of the things I'd voluntarily given up when I made the decision to come back to Baird.
“Who knows? But you might be getting ahead of yourself—we aren't even married!” I said, half-laughing, throwing the words over my shoulder like a joke to cover the knot forming in my throat. A quick deflection. A way to buy time so I could avoid saying it out loud—that it was impossible.
I turned back to Baird and met his eyes.
A quiet sorrow hung in the moment between us—until something changed.
A flicker, a shift behind his gaze, like a new question had just taken hold.
And just as I saw it, the thought rose in me—unwelcome and undeniable.
Granny Margaret always knows more than she lets on.
We were both quiet on the drive to Baird's home in Edinburgh, where we stayed when we weren't on the Isle of Arran, each lost in our own thoughts.
For a while, I assumed he was worried about me—but when I stole a few glances his way, I realized the far-off look in his eyes wasn't his normal worry about how I was dealing with things.
He was somewhere else entirely, caught presumably in whatever Granny Margaret's words had stirred.
His grip tightened on the steering wheel, then eased again like he'd caught himself.
I couldn't help but wonder too—had she seen me having a child someday…
with someone else? And was that what he was thinking?
Or maybe…nope. I wasn't even going to entertain that thought.
A part of me wanted to turn the car around and ask her outright.
Demand answers. But I knew how that would go.
Granny Margaret didn't withhold truths to be cruel—she held them back because she understood that knowing the shape of your future, every twist and turn, could be more of a burden than a gift.
Some paths are meant to be walked, not foreseen.
Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe she was just a sweet old lady who thought everyone should be having babies—and didn't know that wasn't exactly an option for us. And maybe—hopefully—that was all she meant. Just a wistful, well-meaning comment.
Desperate to get back to something normal, I asked if we could stop at the stone seller's shop on the way back instead of waiting until morning.
Nathan Billings—a fellow jewelry designer I'd met and become friendly with—had a great connection for colored diamonds.
I'd placed an order for a dozen quarter-carat yellow diamonds, along with a couple of white ones speckled with salt-and-pepper inclusions, the kind that had become all the rage with Gen Z clients lately.
Nathan's shop was a small storefront just around the block from The Goldsmith's Guild, so Baird parked in their lot and followed me down the sidewalk.
The bell over the door gave a cheerful tinkle as we crossed the threshold.
Nathan was chatting with a client, so we lingered near the display cases until he finished.
As soon as the client turned to leave, Nathan waved me over, and I pulled up a stool to the counter.
“Mira—how have ye been? This must be Baird,” he said, reaching across the counter to shake his hand.
“I've been good—busy. Working on some new designs,” I said, eager to see the parcel I hoped he had behind the counter.
He pulled out a small box and tipped the contents onto a velvet-lined tray—twelve yellow diamonds and a couple of larger salt-and-pepper whites.
I leaned in as he handed me a loupe and flicked on the counter lamp.
Using tweezers, I turned a few over, watching how they caught the light.
There wasn't a single bad one in the lot.
Exactly why I preferred to do this in person.
You couldn't trust color and fire through a computer screen.
“These are great—I'll take them all,” I said, sitting back with a satisfied smile.
Nathan's eyes lit up. “Mira, I know ye love canary diamonds—have I got one to show ye!”
That was how we gemstone nerds operated.
Nothing lit us up like the chance to share a perfect stone with someone who'd truly appreciate it.
I clapped my hands like a kid in a candy store.
He pulled out another box, this one containing a yellow diamond, nearly five carats, oval cut.
It took my breath away, and I clutched a hand to my chest, not to be dramatic, but because I'd probably never seen a finer stone.
“Four point nine seven carats, virtually flawless. Fancy vivid yellow, according to the GIA,” Nathan said proudly.
He handed me the grading report, and I scanned the diagram, looking for any feathers or inclusions—especially since stones this clean were so rare.
The most reputable grader in the world was the Gemological Institute of America, and even here in the UK, it was still the gold standard.
If you had an important stone—one that would fetch top dollar—you sent it to the GIA.
I popped the loupe back up to my eye, holding the stone steady in the tweezers I'd just been using.
The report said the cut was excellent—and I couldn't disagree.
The cutter had known exactly how to shape it to maximize the color play.
No dark zones. No dead patches. With oval cuts like this, you often saw what we called a “bow tie”—a mirrored pair of dark triangles in the center that looked like someone had laid a shadowy ribbon right across the middle.
But this one? No bow tie, no flaw. Just fire.
Just brilliant, uninterrupted golden light.
Like a piece of the sun had fallen from the sky and crystalized.
I smiled, searching for a term to describe it: a bucket of yellow crushed ice.
Absolutely perfect. I set the stone in my palm and turned to glance at Baird, half-expecting to feel something deeper—some ripple of energy like I had with the ruby.
But nothing. No spark, no pull. This one wasn't enchanted.
Its magic was purely in its beauty—and it asked nothing of me in return.
“Ye wouldn't be interested, would ye?” Nathan asked. “I had someone looking to design a custom engagement ring, but they ended up going with a slightly smaller stone. I took this one on consignment so they could have a look, but if I can't find a home for it soon, I'll have to send it back.”
“No,” I shook my head and looked back at Baird, hoping for a little willpower reinforcement.
Baird smirked. “That's no what your face is sayin’.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. The gemstone goblin that lived inside me was practically vibrating with excitement.
But I knew the truth: if I bought it, I'd never get my money back—even if I got it wholesale.
“The top end of my line sells for nine thousand pounds, and even that's rare. Most of my sales fall under three.” I glanced at the diamond again, wincing.
“I don't even want to ask what your cost was on this.”
Then, to save myself, I stuck my fingers in my ears. “And if I bought it speculatively, I'd just find a way to keep it for myself. La-la-la-la…” I sang, shaking my head, fingers still planted firmly. “I'm not listening.”
I could hear Baird laughing behind me as I finally pulled my fingers from my ears.
I turned and gave him a helpless shrug. I knew myself well enough to recognize the pattern.
I had a case full of stones I'd gotten “a deal” on and still hadn't used—none of them anywhere near this quality.
No, this would be a terrible business decision.
A stunning, sparkling, heartbreakingly beautiful—expensive—business disaster.
I paid Nathan for the small stones I'd actually come for, and we wrapped things up. As we stepped out of the shop, the bell overhead tinkled again, a cheerful chime that felt like it was mocking my self-restraint.
Baird took my hand as we walked, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
I caught the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—smug and satisfied, like the cat that ate the canary.
At least we weren't still brooding over Granny Margaret's cryptic comments.
That glittering stone had unexpectedly done the impossible: distracted us, at least for the moment, from our thoughts about witches, ongoing vampiric connections to Bastien, and the grieving of babies we'd never have.
Shiny object for the win. No wonder I love rocks so much.