Chapter 11 The Mother’s Book #2
I flushed. “That's what he says,” I told her, still unsure I believed it.
My life had been full of strange coincidences lately, but this one landed like a thunderclap.
I reached across her and flipped the page back to the colorful image inside the front cover—the young woman, the embodiment of fire.
She stood before what I assumed was a cauldron, her right arm outstretched, flames rising from the palm of her hand.
Her left arm was lifted high and arced behind her, like a dancer, as if her body was a single lick of flame pulled by the wind.
Even the ends of her long hair were rendered as flickering fire.
She wasn't just working with flame—she was flame.
“Is this Brigid?” I asked, wondering if this was the connection that kept me coming back to the drawing.
“Aye—it is. Brigid is the most high of the Celtic goddesses,” Sorcha added. “Did ye know the word ‘bride’ is derived from her name?”
“No, I didn't.” I was about as familiar with Paleo-Christian deities as I was with magic and witches.
“Granny Margaret didn't tell me much,” I admitted.
“Only that the book was supposed to be passed down to the Garvie daughter born with magic, but there hadn't been one in almost a hundred years.
She called it the Mother's Book. She said her grandmother was the last to have any magic.”
“Dinnae let her discount the Sight ye have—that's magic too—plain and simple. Dinnae ever think otherwise,” she scolded.
I hesitated, then added, “She told Baird she knew what he was—even back when she read for me the first time, the day before I met him.
She also said she knew what Bastien was.
But she didn't tell me outright, not then.
When I asked why, she said I wouldn't have believed her. She said she told me what I needed to know, that Baird would never hurt me. I think that was her way of telling me what she could…without telling me everything.”
I paused again. “She said something strange when we left, and it's been bothering me ever since.” It was a relief to admit it, say it out loud.
Despite the look that passed between us, neither Baird nor I had mentioned it.
“She called out to me as we were leaving.
She said maybe I'd be the one to have a child with magic, to carry on the line.
I don't know—maybe she's just baby-crazy. Or maybe she saw me having a child with someone else. But why say that in front of Baird?”
Sorcha tilted her head, frowning slightly, like some part of the story was missing. “Or…maybe she saw ye having a bairn with Baird. Did that no cross yer mind?”
“He told me we could never have children,” I added with a small shrug.
“That it's just…not possible. A vampire and a human.” I repeated it as if it were some universal truth, something everyone in the know would understand.
But Sorcha was giving me a look—curious, almost skeptical.
Maybe it wasn't such common knowledge after all.
“I mean…” I gave a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood, “I hope it's not, since I tossed my birth control months ago.”
“Do ye no want his child?” Sorcha wasn't laughing.
I froze, caught off guard by the question.
“Ah—um—“ The words wouldn't come. I looked left, then right, then turned in a slow, ridiculous circle like the answer might reveal itself if I just kept moving.
But nothing came—only a thick, charged silence.
“Of course I do,” I said at last, my voice barely above a whisper.
“If that's what he wants…” I trailed off, the weight of that if settling heavily in my chest. And as the words slipped out, I felt it—a spark of hope, molten and reckless, burrowing into my ribs like it had every right to be there.
“Have ye ever heard of the dhampir?” Sorcha asked with an inquisitive tip of the head.
I shook my head. “No. But it sounds a lot like the word vampire.”
“They sound alike because the words are related. Eastern European folklore, particularly in the Balkan region, has many stories about the dhampir,” she said.
“In those traditions, it's believed that under the right circumstances…” She paused.
“…a vampire and a human can conceive. Almost always a male vampire and a human woman. The offspring may carry some vampire traits, like a craving for blood—but no always. They tend to live longer than any normal human.”
I stared at her. “Right circumstances? So…like wildly rare, or have I been playing it fast-and-loose with my birth control? Does Baird know?” I blurted out. The question felt absurd the moment I said it—but lately, everyone seemed to know things I didn't.
Sorcha shrugged. “I have no way tae ken what Baird knows. I suggest ye ask him. It is rare—maybe he was only trying to spare ye heartbreak,” she added gently, offering him an out.
“Stay here. Don't move.” I bolted from the studio, down the stone steps to the house.
I found Baird just inside the door, putting on his jacket, readying to head out.
“Come to the studio. Now.” I grabbed his hand, dragging him along behind me, my heart pounding with every step.
Sorcha was still exactly where I'd left her, hunched over the book, leafing through the pages when we walked in.
“Tell him,” I said breathlessly. “Tell him what you told me.”
She looked up, head tilted, amused. “Which part? That the magic running through your veins was a gift from the goddess of fertility, fire, and smithing herself—or that it's possible for a vampire and a human to conceive a child?”
If I didn't know better, I'd swear Baird was about to faint. He looked pale—green, even, if that were possible. His expression was a mix of disbelief and complete disorientation, and I'd never seen him wear it before this very moment.
We both stared at him in silence until, finally, he blurted out, “Robbie said that wasn't possible.”
I blinked. “Robbie?” I asked incredulously.
“He seemed sure,” Baird replied, like that was a defensible excuse.
Sorcha waved a hand dismissively. “Two men, and one of them Robbie, no less—widnae think to consult a woman when it came to the birds and the bees.” She shook her head, clearly unimpressed.
Baird grabbed Sorcha's wrist—fast enough to startle her, and me.
For a split second, I worried it might have been a foolish move, even for a vampire.
But Sorcha stilled. Her eyes scanned his face, and whatever she saw there softened her stance.
The witch in her stepped back. The woman saw a man desperate for answers.
“Like I told Mira, Baird—it is a rare event. But it has happened.”
“What are the chances? One in a hundred—or one in a million?” Baird asked, grasping for some understanding.
“That's quite a range, Baird.” Sorcha answered with a barely concealed eye roll. “I wish I could give ye a definitive answer, but I'd say closer to one in two, maybe three hundred? But it's not up to ye…it's up to Brigid to bless ye or not.”
“Who is Brigid exactly? And what even brought this up?” he asked, looking between the two of us like tracing the steps of our conversation might change where they led.
“The goddess,” I said with an eye roll of my own, figuring I could pick up that explanation later.
“We were talking about Granny Margaret—what she said when we left.
It's been playing on a loop in my head ever since.” I paused, searching his face.
“At first I tried to brush it off, chalked it up to her assuming every couple wants kids.
But she's smarter than that. She knows what you are.
And I can't stop wondering if she saw something… something we can't.”
Baird exhaled slowly, as if he'd been holding his breath. “Aye—I wondered too. The twinkle in her eye, like she kens something we dinnae.” He turned around and spotted one of the empty chairs and plopped down in it, running a hand through his hair.
Finally, he looked up at me, like we were alone. “Ye're no pregnant…I'd ken.” He said softly.
I nodded to agree and then stopped. “Wait…would you know before me?” I asked, incredulous.
“The way ye smell would change. And at some point, I'd hear the bairn's heartbeat—along with yours.”
I blinked. I'd forgotten he could hear my heartbeat all the time. But my smell would change?
“And your cycles are very regular…”
Ugh. Not even that escaped his attention. Sorcha remained where she was, hands folded neatly in her lap like some ancient priestess, a silent witness to our strange conversation, waiting patiently for us to remember she was still there.
Baird stood and gave a single nod, the look on his face still disoriented, lost in thought. “Uh…I was headed out. Taking Buns.”
I waited for him to look at me again—but the look never came.
He gave Sorcha a tight nod of goodbye and walked out the door.
I knew he hadn't fed in over a week, and he and Bunny usually retreated into the hills alone—either just before dawn or, like tonight, at dusk.
Maybe the solitude would help. Give him space to settle his thoughts.
When I turned around, Sorcha was standing, purse in hand, ready to leave.
“Look at the book,” she said, “see how your line honored Brigid. Then think on how ye'd shape it yourself—make it personal. Ye must put something of yourself into the invocation if ye want her power to move through your hands.” She paused at the door and glanced back, her eyes gleaming.”When I return, we'll do a little experimentation.”
My eyebrows lifted. “What kind of experimentation?”
“The kind that'll wake her magic in ye—so Baird and I aren't the only ones who see it shimmering just beneath the surface. I'll teach ye to channel Brigid…and to command how her power shows itself.”