The Witches of Scotland Romance Series (The Gathering of the Seven #8)

Chapter 1

Rowan walked barefoot to the back of The Magick Wick and lit three candles for the people who were no longer in her life.

As she sat down and centred herself, the flames steadied, she closed her eyes and thought of the first two. Sending out love and energy to them brought back the pain of their absence, as it always did, but each day it got a little easier.

The third person was herself.

A few minutes later, in her sacred space, she sat cross-legged and reached out to the Veil, as she did every single morning, to check there were no cracks, no openings, and to make sure the world was safe.

She closed her eyes and sent out her energy.

As she scanned the skies above Glasgow, Edinburgh and the rest of Scotland, she felt the energy of the Veil connecting with her, pulling the earth’s energy through the soles of her bare feet, up through her body and through each of her chakras in turn.

Giving and receiving. Her energy flowing outward, the universe’s energy flowing in, until the two became indistinguishable.

After fifteen minutes, she was satisfied that the Veil was in place and holding. No magickal beings coming through. No tear in the fabric between the magickal world and the earth plane.

She reached out once more and sent a message to the universe to protect the newly formed coven she’d become an un-elected leader of. She thought of each of the witches in turn: Isla, Cat, Morven, Elspeth, Orla and Fiona; touching their energy and sending a silent prayer for each of them.

Rowan took a deep breath in, exhaled slowly, and opened her eyes, ready for the day ahead.

It was only half past five.

* * *

She heard the rapping on the glass door and looked up at the clock. Eight thirty. Deliveries, she thought.

Outside, Clarence Drive was looking bright, as the sun tried its hardest to come out from behind the grey clouds, and warm up the chilly day.

The red and blonde sandstone buildings looked as if they were coming to life as a bin lorry grumbled at the top of the hill and somewhere a dog barked twice, sharp in the cold air.

The delivery driver, a young man with mousy-blond hair, smiled and waved through the glass. “Got a new batch of candles for you,” he said as Rowan opened the door.

“Thanks, Craig. I’ll just take them through the front this time.”

“No probs,” Craig said as he lugged three large boxes through to the back storeroom.

Craig brought in another five large boxes of candles, with printed images showing candles of all different colours and sizes.

“Can I ask you something, Miss Kerr?”

Rowan swept her red hair back and rolled up her sleeves to open the boxes. “Of course. What is it?”

The boy looked up at the sign above the door of the storeroom. “Why do you spell magick with a K instead of a C?”

Rowan smiled. She’d been asked this a thousand times.

“Magic with a C is talking about stage magic – card tricks, pulling bunnies out of hats, that kind of thing. That’s stage magic.

” She set a box down on the counter. “Magick with a K signifies magick from the universe. Real, powerful magick within yourself. The stuff witches do with spells and rituals.”

The boy laughed. “Are you a witch?”

Rowan smiled but didn’t reply.

“Anyway, that’s the difference between magic and magick,” Rowan said, as she signed for the delivery.

“Thanks, Miss Kerr. See you soon,” Craig said, and walked out of the shop, whistling.

Rowan watched him leaving and smiled.

She shouldn’t get many customers in at this time of the morning, she thought, so prepared a new line of books that she was trying to sell as a way to diversify. She didn’t know if it would work or not but it would keep customers in the shop for longer, which could only be good for business.

She heard the tinkling of the bell above the door as someone entered and she looked at the clock. Ten past nine. A bit early for a customer, she thought.

As she stood up and turned, she stopped dead in her tracks.

There was a man. Ordinary looking enough. Brown hair, longer than usual style, with a beard. Large frame. And tattoos on his arms.

The tattoos seemed to glow.

Rowan composed herself. “Can I help you? Or are you just looking?”

The man looked at her and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle. “Just looking, thank you,” he said.

Rowan nodded and went back to the rear of the shop to continue preparing the display.

She questioned why she had been so startled by the man.

It wasn’t his appearance. It was his energy.

She reached out to read him, the way she’d read every person who had walked into her life for the last twenty years.

Nothing. Static. Like pressing her hand against a window and feeling only glass.

She looked around. He was there. She could see him clearly. But where his energy should have been, there was only silence. In twenty years of practise, she had never encountered a single person she couldn’t read. Not once.

After another minute or so, the man stepped up to the counter holding something in his hand. Rowan wiped her hands and went to the till.

She was opening up the till and turning the key before noticing what he was buying. So, when she looked down at what he had handed over, she stopped momentarily but tried to show no surprise to him at all.

It was one of the silver candle holders with a particular symbol etched onto it. One of the expensive ones.

“That’s an interesting piece,” Rowan said, keeping her voice even.

“Yes, it’s for my mother. She’s into all this kind of esoteric stuff. It’s her birthday soon.”

“Do you know what it means?” Rowan asked, never for a second thinking that he would. Why would he?

He looked at her, straight into her eyes. “Yes, I do, actually,” he said, in a calm, deep voice.

Oh, fuck, Rowan thought. What’s going on here?

He turned the candle holder in his hands, his thumb tracing the etched lines.

“It’s the symbol of magick across the universe.

A prayer to always feel your magick close to you.

” He said it the way someone might recite a phone number.

No ceremony. As if it were just something he’d always known.

He chuckled, “I don’t understand it, I just know it. ”

Something hummed inside Rowan’s chest. Deep, resonant, unmistakable.

She swallowed hard before speaking. “Are you from around here? I’ve never seen you in the shop before.”

“Yeah, I live just up the road. I don’t really come into these types of shops, but it’s her birthday soon, so.”

“Right. Okay, well, hope you come back soon,” Rowan said in as cheery a voice as she could manage, as she handed him the receipt.

He smiled and nodded at her. But, just before he closed the door behind him, he said, “See you soon, Rowan.”

The door closed.

Rowan stood behind the counter, one hand flat on the wood, and did not move. The shop was silent. A candle flame flickered in her periphery.

She couldn’t read him. He knew her name.

And the symbol on that candle holder – the one he’d described with such quiet certainty – she hadn’t designed it.

She’d received it in a vision from the Veil, months ago.

She’d been so moved by the image that she’d drawn it as accurately as she could, and later had it etched onto the silver holders, not fully understanding what it meant or why it had been given to her.

Now a man she couldn’t read had walked into her shop, picked it up without hesitation, and told her exactly what it was.

She looked down at her palm. The brooch mark, Jean’s brooch, fused into her skin the night Jean died, pulsed once, faintly, and was still.