Hidden Magic: An Ancient Magic Novel Read online

  Instantly a shimmering light illuminated the journal and it opened in my hands. It filled me with an uncertain emotion.

  “Mo mhac, I must ask you to promise me that if I am not there by the third day of winter solstice, you will not come searching for me.”

  Horrified I opened my mouth to object, but he spoke again silencing me.

  “I am asking as your High Priest and leader. Give me your word Cynwrig. If I do not return it means it is not safe for me to do so. I will not bring danger upon my Druid family. You must take them to a new home and guide them in light and peace without me. Now promise me Mo mhac, if I do not return, you will not search for me.”

  I nodded, not sure I was capable of uttering the words he required of me.

  “Speak the words.”

  I took a deep breath, “I give you my word… I… I will not search for you.” Each word sliced through me. He had been my mentor, my friend, and a Father to me. I had grown up with his teachings, his guidance, his support and encouragement. I was uncertain what a life without him would look like.

  He nodded, satisfied with my compliance and bowed his head, taking my hand in his “now let us pray.”

  “Grant, O Goddess, Thy Protection,

  With this protection, grant us strength,

  And within the strength allow us understanding,

  Through this understanding, let knowledge be born,

  And once with knowledge, let us comprehend justice,

  And through the grasp of justice, the love of it,

  Allow that Love to become the love of all existences,

  For with the love of all existences,

  The love of our Earth Mother is returned,

  And with that love all goodness is sustained….”

  I stood on the boat with my warriors and clan behind me. Mo meantóir’s journal clasped tightly in my hands, and watched his boat disappear in the horizon.

  Each of us sailed towards our new destiny.

  “Until we meet again… ”

  I stood in front of the mirror in my room and stared at my reflection until I went crossed eyed. My outfit was awesome. I had the flower-child-fashionable-office-girl look down to a “T” but I was nothing if not a perfectionist. The delicate white laced, flower peasant top looked both sweet and chic with my bright yellow fitted blazer, black skinny trousers and yellow stilettoes that matched perfectly.

  “Yes, I said bright yellow. What? I’m a Ginger, I can pull it off.”

  Essentially, I’m a redhead but I’ve been called many things. You name it, I’ve heard it. Fire head, carrot head, copper top, fire hat, Animal. You know like the one in the Muppets that plays the drums? Fire top, a blonde with spice, Anne of Green Gables. That one I actually liked. But my favorite was Ginger. Growing up as a redhead, I’d encountered the type of people that will do just about anything to try and make you feel less than nothing, only for the simple fact of being different. Around the fifth time someone made me cry at the playground due to my red-orange strands and freckles, I punched the kid on the nose. Grandpa sat me down on his knee and explained there was nothing wrong with being different. And that violence was never the answer. Those that tried to hurt me with their words didn’t understand that it was my very freckles and red strands that made me special. He kissed my forehead and told me I needed to embrace who I was. Never to feel ashamed by it, because it was a legacy. A bond I shared on my skin to those that had formed my family once. I realized then he was right. It was his love and support that helped me and gave me the strength I needed. I decided to not allow those names to bring me down. Instead, I turned them into a positive. An encouragement and a reminder that being different didn’t make me worthless, it made me unique.

  I pushed the sleeves up to my elbows, and slid the rose gold lucite and agate stone bangles on my wrist, then slipped a pair of agate drop earrings in my earlobes.

  “Now it’s hair time.”

  I pulled my hair out of the messy bun I had slept with, letting it fall in natural waves down to my waist then finger combed it for the perfect tousled look. I took my bangs and braided them into a side, loose braid that framed my face. Then parted the rest of my hair and braided four little sections here and there throughout, securing the ends with tiny little engraved-metallic hair clips I bought on Ebay. Twelve for ninety-nine cents.

  Score!

  Pulling off fashion on a strict budget was challenging. It meant A LOT of scavenger shopping in thrift stores, online and my very best friend Ebay, where everything costs a dollar and the shipping was always free.

  “But hey I’m a Ginger, I can get it done,” and I was talking to myself again.

  I sighed and walked to my vanity next to the window, sat down and applied a bit of blush to compliment my freckles. Metallic copper eyeliner, which made my sky blue eyes totally pop. A bit of mascara then some pink lip-gloss.

  “And… Done,” I was satisfied.

  Not that it mattered. No one at the office ever bothered to look in my direction. I had finally graduated as an Environmental Lawyer. Had been working six months at Cornelli Family Law, and had yet to be assigned my first case. My responsibilities pretty much included: File cases away in alphabetical order and code files for proper placement. Retrieve files for the other associates. Log the ones that went out, and ensure they all returned. Then log them in once they were back. Oh, and photocopy them if needed. A File Clerk. Five years of law school plus the bar and I was a freaking file clerk. I’d heard of the expression “paying your dues” but this was ridiculous. I mean the filing room wasn’t even on my floor. The actual filing clerks looked at me with pity every time I showed my face down there! Which was about three to four times a week.

  I know what you are thinking, completely pathetic, right? Yeah, I agree.

  In my not so “exciting” moments, I usually sat at my desk playing Angry Birds.

  I seriously have an unhealthy addiction to that game.

  I also read, and daydreamed of some hot, sweet, yet strong prince coming to rescue me from my boring, predictable, and friendless life. Except, there was a fairly essential problem with that dream. I wasn’t the Aurora or Snow White type of girl. I was more of the Merida type. Still, I wouldn’t dare turn down a handsome prince.

  I mean I’m not stupid.

  So I filed my life away. Destroyed towers of evil little piggies, read wonderful books that totally consumed me, and daydreamed all day. Every day. The only person even remotely close to being nice to me was Amelia, the receptionist on my floor. She had been hired only a month after I was, and always had a smile and a “Good morning Miss Anwell,” to greet me when I arrived. Other than her, people pretty much ignored me. That is, until someone remembered that I existed, and left a beautiful pile of files on my desk to take down to the second floor, or, to send me on coffee runs for everyone else.

  “Which reminds me, I better grab my metallic flats.”

  Before getting up, I checked on the small potted plant that sat on the windowsill.

  “Crapola, not again!”

  I had managed to kill another plant. I should be ashamed of myself, and I probably would be if I could figure out what the hell I was doing wrong. I watered it regularly, had it next to the window as instructed on the tiny label that came with it. I even bought one of those bag of vitamins and nutrients and put it in the soil.

  I mean this was harder than the freaking Bar exam.

  The poor plants only lasted like three months in my hands. The rays of the sun seeped through the glass and warmed my skin. I lifted my face giving into the feeling and accepted the beautiful day nature was offering.

  “Mmmmm.”

  Making me melt, like caramel.

  I sighed, “I wish I was at the beach…”

  I stood, I had to get moving or I was going to be late. The knock at the door brought a smile to my face.

  “Bri sweetheart, are you ready? We need to leave soon.”

  I looked at the clock next to my bed. It dis
played 7:45am. The knock came again.

  “Right on time. My trusty and loyal Grandpa coming home from his shift, to pick me up,” I said swinging the door open. A tumbler full of steamy coffee and a bright smile greeted me.

  I’ve always thought Grandpa to be handsome. He has sky blue eyes like mine. A full head of hair with beautiful but peculiar silver tones in it. Probably the result of his hair being red-orange before it began changing. He has a short, well-groomed beard with the same tones. Mainly white now, but it has silver highlights that shine like the light of the moon. It makes him look totally debonair. He’s tall, at least eight inches taller than I am. And I am five-feet seven so that’s really tall. He’s strong and has one of these bodies that you see in older men when they are on the cover of men’s health magazines. But he’s not buff. I mean all he’s ever lifted are books.

  I guess it’s true what they say, you know. Age is definitely a state of mind.

  He looks really good for his age, which means good genes run in the family, and I won’t age as fast as other redheads normally do.

  Score!

  “Sweetheart,” he said in an amused voice. “Are you having one of those internal monologue conversations again? You’ve been staring at me for the past minute.”

  I shrugged and went on my toes to kiss him on the cheek. I stepped out of the room as his laughter rang through the hallway. Then I remembered something.

  “Just a moment Grandpa.” I quickly walked to the vanity and grabbed the plant from the window to throw it away on our way out. He noticed it in my hand once I stepped out and closed the door behind me. His expression was a mix of sadness and guilt.

  “Yeah I know. I am a plant murderer. I should be arrested.”

  He began laughing again and I chuckled. I loved my Grandpa. I cherished the way his eyes lit up whenever he saw me. It was something that never failed to make me feel special. He adored me. I was his whole world, which was both the sweetest thing ever and could be overwhelming at times.

  The thing about Grandpa is that he is the sweetest, most gracious, loving, and respectful man you will ever meet. I mean it. He wouldn’t dare hurt a fly. However he is also the most, overprotective, nervous and paranoid, worrywart that ever set foot on the face of the earth. Which was one of the main reasons why I was home schooled, and I didn’t have any friends… It was probably also why I loved reading so much and getting lost in wonderful worlds full of fairies and dragons. Books are my happy place. It perhaps also contributed to why I decided to go into environmental law. Grandpa never allowed much. I never got to experience play dates, or sleepovers. I didn’t know the meaning of a social life, but the one thing he always let me do without question was to enjoy nature. Whether it was the park or beach closest to where we lived at the time.

  We moved a lot throughout my childhood. We always lived in huge cities, which sometimes made it difficult to find “nature,” but when we did, he would always let me play and enjoy it for as long as I wanted. The grass, trees, flowers and the ocean, those were my friends. Other than that I was pretty much house bound. It took nearly a year of begging, for him to let me go to the university to get my degree. A year! And I think my scholarships were the main reason he didn’t want to agree. I had applied for those behind his back, which he wasn’t too thrilled about but in the end he understood. Or maybe it was the fact that he knew when I believed in something with enough conviction, I would do it whether he wanted me to or not. It didn’t happen often, but whenever I disagreed with Grandpa about something, nothing could make me change my mind. Then it took another three months for him to comprehend that after getting a degree, I should probably get a job.

  I had been raised in a different way than most children. Whenever I asked to go to school with the other kids the answer was always no, and with grandpa, no always meant no. He was a man of “meaningful words” so when he spoke it was the law. Then I tried to make friends in the playgrounds but that didn’t go as planned. I had been bullied. Every time. Eventually I learned to let go of the idea of friendship and to accept my Grandfather’s judgment. No, I didn’t rebel. I never felt the need to. He made me feel loved and even though there were things he didn’t allow me to do, he respected me. He protected me. Whether he did it the right or the wrong way, he was making sure I was safe. And I knew for everything he did there was a reason behind it, so I accepted his wishes.

  Some may think I’m naive for living the way I do. However, people never know what others have been through. I choose to see life through rose-colored glasses. There is nothing wrong with that! It is a conscious choice. I am fully aware of it.

  At the end of the day though, nobody is perfect. Although Grandpa, sure comes damn close. Even with all his faults I love him. He is also my world.

  The look in Grandpa’s eyes changed. It became appreciative and nostalgic.

  “You are just like your Father, sweetheart… You remind me so much of him, bless his soul.”

  I grinned. Any day Grandpa said I reminded him of dad was a great day for me. I wish that I had met him.

  If there is one thing you should know about me, it is that I’m an orphan. My parents died in a home robbery gone wrong when I was a baby. Kind of like Harry Potter, but without the super cool powers, the amazing school and the scary, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

  Unfortunately, my grandmother was also a victim of that assault. So Grandpa raised me. And since my Father was an only child, it was just the two of us. But that was ok with me. It had to be.

  His blue eyes sparkled when he spoke. “My beautiful and special little Bee,” he handed me the coffee. “Would you please finish your monologue in the car? I don’t want you to be late, sweetheart.”

  I chuckled. I loved it when he called me that, and he knew me all too well. I nodded, rushed down stairs and grabbed my purse from the hallway console. I stepped into the kitchen, to get my lunch that I had prepared the night before. Threw the poor potted plant away and followed him to the door. We didn’t have enough money for two cars and there was no way on earth that Grandpa would allow me to take the bus so, he dropped me off and picked me up every day. The way I saw it, I had my very own private chauffeur. I didn’t mind.

  *

  I sat at my cubicle trying my hardest to disguise the fact that I was ugly crying with the book I was reading on my iPhone’s Kindle app.

  I mean seriously, why is this author doing this to me? Doesn’t she know that after all her heroine has been through she deserves a little happiness? I mean what’s a girl gotta do?

  I closed the app and dabbed at my tears with a tissue, careful not to mess up my makeup. I heard steps nearby and turned to my monitor. I pressed the on button and noticed the light at the top go from red to blue for a split second then to green.

  “What the hell was that?” I pressed the button again and it turned on, the light remaining green. “Had it always done that? I don’t recall ever seeing a blue light when the monitor turned on.” The steps were closer so I disregarded the thought and tried to look busy while Victor Cornelli, my supervisor, walked down the hallway to my right. It was a hell of a performance considering I couldn’t possibly be busy when they never gave me a case!

  Maybe I should have been an actress.

  I sighed. “Hey at least they still pay me.”

  I was starting to think that hiring me had been some sort of HR mix up that had gone unnoticed and filed away without consequence.

  I mean this is a huge firm, with so many employees that happening is possible. Right?

  Anyway, I had already done my filing for the day and I needed something else to keep me busy. I might as well offer to get coffee or something. I stood up peaking over my cubicle’s partition, “I’m going to Starbucks, does any…” I trailed off seeing the arms shoot up from about twenty cubicles around me. I instantly regretted my brilliant idea.

  “Great, just great.”

  I waited in line at Starbucks with my humongous coffee list, nicely arranged in alphabe
tical order. I considered how in the world I was going to carry all these cups back to the office. I mean seriously, I was going to have to grow more arms to accomplish this task.

  “Hey, I’m a Ginger, I can figure this out,” and I was talking to myself. Again. The woman in front of me turned and gave me a “what the hell is wrong with you,” glance. That did it.

  “Yes I was talking to myself,” I said annoyed at her reaction. “I’m not the only person in the world that talks to themselves. In fact I’m positive lots of people do it.”

  “I don’t,” She answered righteously.

  I smiled, “Then maybe you should start asking yourself what is wrong with you.”

  Two guys behind me chuckled as the lady huffed, gave me the evil eye and went back to looking at the menu. I blushed. I should seriously start counting to ten.

  A prickling feeling ran over my skin, making the tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand out. It was weird. It felt as if someone’s eyes were on me, but most of all it felt like a strange energy was around. Not exactly a bad energy, just strong and… peculiar, for lack of a better word. I couldn’t shake the feeling, effectively making the rightfully inherited paranoia come out to play. I mean after years of “be careful,” “don’t talk to strangers,” “don’t accept anything from anyone,” “people are not what they seem,” and my all-time favorite, “once you finish work wait for me inside the building. But not close to the door. Stay at a corner until you see me outside. Wait until I park then move to the door but wait for me to come for you.”

  Geez, no wonder I don’t have any friends, people probably think I am a weirdo. A fashionably cute weirdo of course, but a weirdo nonetheless. It is a miracle that the extent of my craziness only goes as far as me talking to myself.

  I looked around trying to figure out who or what was causing this sensation but I couldn’t see anything. The Starbucks was packed, people walked in and out of the entrance behind me. They blocked the hallway and effectively obstructed my view. From the few glimpses in between, I knew the tables were fully occupied. There were a few couples standing near the entrance and the back wall, so my search was kind of pointless. I don’t think I would be able to find the source even if I wanted to. I turned to face the line of people again as I considered two things.