Modern Day
Early summer
New Jersey, USA
“See it? Right there. It’s back again.” Jessa Tamson angled her cell phone so Emily Mithers, her best friend since they were toddlers, could see it. “I deleted that app fifteen minutes ago, and it’s already back. Check and see if yours came back, too.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “We’re already here, Jess, waiting to board.” She patted her fluorescent lime green tote, securely tucked under her arm. “We have our tickets, our cottage booked, our rental reserved. What difference does it make now? It’s just some silly dating app that keeps reinstalling itself. Ignore it.”
“Some silly dating app?” Jessa couldn’t believe her ears. Here they sat at Newark Liberty International Airport, Gate Nine, about to fly off to Scotland because that silly dating app had intrigued both of them for over a month now. “You didn’t think it was so silly when the same tarot cards kept popping up for a visit to Scotland, and that one guy always shows up behind them no matter how many times I swipe left to see other options.” She bumped shoulders with Emily as if they were still children. “And who was it that talked me into spending a good chunk of my shrinking savings on this trip because of that silly app ?” She felt a little guilty, blaming all her irresponsibility on her friend, but dear old Em had been the deciding vote that had teetered her over the edge, head first into this lunacy that couldn’t possibly end well. “What if?—”
Emily shushed her with a familiar scowl that bordered on the demonic. “Just shut it, Jess. All right? The tickets are non-refundable, and you’re way overdue for some good juju. Besides, there was no way you were going to be able to afford your landlord’s latest rent hike, no matter how much you scrimped and saved, so why worry about it? Mama’s sending Papa and the boys over to box up your stuff and get you out of the apartment before the end of the month. You know they love you, Jess, and the loft over their garage is yours as long as you need it. It’s nice. You’ll love it.”
“Then why don’t you live there?”
“Because my parents drive me batty. I love them, but their helpfulness— and the interference of the fearsome five who are always around looking for a free meal—is unbearable.” She grinned. “With you living above the garage, I’m hoping to aim my annoying brothers your way. Maybe then I’ll finally have some peace from them. At least, for a little while.”
“I’ll just tell them you’re dating…uhm…crap…I can’t remember his name.” Jessa picked at the lint on her black leggings that were not only comfortable but helped visually slenderize and elongate her short, thick legs. She wasn’t overweight. She was under tall. Clocking in at not quite five feet and on the curvier side of the spectrum, she needed all the help she could get to look taller and slimmer. Therefore, black was her color of choice when selecting garments. “What was his name? The one they hated so much that they showed up at his workplace? That’ll get the furious five back on your scent. You know they take whatever I say as gospel.”
“You are so ungrateful.” Emily shook her head, making the many strands of her long black braids sway with a gentle grace that Jessa's thick mass of coppery curls could never mimic. Emily tapped on the screen of her phone, then showed it to Jessa. “It says here that Seven Cairns is known for its healing waters. Reckon that includes healing bad luck?” She winked. “Maybe we should dip you an extra time or two.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Jessa shifted in the uncomfortable seat at the boarding gate. Why did decorators never think of short people when designing waiting area chairs? “If those magical healing waters replace bad luck with good, I’ll need at least three dips by my figuring.” She counted off on her fingers. “Once for either a new job or help with my freelancing as a digital creator. One for a reasonably priced vehicle since my paid-off one didn’t survive the neighborhood carjacking, and then one last time for an affordable yet safe place to rent.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like sponging off your parents.”
“It’s not sponging off them. You know you’re one of us.” Emily glanced up from her phone with a compassionate yet somehow pained look. “Mama and Papa love you, Jess. Just like me. Especially after?—”
Jessa stopped her with a curt upward flick of her hand, then looked away. The last thing she needed right now was a revisit to the memory of her parents cutting all ties with her by loudly announcing in the middle of a crowded restaurant they wished they’d never adopted her. It had happened over five years ago, but that day was still a raw, open wound. “I love your mom and dad, too. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
Emily nodded, then frowned at the vacant airline counter and the closed door behind it. “They’re waiting till the last minute to board. I hope nothing’s wrong with the plane.”
“Do not plant that seed in my head.” Fidgety and almost nauseous from nerves, Jessa tapped on the impossible-to-delete app, then tapped again on its tarot deck that always appeared on the home screen. The cards fluttered off the main deck and flipped over to reveal themselves on the vibrant green background that reminded her of a card table at a casino. She released a heavy sigh. Those were the same three cards the app had dealt her for the past month, no matter how many times she tried it. At first, she’d blown it off as an error in the creator’s coding. But that was before Emily had tried and gotten different results, and Emily’s parents and brothers had all received wide-ranging outcomes every time they tapped on it.
But Jessa always got the same three cards. The ace of wands that the app said represented the beginning of a journey, the birth of new ideas, and the start of creative projects. The fool, supposedly representing wonder, anticipation, excitement, and the need to go your own way, and the unicorn from the oracle deck, said to bring messages of hope and attract love, light, and healing, and beneath all three cards were the same three words: Seven Cairns, Scotland. She shook her head. That app was one hell of an advertisement for Seven Cairns, Scotland’s tourism board.
With her finger hovering over the triquetra symbol flickering from green to gold between the cards displayed on the app, she tried to ignore the urge to tap it and see if the mysterious Mr. MacSexy, as she and Emily had dubbed him, appeared yet again.
“Might as well,” she muttered and touched it.
There he was, a dark-haired, broody male with fierce gray eyes that flashed like lightning in a stormy sky. He had a square jaw dusted with a day’s growth of beard and an aquiline nose crooked enough to make him even more handsome. Full lips. A cutting glare. He was so unbelievably gorgeous that Jessa had enlarged the picture as much as possible to see if it was real or AI generated. He seemed real enough, but it was hard to tell these days. With no profile name or personal details, she had finally decided he was a character programmed into the app. But if that were the case, why did Emily and her family retrieve pictures and data on all sorts of individuals whenever they tried to help Jessa prove that the stupid thing was malfunctioning?
“Leave it alone, Jess,” Emily told her without looking up from her own phone. “You’re just winding yourself up.”
“I can’t help myself.” Jessa powered down the device and shoved it into the faded denim backpack she’d carried since college.
Emily also put hers away and scowled at the vacant airline counter again. “You applied your patch, right? And brought the plastic barf bag we got from Papa’s office?”
“Yes, to both, and I haven’t had anything to eat or drink, so if I do get sick, it’ll just be the dry heaves.” Nobody knew her as well as Emily. Jessa touched the motion sickness disk stuck behind her ear and sent a silent thank you to Dr. Mithers, Emily’s dad. He’d recommended the patch because he knew she hated taking any sort of medication that made her feel disconnected. The patch might make her a little drowsy, but it wouldn’t turn her into a glassy-eyed zombie.
She scooted forward in the uncomfortable chair and nervously tapped her toes on the floor. “Come on,” she said with a quiet groan. “Let’s do this.”
“Here he comes,” Emily said.
A harried man loped toward the waiting area, dodging passengers and their luggage as he shrugged on the official blazer that told everyone his untimeliness was the reason they hadn’t boarded yet. When he reached the counter, he flipped on the microphone, making it squeal so loudly that everyone cringed. “Sorry about the last minute boarding, folks, and the noise too. Nothing wrong with the plane, mind you. Everything tickety-boo there.”
“ Tickety-boo ?” Jessa gave Emily a hard side-eye. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“Non-refundable, Jess.” Emily grabbed her by the arm and tugged her to her feet. “Come on. We’re going. This trip’ll do you good. Especially when Jeremy sees all the fun you’re having without him.”
Jessa swung her backpack onto her shoulder, purposely whacking her friend with it in the process. Of all the people for Em to bring up right now: lying, two-timing Jeremy. She clenched her boarding pass even tighter as they lined up and slowly made their way to the jittery and quite possibly overly caffeinated airline worker scanning the passes. “I’ve blocked that jerk on every site,” she told Emily. “My doings are no longer available for his viewing pleasure.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t blocked him, and I’m tagging him in everything.” Emily hugged her cheek against Jessa's and held up the phone for a selfie. “Smile, Jess. Big smile that tells the world you’re loving life without that loser.”
Jessa faked a wide smile that made her cheeks ache while second-guessing this trip to Scotland for the thousandth time. But as Emily had said, the tickets were non-refundable. “No more selfies for a while, okay?”
“Whatever you say.” Emily showed her boarding pass to the attendant, went through the door, and disappeared around the turn.
Jessa held out her pass, but when the man tried to take it, she couldn’t seem to let it go.
“Madam?” He tugged on it again while giving her a fake please, lady, can we just get on with it smile. “I need to scan it, and then you may have it back. I promise.”
“She’s just a little nervous about flying,” Emily told him as she rushed back, yanked the pass out of Jessa's grip, then gave it back to her once he’d finished with it.
“I’m just a little nervous about life right now,” Jessa muttered as she plodded down the ramp behind Emily and stepped onto the plane. This last year had sucked the life out of her. The breakup with Jeremy right when she’d thought they were about to make things permanent. Laid off from her dream job. The carjacking. An unexpected hike in her rent, or, to be more accurate, losing her apartment and having to accept Emily’s parents’ charity. She almost gagged at the thought of being so desperate and needy . She had always been independent and adventurous, but this harsh run of bad luck had her ducking for cover over the slightest things.
They found their seats and stowed their bags under the seats in front of them. The rest of their luggage was in the belly of the plane. Or, at least, Jessa hoped it was there since they planned to stay in Scotland for a month. As a popular influencer, Emily could run her business from anywhere, and as a freelance digital creator, Jessa could as well. The lady from the cottage they’d rented in Seven Cairns had assured them of passable cellphone reception and marginally better wireless connectivity. If all else failed, they were within an hour’s drive from Inverness and several reliable possibilities they could access for little or no additional cost.
“Our adventure is set.” Emily excitedly patted her on the arm and winked. “Maybe we’ll even find your Mr. MacSexy.”
Jessa closed her eyes, pulled in a deep breath, then eased it out while concentrating on relaxing. “I’m sure all we’ll have to do is look up MacSexy in the phone book, and it’ll lead us right to him.”
“It’s going to be all right, Jess,” Emily said with rare but genuine seriousness. “I feel it.”
“I hope you’re right, Em.” Jessa kept her eyes tightly closed. If she opened them, tears brought on by anxiety and worry might escape. She faked a yawn. “This patch is making me sleepy. If I snore, nudge me. Okay?”
Emily pressed a tissue into her hand, then gave her arm another squeeze. “I promise it’s going to be all right.”
With all her heart and soul, Jessa hoped her friend was right.
* * *
Mairwen shuffled the tarot deck while waiting for the rest of the Council. She idly dealt them in her favorite layout and slowly turned them face up. The familiar smoothness of the cards with their worn, faded edges felt like a chat with an old friend. Ah, but old friends were rarely so cryptic when they offered advice. The somewhat confusing symbolism of the cards could be troubling to those who took them too seriously. Some mortals were afraid to sneeze without the colorful cards’ permission. She laughed and re-dealt them. Those mortals should focus on looking within and connecting with the higher energies. That thought made her slowly shake her head. It seldom worked that way. Mortals rarely took the wisest path. Guiding them was much like herding cats. Of course, not all of them possessed the ability to embrace the powers, and more often than not, those blessed with the auld ways shied away because they feared what others might think.
A wry snort hissed free of her. Then there were those who couldn’t connect with the energies if their lives depended on it. Yet they conned the world into thinking they were the ultimate mystics and seers. The wealth and fame they attained by manipulating the fears and beliefs of others were lowly and without honor. Little did they realize that everything they sent out into this world would eventually return to them times three. Retribution would come and not be pleasant when it did. Karma never forgot or overlooked anyone.
She picked up the cards and shuffled them again, finding their quiet shushing between her hands pleasant and calming. This era’s ever-increasing fascination with the mystical made her apprentice Keeva’s app most effective. Mairwen paused and made a face. Was that the correct word? App? After a moment of study and sorting through her memories, she nodded with certainty. Yes. That was it. App is short for application , Keeva had told her. Mairwen often wondered where her wily apprentice came up with such things, but the dear girl did spend a great deal of time among the mortals studying their interests to gain more clarity about joining them with their fated mates.
Keeva’s zeal and devotion made Mairwen hum a prideful little tune. She had been wise to select that particular young one for training. Few would devote so much energy to understanding the complicated yet treasured mortals. The apprentice had quickly discovered that evolution among those they sought to match seemed to follow an uneven pattern, much like raindrops spilling down a glass. Some raced along, advancing, learning, and readily accepting that which the energies offered. But then others stubbornly clung to the same spot as if fearing to move in any direction. Odd yet exquisite creatures, they were, and it was a Divine Weaver’s honor to guide them while protecting the strength of the ancient Veil.
“They’re coming,” Keeva announced from the doorway of the meeting hall. “Most are, anyway.”
“Most?” Mairwen tidied her stack of cards and set them aside. “ All are needed to prepare. Our guests are due to arrive this evening. Where is Killian? He can help ye bring them along.”
Keeva wrinkled her nose and tucked a strand of long hair that was currently dyed a deep purple behind one of her ever so slightly pointed ears. “He’s fetching the dark ones. I passed the word amongst the light.”
Mairwen folded her hands on the table and gave her apprentice a sharp look she knew the lass would take to heart. For Keeva to become a Master Time Weaver, she needed to overcome her insecurities about dealing with the Weavers of the Dark, those who guided mortals with conflict, curses, nightmares, emptiness, and hate. “Next time, I want ye to be the one to fetch the dark and Killian to fetch the light, ye ken?”
“Aye, Mairwen. I will.” Keeva chewed on her bottom lip and glumly stared at the floor. “Shall I make sure the tea is ready for the meeting?”
“Aye.” Mairwen hated making the young one feel less, but the apprentice had to learn that unpleasant tasks should not be shirked or bartered off to others. It was far better to complete them and get them over with. She leaned back in the ornately carved, high-backed chair at the head of the table and fixed her gaze on the doorway, watching for the nine who completed the Council of Weavers and reported directly to the goddesses Bride and Cerridwen.
As per usual, Ishbel, Master of the Spell Weavers, arrived first with her favorite grimoire tucked in the crook of her arm. She swept off her bright purple and red cloak, giving a friendly nod as she draped it over her chair, then took her seat at the table. The Council’s long wooden table had served them well for untold ages under the protective magic of Seven Cairns. The amiable witch patted and smoothed her messy curls, but only made her rather unwieldy gray bun wilder rather than tamer. “Will we be matching both the lasses with their mates, then? A two for one binding this time?”
“That has yet to be decided,” Mairwen said. “The second one does not appear destined for the same place in time as the first.”
“More’s the pity, then. They are more sisters than friends. Reckon we can work out something to enable them to remain connected? The Veil’s weave thrives on many forms of love, ye ken?”
“We shall see.” Mairwen refused to get into particulars until the others arrived.
Shona, Master of the Tranquility Weavers, and Glennis, Master of the Dream Weavers, arrived next, chattering and talking over one another like a pair of cackling hens. Bedelia, Master of the Love Weavers, followed close behind, herding them along like a loving shepherdess. The three took their seats on Mairwen’s right. From this position, those of the light faced the tall arched windows on the eastern wall of the stone building that resembled an ancient seat of power more than a sleepy village’s meeting center. Most in Seven Cairns couldn’t recall when the goddesses had erected the structure. It had simply always been there. Mairwen had an inkling of when it came to be, but that was one of the many secrets the Master of all the Divine Weavers kept to themselves.
“It is my understanding that Killian is gathering the rest of our group,” she said in answer to the pointed looks at the empty seats on the other side of the table. Those chairs faced the wall of the room, which always found itself in shadows, no matter the time of day.
Ishbel rolled her eyes. “It is always the same.”
“It is always the same because our invitations are always extended last.” Malcolm, Master of the Conflict Weavers, scowled at them from the doorway with his twin sister, Darina, at his side, looking ready to defend him.
“That has been addressed,” Mairwen told him. “Please join us. There is much to discuss about this particular bonding. Darina, this meeting is restricted to those of the Council.”
Darina offered a sly grin. “I know. I simply wished to make ye say it.” She spun around and left the building, her smug chortling floating back to them through the open windows.
“Ye always say there is much to discuss,” said Taskill, Master of the Curse Weavers, as he entered the room and took his seat. “Shall we cut the theatrics and stick to the facts? There are presently many in need of cursing.”
“Once Flanna, Sadbha, and Graine arrive, we shall begin.” Mairwen focused on the doorway, ignoring Taskill’s fidgeting. It was always the same, Taskill in a hurry to go, and the last three dark ones late.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Do we really need the Nightmare, Emptiness, and Hate Weavers this time?”
“Together, we make a whole, Taskill. Ye know that as well as I.” Mairwen smiled at those around the table. “We balance each other. Without the darkness, we cannot appreciate the light. Without the light, the darkness becomes nothing more than a void.”
“We are here,” Flanna, Master of the Nightmare Weavers, said as she swept into the room. Sadbha, Master of the Emptiness Weavers, and Graine, Master of the Hate Weavers, accompanied her. The three women took their seats at the table, all appearing less than interested in being there.
“I have visited the one called Jessa for several months now,” Flanna said. “Her strength against my nightmares is impressive.”
“Sadbha and I were also unable to maintain a suitable presence within her because of her friend,” Graine reported.
“The friend, the one called Emily, allowed you to manifest hatred for a while,” Sadbha told Graine, then shook her head, making her gleaming white braids sway from side to side. “But neither of them tolerated my emptiness. The skills of my Weavers will be of no use in this bonding. We could put ourselves to better use instead of sitting at this table and twiddling our thumbs.”
“Nevertheless,” Mairwen said, “yer perspective is valued and needed for balance—so says Bride and Cerridwen.”
“So says Bride and Cerridwen,” all at the table echoed.
Mairwen nodded for Keeva and Killian to bring in the tea, then smiled and patted the tarot deck. “As I already shared with Ishbel, the lasses due to arrive this evening are not destined to reside in the same age, which could prove troublesome since the two are more like sisters than friends. Ishbel asked if a special circumstance might be settled upon. I, too, would like to discuss that possibility since close friendship is a form of love and might help the Veil.”
“The male that the first one is to be matched with is due a curse,” Taskill said with a curt tip of his dark head. “Had he been more patient with his first wife and her addiction to the laudanum?—”
“His first wife was not his fated mate,” Bedelia said. “The Love Weavers cannot foster that which is not meant to be. He was kind to her and did not set her aside. She left him. The woman completed her destiny as it was written.”
“All mortals are to be valued. He placed little value on her and the time they shared. If he had, she might have stayed and overcome her weakness.” Taskill glared at the Master Love Weaver, squaring his shoulders as if ready to brawl.
“That is enough.” Mairwen waited for them both to cede without protest, knowing they would, because out of all the Weavers in existence, she possessed the most power and the closest relationship with the goddesses. Some even believed her to be a direct descendant of both Bride and Cerridwen, but she never confirmed or denied that rumor, preferring to earn their respect by her actions rather than her bloodline. “Grant MacAlester has endured curses enough by surviving eighteenth century Scotland after the Jacobite uprising. The war nearly decimated his clan before he was even born, and now he fights against the start of the clearances. Starvation and want have walked with him like a brother. Only now do his kith and kin flourish under his leadership and a smuggling operation he has honed to the sharpest efficiency I have ever seen. Is that not curses enough for ye, Taskill?”
“Many endured those bloody times,” Taskill said with a defiant scowl. “Because the Fates deemed it so. Not because of my Weavers’ curses.”
“He refuses the love of a wife or family. All he concerns himself with is the survival of his clan.” Bedelia’s eyes twinkled as she peered at the Master Curse Weaver over the rim of her teacup. She took a slow sip before continuing. “Could those things not be considered curses as well, depending upon one’s perspective?”
Mairwen watched Taskill, waiting as the Weaver came to his own conclusion. As one of the youngest masters, he tended to overthink things and took his time about doing so. But even her infinite patience had its limits, and she didn’t wish this meeting to last the entire day. “What say you, Taskill? Will you allow it and leave Laird MacAlester to his fated mate and the other Weavers?”
Nostrils flaring like a bull about to charge, Taskill snorted and threw up a hand, shooing away the unpleasantness of relinquishing power. “I will allow it—but only this once.”
Mairwen nodded at Killian, Keeva’s brother. “So note it, if ye will.”
With a strange short stick, a sleek, black stylus pen , or so Keeva had called it, Killian recorded the decision on the thin device he balanced in the palm of his hand. To Mairwen, it looked like a rectangular plate that glowed with a soft white light. Keeva had explained that the mortals would think it was one of their tablets, even though she had created it to record decisions of the Council into the goddesses’ Ledger of Infinity. Such an inventive apprentice, that Keeva. Mairwen allowed herself another moment of pride for choosing her.
“Since there are two,” Malcolm said, his pale blue eyes gleaming with their usual appetite for conflict. “Could some of my younger Weavers train with the friend? ”
“I will not grace that with a response.” Mairwen allowed her displeasure at the devaluation of their soon-to-arrive guests to be mere practice subjects to alter the vibration and hue of her aura. It was a subtle warning all the Weavers recognized.
“I was merely asking.” Malcolm looked aside and shifted in his chair, obviously insulted, but wise enough not to push the issue.
“As we have done in the past, we will warmly welcome our visitors and treat them as the valued individuals they are.” She narrowed her eyes at Malcolm. “Which means we will not refer to them as annoying tourists or rude Americans. Is that understood?”
Malcolm pointed at Taskill. “That was him. Not me.”
“The last three were annoying and rude.” Taskill bared his teeth in disgust. “Fated mates or not. I canna stomach the rude ones.” He rubbed his fingers together. “Makes me itch to curse them, whether ’tis warranted or not.”
“I am sure they’ll find our little village and its healing waters enchanting and a balm to their souls,” Shona said.
Graine snorted. “Spoken like a true Tranquility Weaver. The lot of ye are so deluded.”
“At least hatred doesn’t eat us alive,” Shona replied sweetly.
Mairwen thumped the table with her fist. She knew exactly who was behind the unrest at the table. “Malcolm! Ye will cease this verra minute. If ye continue sewing discord during meetings, there will be consequences. That is a blatant misuse of power and ye know it as well as I.”
The Conflict Master tried to stifle a wicked grin and failed. “Forgive me, Mairwen. I thought a bit of levity might move things along.”
“Yer definition of levity needs adjusting,” Mairwen told him, while allowing a mystical sting that was much like a frustrated mother’s pinch of an unruly son’s arm to touch him. “Ye’re well past a thousand years old, and ye behave as if ye’re barely a hundred. Act yer age or I’ll be sending ye straight to Cerridwen so fast yer head will spin off yer neck.”
Malcolm sat straighter and bowed his head. “Forgive me. It will nay happen again.”
She glared at him a moment longer before turning to the others. “Graine and Shona, in future, before ye react one against the other, consider what might be triggering the urge for that reaction. Ye may be opposites, but that doesn’t mean ye canna work together and attempt to get along for the good of the Veil. Do ye wish to face the chaos that would come were it to fall?”
Graine bowed her head and held out her hand to Shona. “Forgive me, Master of Tranquility.”
Shona took it and bowed her head as well. “Only if ye will forgive me, Master of Hate.”
Mairwen forced herself to find the calm needed to maintain the balance among the powerful Weavers. “Thank you. I appreciate robust discussions and opinions from everyone here, but I canna tolerate that which does not benefit the Veil. Now, as I said earlier, the ladies are coming to Seven Cairns not only because of Keeva’s app but also to find respite from their troubles. We are a quaint, friendly village in the Highlands known for our healing waters, and that is all we shall be to them until time to send Jessa Tamson back in time to join with Laird Grant MacAlester.”
“And the friend?” Ishbel asked. “I sensed powerful magic in Emily Mithers as well.”
“As well?”
“Aye, both lasses have the gift. They just don’t know it yet.”
“Interesting.” Mairwen looked to Bedelia. “Did ye know of this when ye discovered Miss Tamson belonged with the laird?”
Bedelia shook her head. “My Weavers and I search out mate bonds, not magic.”
“As I said, interesting.” Mairwen picked up her tarot deck and started shuffling. “These guests might prove even more enjoyable than expected.”