Page 20 of Heart of the Wren (Haunted Hearts: Season of the Witch #2)

DARA

I TROTTED out to the pitch as Donal returned to the car, though I suspected the injury wasn’t anywhere near as serious as he was letting on.

The referee blew the whistle and we were off.

A fly buzzed past my ear, only no, not a fly.

There weren’t any at that time of year. Again a whizzing sensation, just out of the corner of my eye.

I twisted, trying to catch a glimpse. My team ran and before I’d gone ten paces, a great cheer came up from the crowd as the opposing team scored another point.

Bullseye wasn’t happy with me. “Get your feckin’ head in the game!”

Huffing with exertion, Lorcan caught the sliotar in his hand and ran a few steps before throwing it in the air and clattering it with his hurley.

Big Tom hopped about on the sideline, moving far quicker than I would have thought possible for him. “Go on, ye good thing, ye!”

The sliotar rocketed through the air and over the other team’s crossbar. Lorcan jogged a few steps, pleased with the point but wheezing heavily and wincing. He stopped, doubled over.

“Take it easy, you’ll do yourself an injury,” I said.

He stretched his back. “I’m used to long days on the farm but this is a different kettle of fish altogether.”

Big Tom cupped his meat pie hands around his mouth. “That’s us even now, Cillian!”

Two men chased after Eddie, making a point of going for him.

He was younger and faster, though, and easily avoided their clumsy attacks.

Still, the injustice of it rankled me. Using magic in a sporting match wasn’t entirely ethical but with nothing material at stake, I hoped the universe would forgive me.

Some spells require a certain atmosphere to work, as well as certain materials — my oils and ointments, my candles and tattoos.

But some are smaller and simpler. I calmed my breathing, formed a spell in my mind, and tapped my thumb to my fingertips.

“Trip, trip, trip.” One of the men immediately slipped in the mud and collided with the other as Eddie ran backwards, blowing them kisses.

Without warning, Jon-Joe pelted across the grass and struck Lorcan hard with his shoulder. Lorcan collapsed, dropping his hurley and grabbing his shoulder. The referee hurried over to check on him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Still, Lorcan took a few moments to gather his strength before getting back up on his feet.

He waved over to us to let us know there was no harm done.

The tackle had been deliberate, I was sure of it.

Sweat drenched my armpits. What we give, we get back threefold.

Was this the price of my spell? My intent was pure but had the spell been perverted somehow by the forces attacking Lorcan?

He hadn’t been seriously harmed so I hoped it was just coincidence.

But then, I didn’t believe in coincidence.

I made sure to keep an eye on where Jon-Joe was from then on.

Again, something buzzed past me. I tried to follow the noise.

The pitch on which we played was a rectangular strip of grass behind the national school, open on all sides.

Essentially a field within a field, with the players’ and spectators’ vehicles all lined up on one side.

One in particular caught my eye — a Hiace van, navy blue and unwashed.

A dark, spikey shape crouched behind it but almost as soon as I spotted it, the thing retreated and was gone.

???

Barely a minute before the end of the match, Lorcan was on course for scoring a hat-trick.

He feinted and dodged as rival captain Tommy Williams raced towards the goal where Bullseye spoiled his bouncing shot.

Lorcan looked set to pounce on a loose pass across the posts but Jon-Joe intercepted him at the last second.

Another chance quickly followed and Lorcan seized it, leading with his leg to get across the ball but another buzz past my ear preceded Tommy striking from out of nowhere, slicing his hurley into Lorcan’s bare knee.

My heart stopped. Blood streaked across the field, dotting a patch of stubborn snow like raspberries.

Lorcan fell, hard. The referee blew the whistle to end the match. We circled Lorcan to check on him.

“I didn’t do it!” Tommy said. “The hurley sort of… shot out by itself.”

Bullseye and Eddie helped Lorcan up.

“I can’t walk on it,” he said. “Oh, Jaysus, I hope it’s not broken…”

They guided him to the back seat of his car where I checked his injury. “It looks nasty.” My heart pounded faster and faster. My hands turned clammy.

Lorcan’s face went red. “I can’t work like this and I can’t afford not to…”

“Don’t think about it now. We’ll sort something. Where’s the hospital?”

“It’s a couple of hours away,” Bullseye said.

Lorcan groaned and his face shifted from red to white. Feet on the ground, he lay across the back seat and covered his eyes with his forearm.

I considered using my healing tattoo but without any of my herbs or potions for it to work through, I wasn’t sure there was much point.

Not when there was a better option at hand.

I wiped my face and glanced at Bullseye, hoping he would keep his cool.

“Carol, come over here for a minute.” I took a clean towel from Lorcan’s kit bag and put it on the bloody knee, making him wince.

“Put your hands on it,” I told Carol. “It’s okay, go on. Good, good. Now, close your eyes and imagine a light coming from deep underground, like a river flowing up from the centre of the earth, through the crust, and into your feet.”

Bullseye put his hands on hips. “What the hell are you doing?”

I ignored him. “Imagine yourself filled with this pure, perfect light. Now imagine the light flowing out of your hands and into Lorcan’s knee.

Imagine it filling his leg, his chest, and spreading through his whole body.

Good. Very good. The light is growing brighter.

And brighter. It’s hard to look at now.”

Her eyes still firmly shut, Carol grimaced and turned away. “I can’t, I can’t…” She withdrew her hands and shoved them under her armpits.

The bloody cloth fell from Lorcan’s knee. The bleeding had stopped. A deep gash remained but had already clotted. He sat up. “It doesn’t hurt as much. Oh, Jaysus, has it gone numb?”

Bullseye’s mouth dropped open. “How…?”

I checked on Carol before picking up the cloth. “Keep this over your knee,” I told Lorcan. “Don’t let anyone see. It’s not numb, it’ll be grand. Trust me. It’ll be grand.”

Big Tom ambled over, frowning but full of bluster. “How’s the patient? Let me look at him.”

I put myself between Big Tom and the car. “He’ll be alright. We’ll get him home and if he’s not right in the morning, we’ll take him to hospital.”

“But…” Big Tom tried to object but I waved him off and said Lorcan would be back in the pub drinking a pint in no time. I helped Lorcan sw ing his legs into the car and hurriedly closed the door.

Bullseye stopped Carol at the passenger door. “What did you do?”

“I helped.”

Eddie jumped into the back seat, next to Lorcan.

Carol got in the front of the car and slammed the door closed while Bullseye shouted at her.

I started the engine and guided the car out of the car park.

Carol held out her hands. “What did I actually do, though?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Lorcan said.

I kept my gaze firmly on the road. “One of the most common gifts of a seventh son or daughter is healing. Have you never done it before? It often comes naturally.”

“No, never, I…” Carol’s hands slapped down onto her legs.

“Wait. There was one time, in school, it must have been first or second class, someone fell outside at lunch break. They hurt their head. I remember holding their hand and they said they felt better. The teacher, Mrs O’Hara, made me stand at the back of the class for the rest of the day. I never knew why.”

“Some people don’t react well to this sort of thing,” I said. “They think it’s unnatural.”

“Is this some Irish thing?” Eddie asked.

“Hah! Sort of. Don’t you have any stories like this in England? People born with special gifts?”

Eddie said nothing.

“I can teach you some techniques,” I said to Carol. “To hone your gift.”

“How come you know so much about it?” Eddie asked.

I grinned. “I’ve been around.”