Bloodstone (2 page)

Ivy called over her shoulder. “Chance, can I have another cupcake, please?” This would be her third. Preceded by a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, two Cokes and leftover pizza. It was 10:30 on Friday morning.

“Sure. Help yourself.”

Ivy bounded off the beige sofa and headed for the pantry.

Chance watched her movements carefully, his blue eyes sharp, jaw set. The man looked like he just stepped out of the latest Ford Truck commercial. All American and sexy as hell. It was no wonder I fell so hard for him in high school.

“How can you be sure she even is your sister?” he whispered.

“I can’t be sure right now, but there is some family resemblance.”

Green eyes, red hair of the Irish, although Ivy’s facial features were more angular than mine, her skin not as pale. The build of our bodies was different too. Most of the women in my family were lean and tall. Ivy had the look of a gymnast.

“How do you know she doesn’t dye her hair?” Chance asked.

“I don’t, but what would you have me do? I’m in uncharted territory here, Chance. Plus, with everything that’s happened lately...” My voice trailed off and I watched as a cloud passed over his face. I was sure he was thinking about my injuries at the hand of a maniac not so long ago.

“You cannot dodge Birdie forever, you know. What about Cinnamon? Have you called her?”

“Not yet.”

My cousin, Cinnamon, was in Ireland with her husband, Tony, on the trip I was supposed to take with Leo, the man I recently parted ways with. Their schedule was open since the bar they owned, The Black Opal, was currently under construction due to a fire.

Chance leaned forward in his chair and watched as Ivy sunk back into the couch and grabbed the remote. My Great Dane, Thor, climbed up after her and rolled onto his spine, waiting for crumbs to fall. A train of spittle dangled from his huge black and tan muzzle.

“Why don’t the, um, three of you stay here? After the guests leave over the weekend, maybe you’ll have it all figured out and you can go back to the cottage.”

I thought about that. Chance lived on a quiet street in a modest house with a finished basement, plus a spare bedroom. I hated to impose, but the offer was tempting. It would only be for the weekend and I had seen enough motel motif for the time being. I couldn’t go home if I was to keep my promise to Ivy of not involving Birdie just yet because my grandmother owned a bed and breakfast and I lived in a cottage on the property.

It sounded like the simplest solution. I had to sort out this mess with Ivy plus, I needed some answers.

Like was she really my sister?

Where had my mother been all this time?

And if we were related, did she know our family history dated back to the Druids of Kildare?

Perhaps most important—did we have the same father?

THREE

I had told Birdie I was taking the train to visit an old friend from the city, so I was able to pack a few things. The bags were now in Chance’s truck since I had planned to ask him for a lift out of town.

“Ivy,” I called, “We’re going to stay here for the weekend. How does that sound?” I asked.

“Whoop!” Ivy yelled. “Fine by me. Chance has cable, Wii, and he knows how to shop for food.” She tossed a glance my way. “Stacy doesn’t even OWN a television. And the best thing she has in the fridge is Tofruitti. That stuff is nasty.” She made a face.

“Will you please run down and get my bags? And there’s a box on the front seat. Grab that too.”

Ivy ran over to us, her face open and eager. “Finally! Are you hatching a plan? Should I get my crystals?”

I turned to her. “Excuse me?”

“The box on the front seat—is the Blessed Book inside?”

“What do you know about the Blessed Book?” I asked.

The Blessed Book is a recording of our family history and theology. It’s filled with stories, recipes, spells and predictions for future generations. It began as an oral history hundreds of years ago, passed down to every daughter born to a Geraghty woman. When my great-grandmother, Meagan Geraghty, came to America, she recorded what she knew and passed it on to Birdie. Now it belonged to me.

“Mom told me.” Ivy shuffled her feet a bit. “She didn’t talk about it much, but once in a while I’d hear bits and pieces about the book.”

“I got it.” I held up a hand.

But I didn’t get it. I couldn’t freaking believe it, actually. Ivy was about the same age I was when my mother left me. Before then, she refused to teach me anything about magic. She and Birdie went round and round about it. And although I knew the book existed, through Birdie and the aunts, I always thought my mother had a very good reason not to discuss it with me—that she was protecting me from whatever was inside it.

Was she really protecting the
book
from
me?
Was I not a worthy enough descendant to take part in the tradition? Obviously, she trusted Ivy enough. So why her and not me?

Ivy snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Hello, Earth to Stacy,” she said.

“Please just get the box and your bag. And no—
”
I said as she opened her mouth to ask another question, “It’s not the Blessed Book in that box, it’s my laptop. We’ll do this the responsible way. No magic.”

“You’re the worst witch ever.” Ivy stomped her foot.

She wasn’t wrong, but it still stung. A part of me really wanted this kid to like me. What was the point of having a little sister if she didn’t worship you?

“Just leave me the letter she left you. I want to read it again,” I said.

She gave me an odd look, tossed me a slip of paper and slammed the door. I stared at the space she had occupied willing a sign, a vision—anything to come to me. And then I wondered,
if she was a Geraghty, what was Ivy’s gift?

FOUR

You see, every female Geraghty is born with a gift—a talent she is expected to nurture until it matured enough to use for the greater good. For instance, my Great Aunt Lolly was a thought-reader. If the phone rang, she knew who was on the line without looking at the caller ID. If I were to dream of apple pie for desert, it appeared on the table that night. Unfortunately, these days Lolly was about three cards short of a full house and often forgot her own name. We plied her with liquor to avoid these episodes since that seemed to keep her gears well oiled.

Fiona’s talent was matchmaking. She could melt any man’s heart and smooth over the rockiest relationship with a look and a few words. Brad Pitt would still be married to Jennifer Aniston had they consulted my Aunt Fiona.

Birdie was a healer. She could whip together a poultice or potion for just about any ailment. She was also the most powerful woman—never mind witch—I ever met.

As far as I knew, my ‘gift’ was communicating with the departed. It wasn’t written down anywhere, believe me, I looked. We were supposed to figure out our birthright on our own—“or we might never reach the full height of our power.” Birdie’s words, not mine.

I didn’t have full-blown conversations with the deceased or anything. It wasn’t like a ghost would pop into my kitchen and say, “Hi, I’m Tim. Can you please tell my wife the insurance papers are underneath the dresser?”

More like...messages...either through images or objects. Sometimes they came in a dream, sometimes in my head, sometimes right in front of my face in a tangible form.

Birdie told me recently that I had all the tools to grow into my talent and by the close of my thirtieth year, I would.

I wasn’t so sure about that.

Thor yawned loud and wide, popping my thought bubble. He gave me a look that said he had some business to attend to and I opened the door and called to Ivy to keep an eye on him. She grabbed her notebook and headed out. Then I unfolded the letter and set it on the kitchen table between Chance and myself.

IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS

by Ivy Geraghty

To be included in the Blessed Book of the Great Geraghty Clan (hopefully)

Entry #1

My journey has finally ended and I have arrived in the mystical city of Amethyst, Illinois from whence my people hail. (Sayonara, Skokie!) I have met my sister, Anastasia (who’s pretty cool but could use a wardrobe overhaul) and am now on my first task as a witch’s apprentice, tending to her familiar. I suspect I will be tested many times on my quest to rise to the height of my Power and accept my duty to grow into the Mage I am Destined to be. While my sister denies our true calling, I know deep down she is leery of the Dark Forces that lurk everywhere and she has grown weary fighting them all by herself.

Alas, Dear Sister, your young apprentice has come! (Check that later, might sound lame-ass.)

Anastasia has arranged for us to go deep underground while we plan our mission and strategize our attack. Her sources are great (she has the coolest tricked-out sword you ever saw, a pile of magical stones and the biggest freaking dog on the planet) and we shall call on the powers of our spirit guides to battle the Dark Forces.

Soon, we will avenge our mother. With the aid of the almighty Thor (is that not the best name for a witch’s familiar?) we shall pool our forces and battle the Evil that threatens our people. Then the world will know the true strength of the Geraghty Girls. (Except Stacy’s last name is Justice, but whatever.)

-Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)

SIX

Ivy was still outside as Chance leaned over my shoulder to read. I smoothed out the letter. It certainly looked like my mother’s writing. The sweeping curls of the Y, The M falling well below the line.

But I knew from past experience that not everything is as it seemed.

I breathed deeply before I began reading aloud.

My Dearest Ivy,

If you have found this note, then I am gone. Don’t be alarmed. I cannot explain everything here in this letter for fear that eyes not your own should discover it. Go to your special place. You will find the answers there. I have faith that you will understand what to do then. Do not go to the police and do not return to this place.

Above all else, trust your instincts, my darling. Always, always believe in yourself and the clan of the Geraghtys.

Be smart. Be safe. Be One.

All My Love, Mother

“That’s it?” Chance asked.

“That’s it,” I said. “I’ve read this thing a hundred times trying to figure out what it means. It doesn’t even sound like her.” I scratched my head.

“Hmm,” Chance said.

I looked up at him.

“What do you mean, ‘Hmm’?”

“I think it sounds a lot like her,” Chance said. “Your mom was always talking like that. Believe in yourself, you can be all you want to be—stuff like that.”

“Not to me, she didn’t.” I stood up, challenging him with my eyes.

Chance pulled me onto his lap, scooped the hair from my neck, tenderly. His voice lowered, softened. “Stacy, when your father died, a lot changed. A part of you went with him and I think your mother too. The two of you became strangers, but I remember what she was like before that. She was kind, full of life and laughter.”

“Until she walked out on me. And now she did it to Ivy.” I pulled away from him. Stood. “Don’t you dare sit there and tell me that you knew my mother better than I did. No one knew her. No. One.”

The handle jiggled on the door and Chance said, “Okay, you win. She’s back.”

Ivy’s cheeks were red from the cold as she hauled Thor into the house. “He peed on, like, every single shrub. His bladder must be the size of a watermelon, I swear.”

Thor climbed back onto the couch, circled three times and crash-landed on a pillow. His sigh sounded like a truck braking and he closed his eyes.

Ivy asked, “Did you figure anything out?”

I sighed. “Take me through it one more time.”

“Oh my god. Fine!” Ivy said and wagged a finger at me. “Please pay attention, this time.”

Chance stifled a grin and all I could think was that this girl had to be related to me. Only women who were related to me annoyed me this much.

“Just tell the freaking, story, hot shot,” I said.

She pulled out her notebook, scribbling as she spoke.

IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS

by Ivy Geraghty

Entry #2

Having completed my first task so successfully, my sister, Anastasia, called upon me to relay the tale of my courageous journey of perilous Danger (I mean, have you seen those losers that surf the L train?) that led me back to her and the place of our ancestors. Now, I shall record my Quest for future generations of Geraghtys.