The Witch's Journey Page 7

  “Aye. The latter’s referred to as pissin’ pins and needles. They still afflict people in this time, then?”

  “There’s medications that help if they’re caught early, but they remain prevalent. Now there’s also AIDs, herpes and others.”

  “Call girl?” he asked.

  “A high-end prostitute.”

  “High-end?”

  “Expensive and usually classier—if prostitution could ever be considered classy. A call girl would cost a lot. There was no money in your pockets when I washed your clothes. I have no problem paying for almost anything you might need, but I’ll tell you straight up, I’m not giving you money for that.”

  “I assure you I have ample coin to repay you for whatever I need if there’s a way to get it to you.”

  “Buried treasure…chests filled with coin, jewels and loot from your pillaging and plundering?”

  “Life’s greatest treasures cannot be measured by material worth, Angel.”

  “That’s very profound, Faolan. You are complicated.”

  “Not exceedingly.”

  “You told me you haven’t been with any women recently or frequented a brothel, yet you evidently feel the need now?”

  “I was merely curious.”

  “I’m sure with your handsome face, great body and notable charm you wouldn’t have to pay for sex. Lots of women would be willing.”

  “You apparently disfavor that notion.”

  “I’ve known you one day. I won’t censor what you do as long as you don’t get into trouble. I’ll create a spell to send you back as soon as I can, but if you absolutely need sex before then, Tristan could set you up. He likes a variety of women and seems to know almost everyone in Boston. He’s the one who found the tetanus inoculation for you.”

  “Tristan?”

  She gestured toward the bar. “That dark-haired guy. He works here and lives on the top floor of my house with Danhoul and two married couples.”

  “Danhoul’s the man Mrs. Boyle thought you might hook up with?”

  “Do you know what hook up means?”

  He made a suggestive gesture with his hands and her face flamed.

  “I suppose that’s universal and timeless. Do you want to stay for a pint or go back home?”

  “I’ve annoyed or offended you, yet again?”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “I’ve observed the order of your displeasure. You nibble your bottom lip, tilt your chin, your eyes grow stormy and you flip your hair.”

  “Speaking of prostitutes isn’t likely to get a favorable reaction with women. Maybe that was different in your time?”

  “You don’t see the need for harlots?”

  “I understand they serve a purpose. There are male prostitutes, too.”

  “That service other men?”

  “Some, but for women, too.”

  “Do men of this time not have frequent need to couple or are they incapable of pleasuring their women?”

  “You’re definitely not talking to the right woman. I’ve just heard men are paid well to service women in need of sex and affection.”

  Faolan looked like he couldn’t wrap his mind around that. Just then Tristan approached.

  “Hey, Sammy, great to see you again. Haven’t seen you here for months, now twice this week.”

  “Hi, Tristan. This is Faolan.”

  “The man from Ireland who’s here without papers?” Tristan quietly said. She nodded. “Hey, Faolan. How ya doin’? Is your wound healin’ up?”

  “Good mornin’! Aye, it’s mendin’ well.”

  “Sammy’s patched me up a time or two after bar fights,” he said with a wink. Tristan made an odd gesture, lunging toward her. She blocked him with her arm.

  Faolan stood protectively but Angelique shook her head.

  “It’s okay, Faolan. Tristan taught me karate. He’d never hurt me.”

  “Sammy’s liable to kick my ass. She was one of my best students. I’m glad to see you have her out of the house. Danny-Boy and I were considering kidnapping her.”

  Faolan’s eyes became more intense.

  “Tristan’s only joking, Faolan. You’ll soon learn, he jokes about everything.”

  Faolan sat down.

  “Gets me into a helluva lot of trouble,” Tristan said. “Maybe one day you’ll scoot up to our apartment for drinks. We’ll get to know Faolan and you can finally meet Alainn and Killian, Arianna and Darius. They’re gone now on some personal business, but hopefully they’ll return soon.”

  “Gone back to Ireland?”

  “Gone back, aye.” Tristan seemed evasive. “Do you want a drink or some grub?”

  “A couple of pints of Guinness. I’m not sure what food Faolan wants.”

  “I’ll try whatever you recommend, Angel,” he said, rather possessively.

  “We’ll share an order of honey garlic wings and fries; two bottles of water, too, please.”

  “You got it, Sammy,” Tristan said with another wink.

  “He fancies you,” Faolan said after Tristan left.

  “He doesn’t. We’re only friends.”

  “You claim this karate’s a means of defense but who defends you from men such as him?”

  “Tristan jokes with all women. Most bartenders do. He’s a bit of a flirt, but he’s not actually interested. I never asked for my perfect man to be jealous.”

  “There’s no perfect man,” Faolan said.

  “Or woman,” she said noticing Danhoul walking near.

  “Good mornin’, Samantha.”

  “Hey, Danhoul. You’re usually only here at night when you’re singing and playing.”

  “Just stoppin’ to see Tristan.”

  “Thanks for helping Mrs. Boyle. That was sweet of you.”

  “She’s a lovely lady. I was glad to help.”

  “Danhoul, this is Faolan. Faolan, Danhoul.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Faolan,” Danhoul said extending his hand.

  “You as well,” Faolan replied.

  “You have a thick Irish accent but I can’t place it,” Danhoul stated.

  “Faolan’s from the Blasket Islands,” Angelique joked flirtingly.

  “No one’s lived there since the fifties,” Danhoul responded with a grin.

  “I know that.” She smiled. “Do you want to join us?”

  “No, I need to get goin’ but I’ll be here tonight,” Danhoul said. “You two should stop by. Maybe we’ll have a pint between sets.”

  “Faolan’s recovering from an injury so mightn’t feel like staying out late.”

  “I do intend to be in bed early this night,” Faolan said looking at her with unhidden implication.

  “Another time, then,” Danhoul said. “Great to meet you.”

  “And you,” Faolan said as Danhoul walked away.

  “What the hell, Faolan! You don’t need to have a pissing contest with every man I talk to.”

  “Do all men look at you as though they’d gladly see you removed from your skirts?”

  “I seldom wear skirts, Captain Mahoney. Tristan and Danhoul are just friends—really the only friends I have other than elderly people; Mom’s friend, Fiona; and Newt.”

  “I’d like to be introduced to Newt—apparently the only male who isn’t likely to fawn over you.”

  “He’ll no doubt be very interested in meeting you.”

  “Are the Blasket Islands really deserted?”

  “Yes, the last people were taken off in the fifties as Danhoul said.”

  “The nineteen-fifties?” Faolan asked and she nodded.

  A server with a very short black and green plaid skirt brought their food and Faolan stared intently at her long, exposed legs. She definitely stared back. Angelique rolled her eyes as the young woman stayed longer than necessary, gazing at Faolan and engaging in conversation to hear his appealing accent.

  “Now what have I done?” he asked after they’d eaten in silence for a while.

  “Nothing.”


  “You’re quiet and cool now.”

  “I’m certain you could hook up with Miss Short Skirt and wouldn’t need to find a prostitute. You’d have to go to her place. I don’t want you doing her in my house.”

  “I’ve no desire to spend time with her.”

  “Do you like the food and the Guinness?” she asked.

  “The ale’s good, the food palatable though not as delicious as what you create.”

  Silence again.

  “Do modern women not wish for men to be possessive?”

  “A little possessive maybe, but not controlling of who they speak with or what they do.”

  “Yet you disliked me speakin’ with the woman whose garment barely covered her arse.”

  “Faolan, if you were going to be here for longer than a month and you and I were going to be more than friends, I’d need to get used to women flirting with you. You’re really good-looking, charismatic and very sexy. Your startling blue eyes and Irish accent add to your appeal. But we won’t be more than friends and you won’t be staying and so…in the next twenty-six days while we wait for the next full moon so I can do the spell, I’ll try not to be jealous. I’ve never experienced jealously before and admit I don’t like it. Now, I need to pee.”

  *

  It had been easier back at her home. Even though he’d offended her, they’d had an immediate rapport. Now, Angelique was quiet and seemed perturbed. She spoke openly of her jealousy and he’d never felt such annoyance as knowing the other two men looked at her like they’d gladly bed her. He did feel possessive, probably because he absolutely wanted to bed her himself.

  She was correct. In less than a moon, he’d be back to his life; she’d be but a distant memory. The thought disturbed him as little ever had.

  “Fancy another Guinness, Faolan?”

  Tristan, the man with the crooked grin, distracted his thoughts.

  “I’m not certain how long Angel wishes to stay.”

  “I’m glad to see Sammy out. I’ve been worried. She and her mum were super close and since Genny died, Sammy’s become almost reclusive. She’s honestly straight-up, the sweetest person I know. Always doing for others. She volunteers at an old age home and at an animal shelter, cooks at the homeless shelter. Bakes Irish goodies for me and Danny-Boy on St. Patrick’s Day knowing we miss Ireland. It’s nice to see Sammy’s beautiful smile again. Thanks, man.”

  Faolan nodded. Perhaps Tristan might only be Angelique’s friend.

  “Her mother died not long ago?”

  “Ya, real shame. Genny was only forty-two and had been sick for a while. Originally from Ireland, she liked comin’ here for a pint. That’s how I met her and Sammy. Speak of the devil,” he said as Angelique returned.

  “Talking about me, huh?”

  “Mostly good things.” Tristan grinned. “Want another round?”

  “Not me. Do you want anything else, Faolan?”

  “No, I’d like you to show me your city.”

  “Just the check, Tristan. Thanks.”

  “Nope, it’s on me, Sammy. I’m happy to welcome you back.”

  “Thanks, Tristan. I never properly thanked you for the flowers you and Danhoul sent when Mom died. I appreciated that.”

  “It was Danny-Boy’s idea. He’s thoughtful that way. He said you might stop by tonight?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Later then.”

  Tristan left them.

  “You’ve barely eaten, Angel.”

  “I’m full, but let’s go. I’ll show you the sights. Maybe the Tea Party and Ships Museum, Bunker Hill, Old North Church, Faneuil Hall, Freedom Trail, Paul Revere’s house, Boston Common, which opened in 1634 so even long before your time. There’s the Colonial graveyards and the USS Constitution. It’s an old English ship—well not old by your standards, but old—and the Battery Wharf Museum might interest you. An acquaintance of mine has a replica of the ship from which the tea was dumped in Boston Harbor.”

  “I’ll go wherever you like, Angel.”

  Catching her delightful enthusiasm, he clasped her hand and she smiled.

  Chapter Eight

  “We’ve walked a good distance,” Faolan said.

  “I got carried away showing you the sights and forgot you’re supposed to be recovering. Wow!” she said looking at her wrist. “We’ve walked twenty-seven thousand steps; nearly thirteen miles!”

  “Your timepiece tells you this?”

  “It does.”

  He observed her lovely rosy cheeks and happy smile.

  “It was good of you to point out all the inaccurate workings and inauthentic parts of Tom’s ship.” She laughed, now happy and carefree again. When they were alone, they spoke with ease and enjoyed being together.

  “I could’ve pointed out more, but I saw the disapprovin’ look you gave me.”

  “Did I? You must think I’m a bitch? You’ve done really well fitting in, Faolan. If you took me back to your time, I’d be hopeless even with knowing some history.”

  “In my century you couldn’t wear garments that so adequately accentuate your lovely form.”

  “Maybe not my ass, but I’d have to wear uncomfortable tight corsets that restricted my breathing, which I’d hate. But, I suppose, we should go home.”

  “You’re to take chowder to Mrs. Boyle.”

  “Right. Thanks for reminding me. I should get some for Mr. Nivens, too. He’s restricted to a wheelchair in a care home. When he lived next door, we used to take the bus, go to the markets and eat clam chowder.”

  “You don’t own one of these coaches?”

  “I don’t drive,” Angelique said. “We should take the train to Salem one day. In the late sixteen hundreds, several women were put to death as witches there.”

  “You like this place with the dark history?”

  “I share a connection to those women. Same when I visit cities in Europe where many were burned at the stake. Sometimes I see their ghosts.”

  “Truly? You see ghosts?”

  “It’s something I do with my magic.”

  “Besides pulling men through time with spells?”

  “I’ve never done that before.”

  “What else?” he asked.

  “I have premonitions. I can also move objects with my mind, control the weather and animals. I can magically move from one place to another but only if I’m angry. I sometimes hear people’s thoughts. I see auras.”

  “Auras?”

  “Colored light that surrounds people. Some believe it’s the good or bad within a person’s soul.”

  “What color’s my aura?”

  “It’s powerful, a brilliant silver, but sometimes pale blue like your eyes. It’s quite mesmerizing.”

  “Are there people with dark auras?”

  She shivered and he put his arm around her.

  “There are. I create spells to keep them distanced. Mom used to say there were evil beings, maybe demons who’d sometimes follow her if I was with her. I’ve seen them occasionally. Maybe they’re drawn to my magic. I seldom openly use my powers outside of my warded home, for I experience the worst sensation, terrible disturbing goose bumps.”

  “I suppose no gift comes without negative aspects.”

  “You’re always wonderfully warm,” Angelique said.

  He pulled her closer, even considered kissing her but thought he’d frighten her off.

  “Have you heard of déjà vu?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s when you feel you’re experiencing the exact same moment over again. With your arm around me, your chest so warm, I feel like it’s happened before.”

  “I’d definitely remember if I’d held you in my arms before, Angel,” he said now so aroused, it was bloody painful. Their eyes met and she seemed to recognize his desire.

  “I’ve also brought magical creatures to me, but Mom always insisted I send them back.”

  “Creatures?” Faolan asked.

  “Several faeries, a unicorn, a merm
aid, a minotaur, a sea serpent and a dragon.”

  He probably appeared stunned.

  “I can control water, too,” she added. “I create storms when I’m upset, which is a little worrisome living near the ocean. I try to stay calm, curb my temper and mostly avoid conflict.”

  “Should we get the clam chowder for Mrs. Boyle and Mr. Nivens, then?”

  “We should have some, too. Maybe lobster rolls as well. Mmmm. I’m craving that now.”

  “Isn’t lobster eaten by impoverished people?”

  “Actually during this time, lobster’s a delicacy but with seafood plentiful here, it’s less expensive. A lobster roll is a massive piece of delicious lobster meat inside a fresh dinner roll. They’re great here, but one day we should go to Maine where they’re absolutely perfect.”

  “Maine?”

  “A nearby state. We could take a train.”

  “Not a coach?”

  “Newt would drive us if you wanted to go by car. He’s a cautious driver, when I’m with him anyway.”

  Every time she spoke of these modern coaches, she tensed.

  “We’re to go for clam chowder,” he reminded her.

  “Several places make great clam chowder, but I like The Sea View because it loves up to its name.”

  “I’m certain I’d like that, too,” he said.

  *

  “You love the ocean. I can see it in your eyes,” she said taking a hearty bite of food.

  “I couldn’t be long parted from it, ’tis true. Just bein’ out on that spurious ship today made me realize how much I miss it.”

  “You really live on your ship?”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t have a home…to go home to?”

  “I did as a youngster.”

  “Were you a privateer when you were married?”

  “I didn’t have my own ship then.”

  “Do you like the lobster roll?”

  “Aye. Clearly you do, too; I’ve never seen you eat so much.”

  “A word of advice. Many women of this century would be highly insulted by that.”

  “But you’re not?”

  “No, I’m not offended.”

  “Thank God.”

  “As I said, you’re doing great, Faolan.”

  “Would you like the to-go cartons of clam chowder now?” a passing server asked as she, too, checked out Faolan.