Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Orla

I didn't get to my crochet and true crime podcast after all.

Sophie had drawn me with her, promising just a quick chat.

Inside, Hilda and Archie, the castle caretakers, had joined us, insisting I stay for dinner while Sophie had basically blown my mind with a fanciful tale of Kelpies and magick, enchanted waters, and an ancient magickal Order that I, it seemed, was a part of.

The Order of Caledonia , to be precise.

Apparently it was a magickal Order that protected the Clach na Fìrinn, the Stone of Truth, basically one of the holy grails that many, many, many people had searched for the world over. This stone was so powerful that anyone who possessed it would hold all knowledge of humankind, which, I could understand, was a very dangerous tool. The kicker? It was basically sentient, understanding the need for its own protection, and the Order of Caledonia had sprung up to ensure the Stone never fell into the wrong hands. When the last of the Order had died over a year ago, the safeguard had fallen into place—the Kelpies—and now they haunted Loren Brae, driving away anyone who moved too close to the island where the Stone was buried. Until the Order was restored, the Kelpies would continue to threaten the town, and even I'd seen how much the village had deteriorated over the past year.

It wasn't like I was immune to hearing the Kelpies scream at night either.

By mutual agreement, nobody much spoke of what we'd all heard on the icy winter winds that barreled over Loch Mirren, but whispers had reached my ears.

Now, having confirmation that the Kelpies were real and that the people at MacAlpine Castle were quietly fighting to restore the Order, was both a revelation and an affirmation in the same breath.

I'd felt it, hadn't I?

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't.

I supposed, part and parcel with seeing ghosts, was the ability to sense enchantments and, well, when I'd moved to Loren Brae several years ago, drawn here by budding work opportunities and the need for a quieter way of life, I'd sensed an otherworldliness to the village. Maybe that's what had pulled me here all along.

The Order of Caledonia.

Me . A supposed member of an ancient magickal Order .

Once my disbelief had been suspended, a trickle of excitement had buoyed me on my way home.

I'd never been a part of something before.

Not really.

No family to speak of. A few scattered friends on the streets, drawn together more by what we didn't have than what we did. Grandpa Lou's workshop had become a haven to me, but even then, I'd understood that it wasn't really mine to keep.

When we'd lost Jacob, I'd run— and kept running —until I'd landed in Loren Brae, finally ready to set down roots and try to build something for myself. My crew was now the closest thing I had to family, and even then, I knew they went home to their own lives, while I returned to a quiet cottage. On my own.

The way I liked it.

If you were alone, nobody could hurt you by leaving.

But now, now , Sophie wasn't just asking that I believe her wild tale about the Order of Caledonia. She was asking me to join. To pledge. To accept my role to protect Loren Brae, to step into the magick that was granted with the role, and to be a part of something so much more.

My inner child jumped at the chance.

Adult me had severe misgivings.

So far, the Order consisted of women. Several of whom I already knew. Groups of women made me nervous. Fabulous foreign beings with their makeup and fancy purses and innate femininity, none of which I grasped or understood. Frankly, groups of women terrified me. I had no idea how to navigate the nuances of sisterhood, let alone listening to conversations of little concern to me. How could I care about the latest fashions when every pound I earned went toward ensuring the security of my future?

Granted, I knew I was being unfair to women in general. I'd met several, particularly since coming to Loren Brae, who didn't seem to give a hoot about fashion, instead preferring to discuss their favorite hobbies like gardening or hiking, something that I could at least carry on a basic conversation about. Even Willow, an actual fashion designer, who basically sparkled her way through life, had never made me feel uncomfortable. Instead, once she and Ramsay had hired me to oversee their rebuild after the fire, she'd made an extra effort to get to know me.

It appeared I still had a lot of my own shite to unpack if I wanted to change how I viewed sisterhoods.

And that was what this was, truly, at its core. Hilda had even told me that the Order was at its strongest when filled by women.

You're a house witch.

The words floated through my brain as I pulled my lorry to a stop in the spot next to my wee cottage, a long breath escaping me as it did every time I returned to my home.

It had taken me years to save enough to purchase this wee place and I'd gotten it at a steal because of the amount of work it had, well, still , needed. After I'd closed on the property, I'd bought myself a bottle of wine, made a small charcuterie board, and had sat on the bare floor. I'd lit a candle, looked around the space that nobody else could call their own but me, and had cried like a baby.

I'd given myself six precious weeks off work, my first real holiday, and I'd sanded, cleaned, built, and worked myself into exhaustion. The result was a livable space that shone with love. Unlocking the door, I stepped into the cottage, tension easing from my shoulders the minute I closed and locked the door behind me— always locked, mind you —and stood in my space.

Mine .

I'd never take this for granted.

On the far end of the room, a woodburning stove doubled as one of the main heating elements in winter. A deep-set love seat in soft earthy tones sat along the wall under the front window, pulled close to enjoy the warmth of the fire, and a soft tufted rug in muted greens had been placed across the hardwood floors. Directly across from the sofa, a kitchen cooktop and range of cabinets were tucked under the window that looked out to the back garden. I'd opted for roughhewn shelves above the counter, allowing the softness of the stone walls to show and keeping a lightness to the room that you wouldn't get with heavy cabinetry. A few of my pretty dishes were stacked neatly on the shelves, including my favorite mug.

It was a mug with a drawing of Batman and Robin on it that read "Yer ma wee pal."

Jacob had given it to me the week before he'd gotten in a fight outside the pub. He'd fallen badly, his head not standing a chance against the steps. Pronounced brain dead shortly thereafter, I'd lost the only real friend I'd ever had.

Grandpa Lou had followed six months later, and I'd promised myself to work hard in his honor. I'd never felt so alone as I did in that moment. Since that awful time, I'd buried myself in my job and hadn't looked up until now, on a random Tuesday, when an American woman pulled me aside and invited me to join a magickal Order.

It was an opportunity to be a part of something more.

To help the people of Loren Brae.

Where some people might jump at the chance to be a hero, I had to admit, at least to myself, that the very thought scared me.

Being a part of something more, a family, a group of friends, an Order—well, that meant I was responsible to them. For their feelings. For my actions. My words. Everything I did or didn't do would affect others. And while that may come naturally to many, to me it was a terrifying burden.

The only people I currently wanted to be responsible to were my crew. My team. I'd handpicked them, giving some a chance when many others hadn't, and their loyalty was something I didn't take for granted.

I stored my boots neatly by the door and automatically crossed to the fire to throw a few small logs on. Though spring was at our doorstep, the nights were still cold. Luckily, I didn't need to think about scrounging up food tonight. Hilda not only fed me a delightful dinner of chunky vegetable stew, but also sent me home with extras. I sensed she had an innate need to nurture, and I was never sure how to act around those types. Mothering was such a foreign concept to me that I often felt out of my element around women that tried to do that for me.

Once the fire was lit, I crossed to my sleeping area, separated from the room by a see-through bookshelf that I'd built myself. Modeled after a popular style from IKEA, I'd scraped together enough spare wood to create a beautiful design, with open-wood boxes stacked on top of each other, and had filled the shelves with secondhand shop finds and some of my favorite books. I'd flirted with the idea of building an actual wall between the bed and the rest of the room, but this open bookshelf design had allowed for a separation of space without having to frame it off completely. The result allowed for the flickering light and warmth from the fire to filter through to my bed, and the space was cohesive and airy.

On one shelf sat a bowl with a goldfish in it, who perked up when I walked closer.

"Sorry I'm a wee bit late tonight, Goldie."

Goldie, as in Goldie Hawn, was a goldfish that I'd bought on a whim because my very soul ached for a companion of some kind. I desperately wanted a dog but had resigned myself to spending time with them as a volunteer at the shelter instead, and so a goldfish had been the compromise I'd made with myself. I'd known next to nothing about fish, but I'd been surprised how much I'd grown attached to Goldie. She, or he, I wasn't entirely sure, always perked up when I came home, swimming in excited circles around the bowl, and would follow me as I walked around the room.

Now I grinned down at her as I tapped some flakes of fish food into the bowl, happy to be important to at least one thing in this world.

Which was a silly and morose thought to have, I told myself, as I stripped and tucked myself into the shower in the narrow bathroom attached to the corner of the cottage. I was important to my crew, wasn't I? They relied on me to pick projects that would give them solid work. They relied on me and my decisions.

Which was a direct contradiction to the nerves that kicked up when thinking about joining the Order. My need for belonging warred with my fear of never belonging anywhere at all.

By the time I showered and had crawled into bed, I hadn't landed on which direction I wanted to go with Sophie's invitation to join the Order. I was just picking up my crochet project when movement caught my eye.

He's handsome.

A woman in a green dress settled at the foot of my bed. I knew, if I bent forward and looked at where her dress ended, I would see goat-like hooves sticking out from the bottom of her dress.

The Green Lady.

A glaistig.

Stories abounded about her, in hundreds of variations across Scotland, and I wouldn't be the least surprised if there were more than one of these "Green Ladies" perpetuating these myths. But, from all accounts, she'd attached herself to me. She was the first ghost I'd ever seen, but certainly not the last, and the only one that had traveled with me as I'd moved across Scotland.

"Who is handsome?"

You know who. The one who got stuck in the cottage.

"Finlay Thompson. He's my new boss. Of sorts. What happened in the cottage?" I settled back against my pillows, comfortable with the Green Lady, as she'd been having these bedside "chats" with me for years. At first, it had been terrifying. Now I took comfort in her presence. She'd shown, time and again, that for some reason she felt protective over me.

The first time I'd seen her, she'd saved me from a mugging by scaring the shite out of the man who'd grabbed my arm as I walked the streets, not having a place to go home to that night. I'd been just as scared as my attacker, but when she'd ranged herself in front of me, protecting me while she terrorized him, I'd come to realize she was looking out for me. We hadn't spoken, not that first night, but I'd thanked her before running away.

Through the years, she'd grown more confident with visiting me and we'd developed a friendship of sorts, an affinity, you could say. She wandered the world, lost and alone, and I supposed I could identify with that feeling. Two lost souls we were, finding companionship with each other, and I had come to have an odd sort of affection for this woman who never told me about herself no matter how much I prodded.

Bad energy there. A woman unfairly tried and executed.

"So, like a poltergeist?"

The Green Lady just shrugged a shoulder. I'd learned that she didn't know the explanations that humans had come up with for ghostly or mythological apparitions. I'd been dying to ask about her goat legs for years, but any gentle nudges in that direction had resulted in her disappearance.

"And she went after Finlay, didn't she? He was terrified."

She made the building an ice cave and attacked him with icicles. The door was locked when I found him, but I let him out .

"So that was why he fell out of the door. He'd been locked inside. That's strong magick for a ghost, isn't it?"

Blood magick. She was very hurt.

"Och. That doesn't sound great. Any suggestions to help her?"

Take your time with it. You won't free her from there easily. You need to join the Order.

At that, I straightened.

"You know about the Order of Caledonia?"

Of course.

"Sophie thinks I'm a house witch. I don't know how I feel about that."

Witch is a powerful word. A blessing for some. A curse for others. You're lucky that you get a choice in which way that path unfolds for you these days.

"And if I join this Order? She says I'll get magick."

You already have magick. Joining the Order just makes you stronger.

"I do?" This was news to me. Seeing ghosts had never felt very magickal to me, but maybe I needed to expand my definition.

"What if I fail them?"

And what if you don't?

With that, the Green Lady disappeared from the foot of my bed, leaving me to contemplate whether I was ready to join something that would anchor me to Loren Brae forever. A part of me warmed to the thought, the feeling of coming home making me almost giddy with excitement, but like anything in my life, I needed to proceed with caution .

Goldie zipped tight circles in her bowl, mirroring my thoughts, and I drifted off to sleep.