CHAPTER 1
“‘And you, Children of Danu, shall go to the land of which shall be called Inisfail, the Isle of Destiny. It is your destiny to populate the earth and bring to it the great wisdom and direction that you have learned under our hands,’” Bianca intoned as Clare rolled her eyes and winked at her roommate, who was giving a mythological tour of Dublin to a group of eager Americans. “Look now, there goes one of the great beauties of the Children of Danu. A living goddess herself.”
The group turned to stare at Clare as she rushed past them, shaking her head at Bianca.
“I’m as much of a goddess as you are a delicate rose,” Clare shot back, and the group broke out in laughter.
“And so the children of Danu came to the Isle of Destiny, which you know today as Ireland, with only the four treasures in their hands to protect them against those who were determined to rule the island in darkness.”
Bianca’s mythology lesson faded behind Clare as she tucked a rioting mass of auburn curls under a wool cap, her mind already focused on her dissertation project. It was her last bit of work to be finished before she could call herself an honest-to-god doctor.
A person with a geology doctorate is nonetheless a doctor, she reminded herself as she pushed through the glass doors that housed the science wing of Trinity College.
She’d been lucky to get accepted to the reciprocal geology program at such an esteemed college, and even luckier to have won a full scholarship. Her parents had scratched their heads in confusion – wondering what a farmer’s daughter from small-town Clifden, Ireland would want with a doctorate degree.
To study stones, no less.
She could still see her father striding out into the yard, his boots mucked with mud, as he bent over and picked up a rock from the ground and held it up to the light.
“This? This is what you’re wanting to be studying then? Sure and there isn’t all that much to learn about them now, is there?”
Though he’d been confused by her choice, Madden MacBride had quickly been found boasting about his brilliant daughter in Paddy’s, the corner pub he favored.
Clare still remembered her first moments of panic when her parents had dropped her off in the city, their truck rumbling away from the college, looking conspic- uously out of place next to the slick cars that cluttered the busy streets of Dublin. As she’d glanced down at her worn denim pants and faded button-down shirt, she’d imagined that she looked much like the dilapidated truck she’d been dropped off in.
The better to dig in the dirt, she’d reminded herself and had lifted her chin high as she’d returned to the apartment she’d rented with a girl from a list the college had provided her with. And even though they’d spoken a few times on the telephone over the summer, she’d still felt like her stomach was twisted in knots as she’d waited for her new roomie to arrive.
It had taken less than thirty seconds, and one glance at the tears streaming down the chubby blonde’s face, before Clare had instantly bonded with Bianca.
They’d lived together ever since, graduating to a slightly better apartment, slightly better fashion-sense, and the worldly air that comes with finally navigating a city as an adult.
Bianca, who’d majored in history with a minor in mythology, was currently in a year-long debate with herself over whether or not to pursue her doctorate. In the meantime, she worked full-time in the National Museum of Ireland, and part-time as a tour guide for those who had a yen to learn some of the Celtic myths that wound their way through Ireland’s rich history.
Though Clare’s scholarship covered her tuition, she still needed some extra cash for certain essentials – like the camera she’d been eyeing for eons, and a full Irish breakfast after her nights out on the town with Bianca. Clare supplemented her income by working one or two nights a week at a pub down the street from their flat, and a few afternoons a week at a local crystal shop.
Crystals were rocks, after all. Geodes, if she was going to get specific.
Clare winced as she thought about her second job. She couldn’t really say how she’d ended up walking past the crystal shop one sunny fall day, but the pretty display of glittering stones had drawn her eye. Artfully arranged on varying tiers of lucite towers, interspersed with delicate jewelry and a few books, the window display managed to be both fanciful and tasteful in the same breath.
Unable to resist, Clare had found herself stepping inside. Her skin had hummed with the energy pulsing from the crystals, and the warm lights and the bright smile of the woman standing behind the counter had made her feel like she was being welcomed home.
It annoyed Clare that to this day she couldn’t figure out why stones spoke to her. Well, not literally talked to her, but she knew each of their signature energies, could tell what they needed or who they needed to be with, and could even gauge where they’d come from with just a glance.
Sure, some of that was a result of her education. What was she getting a geology degree for if she couldn’t eye up a stone and estimate its age? But the energy and the power of stones? Well, she’d yet to understand how she could physically feel that.
Not that she’d brought it up to any of her professors. Getting an education in a scientific field – especially as a woman – didn’t much lend itself to flights of fancy. Instead, she’d proven herself to be a rational, brilliant, and committed scientist. Once a week, Clare taught an undergraduate class that was well attended – though some would say that was because the teacher was hot.
Clare snorted at the thought as she pushed open the door to the science wing and waved at the girl working the front desk.
It mattered little what you looked like when you were knee-deep in the bog, pulling out stones to be analyzed. The sooner her students realized that looks weren’t necessarily a benefit in this field of study, the better off they’d be.
“Hey Seamus,” Clare called to the lab attendant as she entered the small lab dedicated to her field of study. Not that rocks and the formation of the earth weren’t an interesting branch of science – but Clare knew that the biomedical engineers and chemists rated much better labs on the top floor of the science building, not to mention better funding. Sometimes she felt like they’d sequestered her department to the far recesses of the dungeon.
“Still blustering out?” Seamus called easily, popping a mint in his mouth as he crossed his wiry arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. At six feet tall, he was all arms and elbows, with a crop of dark hair that stuck up all over his head. He made up for his lankiness with an effortlessly cool street style.
“Misting at best, I’d say. Bianca had a group out, so not all that bad,” Clare said as she pulled her knapsack off and hung it on the back of her chair.
“Ah, maybe I should go say hi,” Seamus said, a blush tinging his cheeks. “She still dating that Conor?”
Clare glanced up at him. “Nah, she’s given him the boot after him staying out all night with his band a few weeks ago.”
Seamus straightened, his feet hitting the floor with a thud.
“Maybe I should go say hi. Just, you know, to catch up with her,” Seamus mumbled as he grabbed his coat and hit the door at almost a run.
Clare chuckled as she put her ear buds in and fired up her computer.
Her dissertation wasn’t going to write itself.
CHAPTER 2
“ Don’t you have to work at the shop today?”
Clare started as Seamus tugged the ear
bud from her ear, the wail of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar sounding from the tiny speaker as it dropped to the table in front of her.
“Shite, shite, shite, you’re right,” Clare swore. “I got caught up. I need to run.” She made sure to save her work, double-checked saving it on her jump drive, and checked saving it to her cloud account one more time before she jumped up.
“Come have a pint later,” Clare said, pausing to buss her lips across Seamus’s cheek.
“Are you at O’Flannery’s too, then?”
“No, come by our place. You want to see Bianca, don’t you?”
Clare didn’t wait for his answer as she breezed out the door and headed for the crystal shop. She knew that one of these days she would need to get better at managing her time, but it was so difficult for her to turn her mind off when she was engrossed in a subject.
Not that Branna minded all that much when she was a few minutes late. Among Branna’s employees, Clare held the highest record for sales, so Branna was content to give Clare some leniency on her hours.
Celtic Crystals was located about a fifteen-minute walk from Trinity College, tucked on a windy cobble- stone side street. A few shops surrounded it, but for the most part, the shop was fairly isolated from the street traffic – which is why it was a constant surprise to Clare that the store did a steady stream of business.
She had to admit, though, there was something entirely welcoming and, well, dare she say almost magickal about the shop. Clare pulled the cap from her hair as she pushed the door open, the small wind chimes affixed to the door letting out a gentle tinkling welcome sound.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Clare immediately called as she shook out her curls and tucked her cap in the pocket of her shearling-lined canvas coat.
Branna smiled at her from where she stood with a customer by a shelf containing some intricate amethyst chunks. At fifty years of age, Branna could easily pass for years younger; few lines marred her smooth skin and her mass of dark curls hung almost to her waist. Silver and gold bangles clamored for space at her wrists, neck- laces strung with crystals lined her throat, and pretty peridot earrings winked at her ears. Branna waved Clare on easily and continued her discussion with the customer.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Clare hung her coat and knapsack in the back room and poured herself a cup of tea from the electric kettle that was just beginning to boil in the back room. Without fail, Branna always had water ready for a cup of tea for Clare.
Clare cupped her hands around a mug with the Celtic Crystals logo etched daintily on its side, and moved toward her nook in the front room. Part of the appeal of Celtic Crystals was that it wasn’t set up like a typical store. Instead, the shop was painted a rich honey color and divided into little conversation nooks and crannies, each area offering a place for someone to sit down, pick up a book, or pass the time with a cup of tea while looking at pretty stones. There were no glass- fronted display cases, no signs that said ‘please do not touch,’ and not even a checkout counter to be found. Instead, a small cabinet next to an armchair in a corner held all the equipment, bags, and boxes that the customers needed. When a customer was ready to check out, Clare would wrap their purchases in pretty purple tissue paper and silver bags bearing the store’s logo, and run their credit cards on a small hand-held device.
Just because the shop looked whimsical didn’t mean that Branna wasn’t up on all the latest technology. Clare credited their steady sales to the highly engaged customer base that Branna maintained interactions with on Instagram and Facebook.
Clare settled into her armchair, the worn leather enveloping her, and she felt herself begin to relax an inch at a time as the warm spell of the shop drifted over her. It was hard to be stressed out over her dissertation – or pretty much anything else in life – when she was in this store. It seemed to say, here, lay your problems at the door and just relax for a while.
Which was one of the reasons she continued to work here. It was so far from her highly regimented schooling that it was almost like going to a yoga class every after- noon. Or so she thought – not like she’d ever taken a yoga class. Clare rolled her eyes at the thought as she began to flip through the inventory folder to make note of what they would need to order soon.
“I got you a gift,” Branna said, and Clare tilted her head to look up at her smiling boss.
“A gift? For being late all the time? Well, I’ll just have to be coming in later and later each day then,” Clare teased.
“Because everyone deserves gifts sometimes,” Branna said easily, pulling two small boxes from behind her back. One was beautifully wrapped in silver paper shot through with specks of gold. The other was just a plain white box.
“Wow, like real gifts. Which one should I open first?” Clare asked.
“You choose,” Branna said, a smile dancing across her pretty face.
Deciding to save the best for last, Clare opened the small white box and snorted out a laugh.
“Eye shadow?”
“Oh yes, they were having a sale on just the loveliest shades. I couldn’t help but get myself one in every color,” Branna gushed.
Clare smiled up at her. “Sure, with your gray eyes you can pretty much wear any color. But, um, purple? For me?”
“Well, it’s really more of a deep plum, isn’t it? Trust me, just a light touch of this and those emerald green eyes of yours will pop.”
“Like I need them to pop any more than they do?” Clare asked. It was true, too. Her eyes were the feature people commented on most, and next up was the riot of deep auburn curls on her head.
“Trust me on this one. Just try it out. It would do you some good to primp once in a while.”
“Are you saying I’m not stylish enough? I think I’m doing better than I once was,” Clare pointed out.
“You’re lovely, inside and out. But a woman should use all the tools in her toolbox, if you get what I’m saying.”
Clare shook her head and laughed at her boss as she began to peel the paper away from the other gift. She paused as she began to feel the thrum of power that radi- ated from inside. With a curious glance for Branna, she returned to peeling the paper gently off the box.
They hadn’t spoken much about Clare’s intuition with stones. Branna seemed to recognize it, but gave Clare her space on the subject. It just wasn’t something that she was comfortable talking about – with anyone.
Clare gasped as she opened the box.
“Why, Branna, it’s quite lovely, it is at that,” Clare murmured as she pulled the necklace gently from the box. Hung on a smooth silver strand was an intricate Celtic knot, twisted into four loops with an intersecting circle. Clare now understood where the pulse of power came from. Hung suspended in the middle of the knot was a small but fiercely polished sphere of nuummite.
“The Sorcerer’s Stone,” Clare murmured.
“I thought the symbol would resonate with you as well,” Branna said, tilting her head at Clare, a knowing look in her gray eyes.
Clare held the pendant up so that it dangled in front of her face.
“It’s just a Celtic knot, right? I mean, it has the circle connecting the four corners, so that’s somewhat unusual, but otherwise, it’s pretty traditional, eh?”
Branna said nothing, just smiled gently and pressed her hand to Clare’s shoulder as she turned to greet the next customer already walking through the door. Clare wasn’t about to admit that the symbol had left her shaken. For what reason? She considered the design of the knot and the pretty stone that swung in its middle. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been around nuummite before. It was a fairly popular – and fairly powerful – stone, though far be it from her to actually admit to anyone that it emitted its own pulse of energy. It was one thing to talk up the legend of a stone for sales – and entirely another thing to admit that she had a very real and visceral reaction to the stone held in her hand.
As she stared at the Celtic knot, a low pulse of something, almost as if she wanted to scratch an itch, pressed against the nape of her neck. Annoyed, Clare rubbed her finger over the spot.
“Clare, could you assist Mrs. Miller with her order? I’ve just got to finish this internet order that I’ve started.”
No time for fanciful daydreams, Clare thought, but she slipped the necklace over her head anyway, as it was a gift from Branna. The charm settled between her breasts, the metal cool against her skin, its touch both intimate and unsettling.
And Clare swore she could feel the heat of the stone, dead center in the necklace, pulsing gently near her heart.
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