It was time to use my powers.
Why had I not thought of this before? I wondered as I steadfastly sewed and decorated my poppets, working a little each day and night. The course of my relationship with Diarmuid ran parallel to my magick. Had I not captivated him completely with the rose stone? And then, when I’d misplaced it, he had fallen away, never returning to our secret circle. It was so clear. I needed to enlist the Goddess’s help to get him back in my arms.
I went through Ma’s cupboard of stones, searching for a gem to replace the rose stone. I weighed each stone in my palm and turned it about, hoping to feel a swell or glow of power, but nothing moved me. Perhaps a charm wasn’t the right thing anymore. Time for a spell.
First I dedicated a candle to him, carving runes up the side that spelled his name. Although I had to hide the candle from Ma, I burned it whenever she went out, chanting to the Goddess to rekindle the love flame in this boy. And when the flame was doused, I censed my belly with the smoke, inviting my babe to feel my love for her father.
While working candle magick, I also searched for a powerful love spell. Although Ma had instructed Kyra on the making of love dolls, I could not recall the details. Searching my mother’s Book of Shadows, I came across the spell. It was called simply Poppets.
Thou must craft two poppets to represent the two lovers.
What is done to the poppets shall be done to the lovers.
Cut two pieces of cloth shaped like a man, then two shaped like a woman. While cutting the cloth, bring to mind the person it represents. If the ideal lover has long, flowing hair or a comely beard, so should the poppet. Thou must heed— the lover thou seekest is thine ideal mate, not a named lord or lady.
Stuff the figure with herbs governed by Venus. Such herbs: verbena, feverfew, yarrow, motherwort, rosebuds, or damiana.
’Tis strong magick! Use only for a love that will have permanence, not for a mere dalliance.
Thou must thrice perform a love ritual over the poppets during the waxing moon.
The spell was very specific and promised to be very powerful. And I would give it all the more power by making my doll look just like Diarmuid and embroidering his name upon it. My own brand of magick had worked well when charming the rose stone; I felt sure this would be even stronger.
It took me days to construct the dolls, during which Ma noticed and encouraged my work. “You are seventeen years of age, Rose. Perhaps ’tis time for you to fall in love with a gentle witch.” She didn’t see the name I had stitched upon it, didn’t realize that I was making a Diarmuid poppet, designed to capture his love, and I didn’t dare tell her that I was working magick she considered to be dark. When the dolls were done, I had to wait for the waxing moon to begin the spell. I felt impatient, but I knew that the spell would have its full potency only if I followed the instructions.
By the time I was ready to perform the spell for the third time, it was August and Lughnassadh preparations were upon us. During the weeks of preparing the dolls and consecrating them, I missed Diarmuid desperately. My only consolation was that we would have the rest of our lives together once we made it past this obstacle. I also noticed that the babe was growing, pushing at the swath of cloth I belted around my skirts. I had to adjust the girdle higher, which only seemed to accent the new lushness of my breasts. Perhaps this was the Goddess’s purpose in waiting—to give Diarmuid a visible sign of my love for him, the child within my womb.
10. Lughnassadh
Rising before dawn on the day of Lughnassadh, the celebration to honor the Sun God, I set off to my secret circle to complete the love spell. As I had done before, I placed the poppets facedown on the stone altar and consecrated the circle. I charged the girl poppet to be me, then picked up the boy, with feathery brown hair made of spun wool. Sprinkling it with salted water and censing it, I chanted: “This poppet is Diarmuid, my mùirn beatha dàn in every way. As Diarmuid lives, so lives this poppet. Aught that I do to it, I do to him.”
I kissed the Diarmuid poppet, then put him back beside the other on the altar. Kneeling before them, I moved the two poppets closer to each other, touching, turning, pressing face-to-face. As I moved them, I pictured myself reaching out to Diarmuid, meeting him, touching him, kissing and holding him so close in my arms, I could taste the salt on his skin.
When the poppets were face-to-face, I wrapped my red ribbon around them. “Now may the Goddess bind these two together, as I do bind them here,” I said. Around and around I circled them with ribbon, then tied it tightly so they would never, ever break apart. “Now they are forever one. May each truly become a part of the other. Separated, they shall seem incomplete. So mote it be!”
I rested my athame over the bound puppets, asking the Goddess to lend Her power to this and all spells I cast. Then I wrapped the poppets in a clean white cloth. I would stow them in the rafters of the cottage so that no animal or human could meddle with my magick.
After my task was done, I lifted my head to the bright midday sky. The heat was blistering hot today, casting a white glow across the land. Aye, ’twas the right day to honor the Sun God. I would go to Lillipool, but not until the sun had passed. ’Twas best not to make such a journey in the heat. Besides, of late my babe had drained me of strength. I no longer needed special herbs to calm my dizziness, but it seemed the babe wanted me to sleep the day away! I needed rest and a sip of cool tea.
By late afternoon, when the air had cooled and Ma was off preparing for the Lughnassadh celebration, I knew ’twas time to go. As I walked, I chanted bits and pieces of the love spell. “Now may the Goddess bind these two together, as I do bind them here. Separated they would seem incomplete...” The spell sustained me, and in no time the old mill of Lillipool loomed before me.
Today I was not so lucky as to find him in the dusty marketplace. I knew his coven would also be preparing to celebrate the sun festival, but what were his assigned tasks? To mull the wine—or consecrate the circle? I wouldn’t dare go near another coven’s circle, not that I would be able to find it.
Help me, Goddess, I prayed. Point me in the direction of my love.
I circled the dismal marketplace, hoping for an answer. Diarmuid did not appear, but as I paced, I came across a red feather. It sat in the middle of the lane, alone and abandoned, and the sight of it reminded me of the red feathers twined with ivy that I had used for our celebration of midsummer night. I had twined ivy around the feathers—red for sexuality—and festooned them around our circle.
Now this feather pointed down a lane. Was it pointing me toward my love?
I believed it to be so. Making haste, I followed the lane, which led past the church and quaint cottages to the countryside. My eyes followed the dark green patches of grass to a small hollow where a figure lay sleeping in the shade.
Diarmuid.
He was probably supposed to be tending sheep, though this summer heat would drive any lad to napping. I ventured off the road and crossed to him, my shoes whispering in the crisp grass. Although I did not call out to him, he stirred with my approach, rubbing his eyes. He turned toward me, saw me, then bolted upright.
“What vision is this?” he gasped. “Has the Goddess herself descended, or am I but asleep and dreaming of love?”
My heart melted. He was still the same Diarmuid, a poet and a tease.
“I have come to reclaim you,” I said firmly.