I shuddered but somehow kept the thread moving through my fingers—as though I had to do something to keep the horror of Mordag’s fate at bay. Nor did I want to look at Nan when I asked her my next question.
“Not that it really matters,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual, “because where I come from it’s not a crime … even if anyone believed in it … so I just wondered …”
“If I’m a witch?” Nan asked, looking up from her spindle.
The thread broke in my hand and I met Nan’s gaze. “Well, you see, I am, so if you are …”
“Aye, I suppose you could call me a witch. My gram said we were wisewomen and buidseach. I wouldna ever do harm to anyone. That is one of the verra first rules I learned at my gram’s knee.”
“An’ it harm none, do what ye will,” I quoted the Wiccan credo from one of Moondance’s bumper stickers. “Although I’m not sure all the witches I know abide by that rule.” I thought of my grandmother and the curse her grandfather had put on Nicky Ballard’s family.
“Nay, not all do, but the harm they do always comes back on them.”
“Thricefold,” I said. “Yes, I’ve heard that, too. I wonder how many of those convicted and killed by Endicott are actual witches.”
“I do not know for sure. Some of the accused belonged to our circle and some did not.”
“Your circle?”
“Aye, our spinning circle, ye ken. Perhaps you’ll join us when ye’ve gotten your strength back.”
“And this witch finder—Endicott—do you think he’s a nephilim?”
“I dinna ken what he is, except he must be some kind of monster to do what he does to the poor souls he questions. It’s like he breaks something inside them.”
“It’s the angel stone,” I said, stealing a look at Nan. She was watching me, but her eyes were on my hands, not my face. I had somehow gotten the hang of the spinning now, and the repetitive motion of feeding the wool into the wheel made it easier to go on. “The stone makes every transgression seem far worse. The story I heard from my colleagues was that the nephilim were elves that were thrown out of Faerie because of how they abused human women—although, now that I think of it, I don’t see how what they did was any worse than what the Fairy Queen did to William.” The spinning wheel whirred faster as I thought about the abuse William had suffered. “Anyway, when they came here to our world, they bred with humans, and their offspring were born … deformed somehow—monsters. They were so horrified that they disowned their children, and the children in turn were so ashamed of their fathers’ horror that they killed them. The last of their fathers shed a tear that became a stone—the angel stone. It’s supposed to be the one thing that can destroy a nephilim. It’s what I came here to Ballydoon to find.”
“And that’s the stone Endicott was wearing?”
“Yes, and he’s using it to force witches to confess. But if we can get the stone, I think we can use it against the witch hunters.”
“That’s a mighty big if. How do you figure you can get the stone from Endicott? He always wears it, and he’s not likely to hand it over to you.”
“No, but there is one thing that can break the stone’s power. Look there on the settle …” I pointed with my chin to the china saucer I’d put out on the bench in front of the fireplace. I didn’t want to break the rhythm I’d fallen into. Nan was right: the spinning was not only relaxing me, it helped me think. Nan gave me a curious look, then put down her spindle and picked up the two halves of the Luckenbooth brooch I’d left in the saucer.
“While I was in my trance, William put my half of the brooch in my hand and it appeared in my hand in the vision. The inquisitor—Endymion Endicott—was scared when he saw it. I was able to break the stone’s spell with it and escape from him.”
“Aye, but only in a dream …”
“If it was that powerful in a dream, it will be more powerful in reality—and twice as powerful when the two halves of the brooch are fit together. There’s a space between the halves that’s just the right shape and size for the angel stone. If we can fit the angel stone into the brooch, it will become a weapon to use against them. And if we can figure out how to use the plaid, too, we can destroy the bastards.”
Nan looked up from the brooches to me and grinned. “Aye,” she said, “I think ye may be right. And I’ve got an idea about that magic plaid you’ve been nattering on about.” She lowered her eyes to the bobbin on my wheel. I followed her gaze … and gasped, breaking off the thread. The undyed wool I’d been spinning had turned fiery red on the wheel and was glowing.
That evening, when William came home, I had the table set for his supper. I’d made bannocks and a stew from some mutton and carrots Nan had brought. I’d swept the hearth and scrubbed the wide-planked floor and arranged some dried heather in an earthenware jug—although I supposed since William spent his days in the heather he might be tired of looking at it. But I wanted the house to look and smell nice.
“What’s all this?” he asked, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, his dark hair dusted with a sprinkling of snow. He reminded me of Liam when he would come in from his walks in the woods, and I found myself leaning toward him to catch the scent of pine and wood smoke that had clung to Liam’s clothes. But William smelled of heather and peat and sheep.
“I know you’ve been working so hard,” I said. “I wanted to do something for you.”
“That’s very kind of ye, lass, but you shouldn’t trouble yourself. I see you’ve been spinning with Nan …” He cast his eye toward the spinning wheel. The yarn had stopped glowing after a little while. I wasn’t sure yet how to make it glow again, or how we would make a magic tartan, but Nan had promised to come back tomorrow for us to spin some more.
“Yes, she taught me to spin,” I said, spooning out a bowlful of stew. “And I told her about the angel stone. We think we might have a way of getting it.” I told him about the magic tartan that the Stewarts had used in my time.
“You mean it’s like a pen you’d make for your sheep—only made out of glowing thread?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes, and in my time the Stewarts were able to use it to keep the nephilim out of the circle long enough for me to open the door …” I paused, wondering what had happened after I’d disappeared from the circle. Had the tartan held—or had my friends been overwhelmed?
“You’re back with them, aren’t you?” William said softly.
“What?”
“Worrying about your people.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, lass. I understand. I’ve been thinking how ye being here must be a wee bit like me being trapped in Faerie. It isn’t the place you’re meant to be, is it?”
“No,” I admitted, taking a quick swallow of the ale Nan had brought.
“Aye, I suspected as much. I know verra weel what that’s like. In fact, I have a wee confession to make.”
“Oh?”
“Aye. When I was taken by the fairies seven years ago, I wasn’t in the Greenwood just to see what would happen there on All Hallows’ Eve. I was on my way out of town, heading for Edinburgh.”