Ashling stared at the pear shaped diamond glittering on her finger and then at the table which she had set with her grandmother’s fine china and sterling silver. She had covered the table with a white linen tablecloth from one of the most exclusive stores in Dublin. Everything was perfect down to the candles, displayed in a pair of Mullingar pewter candlesticks. All she needed was—
The clock over the mantelpiece read a quarter to eight. Ashling was certain she had told Patrick to be at her apartment by seven, but her memory of their last conversation was fuzzy. They had made the arrangement for dinner during the midst of their lovemaking two nights ago. Could it have slipped his mind in the moment of passion? She wondered.
Patrick was a high-powered barrister in Dublin. His clientele consisted of criminals, both of the white collar and street punk variety. He was so successful that his services had been demanded elsewhere in the country. On several occasions, he had even ventured into Derry and Belfast to defend members of the Provisional Irish Republican Army or what was left of it. These criminals paid well, Patrick claimed, and their cases were challenging. But Patrick hadn’t mentioned having to leave town to meet with a client. Still he could be detained at the office for many reasons and not had the opportunity to call her to say he would be late. That must be the explanation. Their relationship was going better than great, and their sex life was the proof. Ashling twisted the ring on her finger. Absolutely no reason to worry.
Her roast was almost done. She hadn’t planned to steam the vegetables or toss the salad until he was through her door and sipping a drink made special for the occasion. She had mixed the ingredients last night in anticipation of this evening. Her mead, a recipe that had been handed down from mother to daughter for generations, would taste just right. Ashling was tempted to sneak a small goblet while she waited.
“Where are you?” Ashling sighed. She sank onto the couch amid the pillows. As if on cue, her black cat, Freya, jumped into her lap and nuzzled her neck. Ashling stroked her fur but wondered if the cat had sensed something wrong. Cats usually knew when an earthquake was going to strike before humans did. Perhaps Freya had picked up something up from Ashling’s body language or the silence of the apartment.
Znnnng—
Ashling knocked the cat from her lap as she lunged for her phone. She didn’t even bother to glance at the caller i.d. first. It had to be Patrick. She had told her friends that she didn’t want to be bothered. They wouldn’t dare call her.
“Patrick?” Ashling shouted as she clutched the phone with a vise like grip.
“I’m sorry, Ash.”
“No, it’s okay.” She could feel her whole body relax at the sound of his voice. For a second, she was transported into the future and what married life with him would be like. Seeing his face the minute she woke up in the morning, hearing his voice the last thing before she drifted off to sleep at night. She had finally met her soul mate. Both her mother and grandmother had assured her love would find her. Patience, they kept reminding her, was the key. Hold out for the One. And now she had found him. The other broken engagements were now ancient history.
“I’m afraid something’s come up—”
“Are you at the office?” Ashling shouted over the din. It sounded as if there was a party going on in the background which was impossible. If Patrick had another engagement this evening, he would have told her when they had made these plans.
“No, I mean, yes. We just landed a tough case, and the other partners and I are brainstorming. We’ve had to order in. Not exactly what I was expecting to have at your place tonight. But that’s the nature of criminal defense.”
“No, it’s fine.” Ashling exhaled. She was relieved that he had a legitimate excuse for missing dinner. For a split second, she had imagined the worst: an accident on Dublin’s streets. A heart attack. But no, it was the legal world taking precedence over their relationship. She was going to have to come to terms with his career. Working late, last minute meetings went along with the territory.
“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow night. Maybe you can wrap up whatever it is you cooked, and we can have it for sandwiches.”
“Of course. Sure.” Disappointed, she brushed a tear from her eye. “At least, I’ll get some sleep tonight.”
Patrick chuckled which reassured her of his love.
“I love you,” she cooed.
“Yes.”
“Say it then.”
“Certainly. Tomorrow then. I’ve got to go.”
***
“I’m so glad you called.” Ashling slipped her black cape from her shoulders and draped it over the chair. “My plans for the evening fell through.” She picked up the menu and pretended to study it.
“Thursday night. For some reason, even though it’s not yet the weekend, I still feel as if I should be out and about.” Nora smiled. “Besides ever since you got engaged, it seems as if we never have the chance to catch up. I miss the old you.”
“Sorry. I swore that if I ever had a serious boyfriend that I wouldn’t let him come between my friends and me. My intentions are good.” Ashling twirled the ring around her finger. This was becoming a nervous habit, as if she had to keep reassuring herself that she was really engaged to marry Patrick Malone.
“Well, it will be better after the wedding. I’ve been thinking though.” Nora’s eyes swept the tearoom, checking to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. “Can you help me?”
“With what?” Ashling peered over the rim of her teacup.
“I know you don’t like doing this. But there is this guy at work that I am interested in, and I have never been very lucky in love.”
Ashling snickered. “I am hardly an authority on men even if I am engaged. I have had my share of broken romances.”
“But you know what to do to attract men, Ash. You always have.”
“Thanks for the compliment, although I don’t think I deserve it.” She gazed out at the street, wet with rain. Few people had ventured out on such a miserable evening.
“I want you to create a philter for me.”
“Do you know what you’re asking me?” Ashling’s heart started to race, and her face flushed. She didn’t like to discuss her hobby, nor did she want anyone with the exception of a select few, to know that she practiced the craft. “This is not something that can be taken lightly. And what if it backfires? Do you want that to happen, and have it on your conscience the rest of your life?”
She laughed. “Aren’t we the dramatic one? Come on, why are you being so stubborn? You think I don’t know about your hobby?”
A car door slammed, causing Ashling to turn her head in that direction. A black sports car was parked across the street from the tearoom. Was it familiar? A lot of Dubliners drove similar cars. Except the man opening the car door on the passenger side seemed familiar. No, Patrick had said hours ago he was detained at the office on something big and didn’t know when he would be able to leave. She must be tired after her busy afternoon teaching six year olds. Hoping her eyes were playing tricks on her, Ashling blinked.
“It’s not as easy as you think. I can’t just throw something together and hope it works. It requires time and patience. Research. The proper ingredients. And besides, you do remember what happened to the Roman poet, Catullus?”
“Oh, please. A million years ago,” she said, frowning. “This isn’t ancient Rome. All I am asking you to do is to help me. Don’t I deserve to have someone too?”
“Yes, of course, you do.” Ashling’s eyes returned to the street. The man had his arm draped around the women’s shoulder and was nibbling her ear. “Come over tomorrow afternoon. I will help you.”
***
The shelf was filled with books with topics ranging from herbology to botany. To the casual observer, it appeared that Ashling was an avid gardener which was true. She tended a small plot in a communal garden where she grew herbs, as well as the flowers she would carry in her wedding bouquet, roses, lily of the valley, and ferns. Hidden behind these tomes, however, were books on an entirely different topic: witchcraft.
Ashling opened the chest where she stored her herbs and dried flowers. After she had returned last night, she had consulted a book dedicated to love spells. Several seemed promising, and surprisingly, she already had some of the ingredients for a philter. But before mixing Nora’s philter, she needed to speak with her mentor at the herb shop and find out exactly what a foolproof love potion required. She wasn’t about to gamble with Nora’s happiness. If this was the man she desired, then she would make it happen. White magic was supposed to be used for the good, and Ashling was going to be the conduit.
Ashling sighed. She hadn’t told Patrick about her other life. It had never come up in a conversation that she practiced the magical arts and worshipped the Earth mother. When the subject of religion arose, she usually skirted the topic by saying that certainly, she was baptized a Catholic like almost everyone else in Ireland. That pacified him. No need for him to know that Samhain was more sacred to her than any Christian holiday. She wasn’t secretive. She didn’t owe him an explanation about her beliefs. It wasn’t as if she practiced black magic. Never. The credo of the witch was to harm none.
Besides once Nora was happily in love though, she was going to end that part of her life. She had promised herself, and she always kept her promises.
***
The bells jingled as Ashling entered the dark confines of the store. The scent of roses, potpourri, and incense permeated the room.
“Emer?”
“Ashling? I wasn’t expecting to see you today. I thought you would be too busy with your wedding plans.” Emer dried her hands on a frayed towel.
“I couldn’t sleep last night, and when I did, I had nightmares.”
“Are you having second thoughts about your marriage?” Emer pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I told you after you declared your love for him that relationships are a work in progress. It isn’t always perfect all the time. True love takes time.”
“He’s seeing someone else,” Ashling whispered. “I know it. I feel it. Why can’t he just love me?”
Emer sighed. “From the moment you met Patrick, you didn’t let him breathe. You decided you were going to marry him and that was the end of it. Men don’t like to be pressured. Perhaps he’s in a rebellious mood.”
“Perhaps.” Ashling brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead.
“Do you want me to read your cards? That will make you feel better.”
She shuffled the deck and handed them to Ashling. “Cut the deck into three piles. Then hand me the deck.”
Ashling obeyed.
“Your significator?”
“The Queen of Cups.”
Ashling gulped as Emer spread the cards on the tables. There was a smattering of cups interspersed with swords and two cards from the major arcana. Both were ominous.
“I don’t like what I’m seeing here.” She pointed to the Death and Tower cards. “But maybe it isn’t as bad as we think. Tower means change, and certainly marriage is a tumultuous change in anyone’s life. ” Emer righted the Two of Cups. “I must have mixed the deck up after I did my last reading yesterday. With the advent of spring, everyone is thinking of love.”
Or death. The thought was fleeting in Ashling’s mind. But she had seen the Two of Cups reversed and well knew its meaning. Emer could pretend that she hadn’t righted her deck, but she knew differently. For her walk-in clients, Emer always made sure the cards were in the upright position because she could give the cards a more optimistic meaning and ensure that her clients left happy. She didn’t want a client’s suicide on her conscience because she foretold the end of a love affair or the shattering of a career. With her Wiccan friends, she didn’t bother. She figured they could handle a dose of reality.
“I know what it means,” Ashling whispered. “It’s over. I’m right. He’s found someone else.”
“No, no, you’re reading far too much into the card. It could be—” Her eyes went skyward as if the answer was to be found on the ceiling.
Ashling frowned as she waited for Emer to come up with an alternate explanation.
“It could have something to do with one of your artistic endeavors. Are you still painting? Have you had any disagreements with friends?”
“Nora has been impossible. She’s fallen in love with someone, and the love isn’t requited. I mixed a philter for her yesterday. She’s going to use it tonight.”
Emer sighed. “I don’t like using philters. It’s like black magic. You cannot force someone to love you.”
“She saw me so happy and wanted to grab some for herself.”
“Are you happy? Is Patrick really the man for you? Think. If he’s not, there is still time to get out of this.”
“No, this is right.”
“Sometimes, you have to let go when the relationship has run its course. Not every love affair is meant to last.”
“This is forever,” she said.
Emer gathered the cards back into the deck and shuffled. “I can try reading them again.”
“No, it’s fine. The cards have spoken. Perhaps, you’re right, and this wasn’t meant to be.” She arose from the table and wrapped her cape around her shoulders. “I’ve got to see Nora.”
“I don’t want you to be a party to this—”
But she was already out the door before Emer could complete her thought.
***
“Dinner tonight?” Ashling left the message on Patrick’s voice mail. Funny he hadn’t answered on the first ring as was his custom. Maybe he was caught in a meeting or with a client.
She would prepare the meal anyway. As soon as he returned her call, she would tell him she was making his favorite, some beef dish she didn’t particularly care for. She was also baking a cake from cocoa and planned to put shavings of white chocolate in the batter as well as the icing. She also had some of the philter left over and would use it to brew his tea. Afterwards, he would be in love with her again, and that woman would be a memory. She intended to bake an extra special batch of his favorite muffins. She might lace them with something that gave them an unusual taste. But that would be for tomorrow.
“Patrick?”
“I got your message.” He was out of breath as if he had just run ten miles on the treadmill. “What time?”
“Seven, eight, whatever time is convenient.” There wasn’t one man she had ever known who wasn’t enticed by a home cooked meal.
“I’ve made all your favorites,” she said. “And I am going to bake something special for breakfast.”
“Great. See you around half seven.”
She smiled for the first time in days. Happiness was hours away.
***
Ashling tossed the flowers, meant for her wedding bouquet, into the microwave. She wasn’t sure if the white petals would dry quickly, but she didn’t have the luxury of time. If she didn’t act fast, she would lose her nerve. Then she would be nowhere. Again.
She thumbed through a cookbook, devoted to muffins. She scanned the list of savories and decided against them. Patrick liked dessert muffins, and while he wasn’t deserving, that was what she would bake.
The buzzer on the microwave signaled that the time was up. She took the bowl of now dried petals and dumped them into her mortar. She would grind them up so finely. To the naked eye, the granules would appear to be white sugar.
Banana chocolate chip muffins. While they weren’t exciting, they would do the trick. She had some over ripe bananas that she needed to use before they rotted. She threw them into the bowl and smashed them all the time thinking what had brought her to make this momentous decision. Last night and the night before that—
She hated baking with white flour and white sugar but had done so, in the past, to please Patrick. He wasn’t health conscious and laughed at Ashling’s insistence at using whole wheat flour, molasses, and oatmeal. She was now going to show him that she could be accommodating. If he wanted to eat food with no nutritional value, then so be it.
Ashling mixed all the ingredients together. Carefully, she poured the batter into the tins. After they were done, she was going to place them in a white bakery box and tie it with a white ribbon. She would hand them to Patrick as a parting gift when he was leaving. If she wasn’t going to be his wife, she would harbor no ill feelings.
As the doorbell chimed, she hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Best to be prepared though for the worst. Another broken engagement? Or not? She smiled as she opened the door and greeted him for maybe the last time.
***
DEATH RULED SUSPICIOUS
Orla McKenna, 28, a graphic designer with a Dublin based company,
was found dead yesterday morning at her apartment. Ms. McKenna was apparently getting ready for work when she fainted. She was rushed to the hospital where she died an hour later.
Bronagh McKenna, the victim’s sister and roommate, said they were celebrating her recent engagement over breakfast to Patrick Malone, a Dublin lawyer, when she was taken ill. Preliminary testing has been inconclusive. An autopsy was performed. Toxicology results are also pending.
Bio
Native New Yorker Susan Egan is currently a prosecutor for a government agency. When not representing the agency in court, Susan can be found in one of several places: at Pilates, in the gym, or at her computer working on her latest mystery. Susan also has three cats with literary names: Tristan from Tristan and Isolde, Hazel from The Fault in Our Stars, and Jane, as in Eyre.
