Page 42 of Resurrecting the Witch
“Thank you,” Patrick continued. “I hunted witches for years, Cliona. I’m not proud of it, especially with how things ended for Bryg and my friends, Lúcán, Fearghas, and Ronán.” I felt the burn of tears threaten as the names of my grandparents left his lips like he knew them intimately. “I was able to spare more lives than I took, but some of the witches I had to kill because otherwise Lady Orla would have killed their entire covens. Most of them knew this, knew that I worked for the Lady of Arms for the sídhe realm, and most welcomed my blade in an effort to save their families. I continued to follow orders, searching after information on this High Priestess. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for, but any information would have been welcomed.
“That is when I met Fearghas.” He paused with Pops’s name on his lips, and I felt the tear fall. “Fearghas was sent to hold me off as I homed in on one of the covens on my ever-growing list. Back then, all of the covens in Ireland were united under the Ó Cuinn name, but most functioned as their own individual covens instead of how you probably see it today.”
“I know how Irish Covens work, Patrick.” I couldn’t help the bite in my tone but didn’t feel guilt. He nodded.
“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Fearghas and I dueled immediately, but he never took aim to strike me with his magick, only choosing to use his blade against me. I was confused by this, as I knew he had magick. I only had magick since I hadn’t been born of a special bloodline, and it wasn’t near as much as a witch could possess. I relied on my strength with a weapon whereas Fearghas probably could have killed the young fool I was in a single blow if he wanted to.
“The bastard even smirked and gave me pointers on my footwork,” Patrick admitted and shook his head with a smile on his face, remembering him fondly.
“That actually sounds like Pops.” I couldn’t help the unexpected laugh.
“Eventually I think he grew bored and disarmed me. He asked me a simple question, ‘why’ to which I said, ‘because Lady Orla commands me’ to which he said, ‘why does she command you?’ and something in the way he phrased the question, so simple yet in a completely foreign way I hadn’t experienced before, had me speechless.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped, and Patrick’s lips turned up.
“Obviously later I realized he had been using magick on me the entire time, the sneaky bastard. It was just a different magick, one that didn’t harm me, but simply lifted the veil to my reality.
“I didn’t enjoy what I had done to the witches I’d been forced to kill, and I think Fearghas knew that since he brought me back to meet Lúcán, Ronán, and Bryg. They shared their hearth with me for an entire moon cycle, questioning my role with Lady Orla, questioning my motives, and even making me laugh with their own stories. For the first time since my parents died, I felt true love and family. I only wished my brothers had been on the mission with me to experience the warm feeling their home brought.
“After I left, we made a plan on how I could hide the witches instead of killing them, on how I could help my new friends without informing Lady Orla of what I was doing.
“And for nearly twenty-five years I managed to keep Bryg out of Lady Orla’s mind. Fae are a lot of things, and one thing the tales do get right is the warped sense of time. Witches have it to a certain extent, and I’m sure you’re familiar with how the gift of time can be a blessing and a curse. But there isn’t really a sense of urgency. Death and life have different meanings to my people than others. Lady Orla, by the time I joined her service, had already seen near ten thousand years.” I gasped. Witches were long lived, but if you made it over a thousand years you were considered very ancient… to live ten times that length was wild, unfathomable, and terrifying at what that would do to their empathy.
“So, I followed orders like a good soldier until I didn’t. I still killed witches, but oftentimes it was only in self-defense, and I returned their bodies to Bryg and the others instead of to Lady Orla, only choosing to bring a token of them as proof I was still working. More often, I would put them in touch with Bryg and her men for safe passage. But I don’t intend to gloss over my past with you, Cliona.” He paused and looked at me. The world fell away, and it was only his bright blue eyes that held my attention. “I killed a lot of witches. Some in self-defense, some just because Lady Orla told me. Others to save my own arse. It wasn’t pretty. I was in charge of killing your people. And some of them were probably friends of your gran; in fact, I know they were because Bryg told me their names and I carry their stories with me to this day. I know the name of every witch I killed that was associated with the Ó Cuinn name.
“If it weren’t for your grandparents’ kindness and willingness to help a fae orphan that hadn’t known any better, I probably would have either been killed a lot sooner or my soul completely ripped to shreds with the violence. I’d have turned into a monster far worse than Lady Orla of that I am sure. Killing wasn’t something I enjoyed, it was only something I was good at, so she made me into her weapon. Even my brothers tried to talk to me about what I was doing for her, but I was too guilt-ridden to discuss it with them, even before I met Fearghas. I had known deep in my gut what I was doing was wrong, but it was the life I was born into. I felt rotten until I spent time with your grandparents. They were like my second family at that point.”
We sat in silence and stared at each other for several long moments. Slowly the world came back to focus, the sound of Schmidt’s loud purr and the bubbling of the sauce on the stove returned. Patrick hadn’t moved for anything. I knew he was waiting for me to speak but I couldn’t find the words to respond to everything he told me.
“What happened to you then? How did you die?”
His eyebrows rose as if he were expecting to get thrown out on his ass. I wasn’t sure what to do with this information yet. I knew fae were long lived and since he was Irish, I figured there was a chance he’d known my grandparents, but I hadn’t been sure when he’d died, or even why he was back. I simply didn’t know, and now seemed like a great time to find out.
“I was killed. My last clear memories are trying to bring a smaller coven into the Ó Cuinn protection, so maybe something happened on that journey? My memories from right before my death are a bit fuzzy. I know I was killed in some sort of battle, but I can’t for my feckin’ life remember who or what got me. I am guessing an orc or another fae looking to make a name for themselves with Lady Orla. She was a right bitch, always pitting us against one another. Whatever the reason, I died. I don’t remember anything from my death; if I had been beyond the veil in my death, I don’t remember a lick of it.”
“You must have been so confused when you woke up.” I reached out and put my hand on his and I felt the relief his touch brought me instantly. I wasn’t aware of anything else in the world that calmed the storm of magick in my veins other than Patrick’s skin on mine.
Gran always taught me to trust my instincts and my bodily responses to someone. It was why I kicked myself when I had invited Hunter to the island. My mother had introduced us and something about him had always felt slightly off, but I figured it was just because I was nervous about committing to someone; not that he was plotting to kill my entire family and take over the island.
“I was terrified. I was more annoyed that I was buried in this realm instead of the sídhe realm like had always been promised to us. By the time I dug myself out—”
“You had to DIG yourself out?!” I interrupted him with a gasp.
The bastard smirked. “How else would you have proposed I got out of my grave,mo grá?”
I considered and then smiled. “I guess you’re right, but still, that is traumatic enough for an entire lifetime. Have you seen Kill Bill? Or the episode of Buffy where she comes back and has to dig herself out?”
“Kill Bill—yes. Buffy—no. But I have heard of the warrior vampire huntress and wish to watch her stories eventually.”
“I can’t have a partner who hasn’t seen Buffy, so consider that the first on our list of TV shows to binge.” I didn’t catch what I said until I saw his eyes flare in shock, then steady into something that blazed with hunger. “I mean, if we both want to continue.”
I didn’t bother hiding my embarrassment and felt my cheeks heat. He didn’t comment and instead got up to stir the sauce that was boiling in a symphony of pops.
“So you killed witches.”
“Yes.”
“But then you met my grandparents and started helping them instead.”
