Reluctantly Charmed Read Online Free Page A

loud.”
Step One
In the glowing green fields and shadowy glen,
Our laughs can be heard ’mongst women and men,
The whistle of gale carries our joyous song,
In the rustle of trees, we’ve been here all along.
’Tis in the hardness of rocks and corners we dwell,
We’re whispered in songs and stories you tell,
Floating o’er you, we sing and we dance in the rain,
But through the darkness of shadows soar black wails of pain.
One of yours we’ve kept in the depths of our lair,
We took her long ago, the girl of red hair,
With our gifts, she returns with promise of light,
To guide the way out of your sickness of night.
Acknowledge the spirit that in nature lives,
Whistle to flowers, embrace how the fairy world gives,
If you still do not see us, our anger you’ll know,
A cradle burned, a soul extinguished,
In the music it shall show.
    I cleared my throat and looked around the room. “It doesn’t sound too bad. I mean, it’s a bit airy-fairy, heebie-jeebie, but it’s not going to do any harm, is it?”
    “I’ve heard of talking to plants, but whistling to leavessounds like a load of old nonsense to me,” Dad muttered into his chest.
    Quietly I reread the first Step. “I think it’s grand,” I announced. “It’s a bit self-helpy—‘acknowledge the spirit in nature.’” I could feel my inner hippy about to explode out of me.
    “‘If you still do not see us, our anger you’ll know.’” Mam slowly shook her head and furrowed her brow. “Fire and brimstone—I think she got a few of her ideas from the Catholic Church.” Her face fell into a creased look of uninterest. She shrugged her shoulders. “Not to worry, pet.” She leaned across and rubbed my knee. “There might be a bit of money at the end of it, you never know.”
    I nodded. I guessed it would be great if there was money at the end of it, a surprise winning lottery ticket. But at that moment, I wasn’t thinking about the mysterious estate. I was thinking that it was kind of nice to get a long-lost letter from an ancestor. Even if she was mad as a brush.

3
    W hen I got to work I made arrangements with Seamus MacMurphy to deliver the six other Steps. He promised to post or deliver one each week for the next six weeks. I had to publish each one the day I received it.
    Then I hit Google. I found lots of websites for fairies with magic wands and recipes for potions and spells. I searched Irish fairies and found pictures of leprechauns sitting on pots of gold at the foot of a rainbow. Kids’ stuff. I googled Irish witches, confident my picture wasn’t going to appear.
    For the record, I knew I wasn’t a witch—not a white witch, a black witch, a red witch, whatever. I’d never walked into a room and had an icy chill race through me and just known that I’d been there before. I didn’t see dead people, nor did I want to. I didn’t know any spells, although I’m sure if I did, they’d have come in handy. I needed caller ID to know who was on the phone. I’d never so much as meditated. I worked, rode my bike, watched too much TV, listened to music, and went to the pub.
    I didn’t believe in magic, in witchcraft, or in prophecies from another time. I believed I had an Aunt Kate who was a bit batty and lived in a time when every village had a witch and people talked to fairies. I couldn’t even imagine what that must havebeen like. Confusing, at best—you’d never know who you were going to step on.
    But I did like the idea of fairies, and guardian angels and cosmic coincidences. It was just really hard to believe in any of it when you couldn’t see it. I’d read self-help and spiritual guidebooks—I was a normal twenty-six-year-old, after all. I was interested in understanding how things worked and how I worked. I looked to the universe for coincidences. I tried to understand why a butterfly flapping its wings in Japan meant free hamburgers for everyone in New York. I’d read Buddhism for Dummies (well, the bullet points). I’d been