Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy by Melissa Macfie Page A

angles it entered the circle. The stones hummed as it passed their threshold and rocketed past her, the edges of her robe snapping against bare legs.
    The wind converged on the offertory pedestal in front of her, and the wicks of the three white candles positioned there, blazed to life with five foot flames. Brenawyn whipped her head around, finding Alex as he bent down to whisper something in her grandmother’s ear. She twisted to hear him and then both looked at her in unison with equal expressions of consternation and nodded stiffly.
    She continued to look toward, not understanding what they wanted her to do. Finding no answer in their stern faces, she assessed. The wind was strange, but nothing, no one, was harmed. What could it hurt but to continue with this bit of theatre? “Come and reside with us, rejoicing in the coming harvest.”
    A force hit the flames from above, compressing them to pinpoints, painfully bright. A silent blast wave emanating from the three white flames rocked her back as it rolled over her. Brenawyn heard a whoosh and lifted her head in time to see all the candles around the circle were lit.
    She stumbled to her feet, retreating from the North stone, the overturned basket forgotten. She took a couple of steps backward, but froze. That wasn’t smart, heading toward ground zero. No. She moved in the opposite direction, intent on getting out. The demonstration was over, but as she neared, the candles’ flames leapt, morphing the height of the stones. She cringed, fearing being burned. Brenawyn saw her grandmother standing now, clutching Alex’s arm, both were mouthing something.
    Why couldn’t she hear them? She whipped her head around, straining. Why couldn’t she hear anyone? It was only a couple of dozen feet. She ran closer. What were they saying?
    Finish it? She shook her head not understanding. Finish what? Alex leaned over to hook Maggie’s arm, dragging her toward him. Maggie looked startled, but agreed to whatever he had said to her and took his place, placing a hand under Nana’s arm and freeing Alex to approach the circle.
    Brenawyn stepped closer, flinching as she passed close to the candles, afraid of a possible flare up. She reached out as Alex approached, but there was something in the way. Smooth, cool— glass?
    It can’t be. It’s impossible . Again and again, she tried, more forceful each time, until she was beating on an invisible wall, panic-stricken. Alex put out a hand and was met with the same obstacle. She saw awareness dawn on his face, and he motioned for her to stop. He bowed his head then braced his hands on the stones that stood an arm span’s distance apart on either side of him.
    He lifted his head and Brenawyn stumbled back in shock when iridescent eyes matching the emblazoned tattoos on his chest met hers. She could hear him, only him: “Brenawyn, finish it. Finish th’ incantation. Do it noo.”
    She took several steps backward and turned to run, casting glances over her shoulder at him. She gathered the basket and the strewn rocks and turned toward the South standing stone. She plopped the bloodstone at the base with no theatricality, then stole a quick look at her grandmother for affirmation. Nana sat in the wheelchair, her white knuckled hands gripping her knees. Alex knelt beside her with his right arm tense on the armrest of the chair. He looked ready to spring.
    “I acknowledge the South Spirit, who awakens us to the promise and surprise of a new day. I call to the Earth, who provides a continual food source and the very ground we walk on. Let the flame stand as sentinel and this crystal be etched with our plea. I summon both to this circle. Come and reside with us, rejoicing in the coming harvest.”
    The flame of the South plinth burned green and the stone at the ground glowed. At once birds sang in chorus accompanied by the natural sounds from the various fauna in the surrounding park rising to an almost ear-piercing cacophony. Glancing