Moon Harper - Part 1
 
by Armond
 
 
Was it chance that brought Sean to Tamsin Caroline's fabulous New England rental house, just in time for the height of the fall folliage? Luck that granted him this space to jam one last time on his harp before he embraced his role as a corporate drone? Or was it his heritage that reached up and grabbed him by his ...harp strings... to force him down a more intersting path?
 

 

~o~O~o~

I. October 22 - Friday afternoon.

Looking back, it’s easier to wonder what if? 20-20 hindsight and all that, hey?

If I had taken the old highway instead of the toll road, or ordered a latte at Starbucks, and not the brew of the day. Or any of a thousand other infinitesimally small decisions, which if picked differently, would have delayed me from arriving when I did. And someone else might have rented it.

But I chose as I chose, and arrived in time to be the first to view the rental house.

I couldn't believe my luck, with an obscenely low weekly rental rate, and ad descriptions like classic New England farmhouse ...idyllic coastal setting ...secluded ...peaceful.

I so needed peaceful.

We'd planned a week at Sandals in Negril, but Sarah threw a curve ball last week and announced we were on 'a breather.'

A breather? Can you do that if you’re engaged? I'd never been so angry, and said things I already regretted.

No way was I going to Jamaica alone -pathetic!- so I voted for fall foliage, excellent seafood - I know, cliché city, right?- and solitude.

In my mind, I'd built this as Youth's Last Hurrah. I'd worked my way up the corporate ladder and with the economy picking up -and multiple mergers on my company's radar- my job would swallow me whole for years to come.

So I brought my harp along.

Harp? Hey? Non Sequitur?

I confess, I play a mean folk harp, and once upon a time, I toyed with the idea making a living at it. My mam hoped I would follow this ‘noble calling’ (her words).

I didn't. A wandering minstrel’s paycheck is not a thing to behold these days. After mother passed away, I walked the more traveled ...erm ...corporate path.

And felt I'd sold my soul.

So, crazy as it sounds, this sans Sarah week, in this setting, is my chance to buy a little of myself back.

Also, since I'm not a big drinker, I knew no better way to wallow in self pity than strumming a few Celtic ballads. You know, the kind where one of the young lovers croaks tragically, the other pines fatally away from a broken heart, and rose bushes from their graves spring up and join together? Where was the gardener when these things happened?

After I plucked just one verse of Loch Lomond, I'd be weepin' and wailin' Sarah's name. Sick, hey?

The drive to the Caroline property was spectacular...
 

 
The rental? Way better than advertized! The place was magical! It turned out to be an old converted barn (I know, cliché again, yeah?) but what they'd done was awesome! Hardwood floors, massive stone fireplace, gigantic four post goose down bed, and a panoramic window that showed the nearby forest in all its orange/gold/red glory.

Naturally, I rented it on the spot from the nice lady and her morose teenage daughter.

I'm miserable at guessing ages, but my best bet was the mother was in her late thirties. With rich black hair, ice blue eyes, and trim figure, Tamsin Caroline would still turn a few heads.

“There's plenty of nearby walking paths, passable fishing in nearby lakes, I'm told, and lovely antique shops in town. If you fancy, a golf course sits down the road. Are you a golfer, Mr. Derhill?”

I shook my head with gusto.

“I enjoy clobbering things, so whacking the ball is nooo problem. Getting it to go where I want? Another proposition entirely.”

Tamsin gave the appropriate chuckle, and continued describing nearby attractions. She was the quintessential New England host; even speaking with the accent of the region, replacing the 'r's at the end of her words with 'aahs'. In fact, she seemed too forced, right down to her cheery smile.

“I can't believe anyone under the age of eighty would come here voluntarily.”

Her daughter, however, was another matter.

“Darcy! How rude! Tell Mr.Derhill you're sorry!”

The sullen look flashing from Darcy's blue eyes told me an apology would be coming when Hell froze over. Again, since I'm so horrible at age guessing, I wasn't sure how old she was. Old enough to think her pretty, but young enough to feel guilty about thinking it, so 16? 17? Her hair was as silky black as her mother's but she wore it in a severe single braid that hung down her back. She had a young Zoey Daschanel thing going too, if Zoey had radiated brooding disgust at that age.

Neither Caroline women were tall, but Darcy stood a good two inches shorter than her mom. That probably pissed her off too.

Since she wore black jeans, a black tee shirt and black jack boots, I figured she was going for some kind of Goth statement. From her dour expression, I expected her to blurt 'polite people get squished first in this cutthroat world'. Which would have led to another awkward moment.

“No apology needed,” I said, as I opened the back door to my Volvo wagon. I wanted to get my harp out before it got too hot in the car and warped.

I loved my harp, or harps I should say; I have three. A cherrywood 34 string Triplett Celtic, a small travel harp, and -my baby- an ancient Brian Boru style wire strung harp.

Mother gave it to me when I was a wee one. I don’t know where she got it, there are no markings or anything to show who built it, but oh man can she sing! Brilliant bell tones that go on forever .

She even has a name. And sometimes, she speaks to me, I swear it. Honest to God, I think Sarah is jealous of her.
 

 
When I looked back at Tamsin, I couldn’t decipher her expression, but I think she suddenly saw me as someone.

“That’s …some harp you have there. We'd love to hear you play, if you're willing,” Tamsin said. Darcy rolled her eyes. Clearly the ‘we’ didn’t include her.

Folk harp players love an audience almost as much as we love playing our harps. So, of course, a fat stupid grin crossed my face.

“Love to. Maybe tomorrow or Sunday night?”

“Sunday evening it is,” Tamsin said. Then her face darkened. “But tomorrow night ...there's one rule I must tell you about. Tomorrow night, a group of women -close family and friends- will gather in the grove over there...”

Tamsin pointed across her property to a magnificent stand of oaks, dripping in autumn gold.

“...it's an initiation for Darcy. And we'd appreciate it if you gave us privacy. Do you mind?”

Heh. My first image? Witches dancing naked under the moon. But that's my dirty mind in overdrive. More likely a bird watching group or some such.

“No worries. I'll hunker down with my harp, so my normal horrific playing improves to mere mediocrity.”
 

~o~O~o~
 
II. October 23 — Saturday twilight

Spectacular day! Frost sparkling in the morning sun, crisp fall air. I started the day off right with breakfast —ya know, the most important meal of the day- at a place called Pellum's Corner. In honor of the farmhouse I was bunking in (though I wasn't sure what, -if any- - farming Tamsin Caroline did; no cows, chickens or crops, as far as I could tell), I ordered the 'Farmer's Breakfast': Two eggs, bacon, hash browns, Boston baked beans and -of course- pancakes with pure Maine maple syrup. Yum.

Next, I took a hike along a breach trail, wandering through a landscape -and sometimes seascape- of sand dunes, rocky outcrops and salt marshes.

Last - hunting. Antique hunting, and New England offered the richest prizes. Mother loved antique stores -Father vanished from our lives when I was two, so I don't know if he also suffered this affliction- and so antiquing was our mother - son thing. I think I mentioned earlier it was Ma who got me harping, finding my baby God knows where and giving her to me when I was old enough to toddle.

To this day, whether I'm antiquing or strumming, I feel her near me. I miss her; she died after I left for college, and whenever I go antiquing, I pretend she's just there, in another part of the store, discovering some ancient, magical and useless artifact.

In my travels today, I journeyed down twisty old winding roads, stopping at mom and pop shops that sold everything you could dream of: home made cheeses, lip smacking sugar maples, and crisp white wines.

So yeah, fantastic day. Lacking one thing: Sarah.

I mooned for her, and by the time I stumbled back to the farmhouse, I was primed to yowl away on sappy love songs. Dusk came, and with it, car lights. I peered out my window, to see a dozen women -in robes- exit their cars to head to Tamsin's grove.

Robes? Maybe my witches guess had been right, hey? Not my business; I closed the shutters to give them privacy.

Still, after an hour, I peeked out, and saw strange glowing light balls circling in the grove. Wasn't sure what could make that light exactly -blue-green pulsing and glowing- but God it looked cool. They reminded me of the ‘fairy lights’ Mother would make to amuse me on summer nights.
 

 
Something about their 'grove doings' super amped my playing. ‘Magic was in the air, as Mam used to say, inspiring me to pull pieces from my song bag I rarely do — tunes of a pagan bent. I played Gartan Mother's Lullaby, Down in Yon Forest, and even the Christmas Carol, the Holly and the Ivy -hey! Since Walmart spring-loaded Christmas decorations to launch into stores the nanosecond Halloween ended, I figured it wasn't too early. Actually, it’s a personal rule of mine that it is never too early to play Christmas carols.

I'd never felt my music this deeply; or so close to my harp. My body thrummed with each string plucked.

Then, things went bad.

Don't know how to describe it, other than the air grew thick and heavy dark, making panic roil my stomach.

Someone’s in trouble!

Out of nowhere, I started strumming an old Catholic hymn called Deus Meus Adiuva Me, or God help me.

It's an uber cool number for a couple of reasons: one, it is macaronic, which is a fancy pants way of saying it has two languages. In this case, Deus Meus is in Latin and Gaelic.

Two, and more important, it's a rare church song that honors God in the masculine and the feminine. In the official Catholic version, one of the stanzas reads:

Domine da quod peto a te,
Tabhair dom go dian a ghrian ghlan ghlé,
Tabhair dom go dian a ghrian ghlan ghlé,
Domine da quod peto a te.

which means:

Lord, give what I ask of thee
give, give speedily, O bright and gleaming sun
give, give speedily, O bright and gleaming sun
Lord, give what I ask of thee.

But those crafty old Irish monks, when they scribed the song, they wrote Domina in the margins instead of Domine, or Lady, give what I ask of thee.

Don't know why, but I kept singing the verse over and over. Stranger still, I felt -felt- light flowing out.

Can’t tell how long I played, but when I finished, I swear the air had brightened. Fatigue hammered me; I crawled into bed fully dressed, and was asleep the second my head hit the pillow.

A knock at my door woke me. I opened it, to find Tamsin, looking as haggard as I felt. The oddest look hung from her face, of …guilt …battling hope …for supremacy? Hey, no one ever mistook me for a 'sensitive male', so this was my best stab at it.

“Mr. Derhill, would you come with me? We …need your help.”

I yawned. “You have heavy lifting or something?”

She showed the saddest smile. “Yes, some very heavy lifting.”

I followed her into the predawn light. The first thing I noticed was all the visitor cars still here. Second, she led me to her 'forbidden grove.'

“You’re sure this is all right?”

“Things are as far from ‘all right’ as they can be.”

It was then I noticed tear streaks on her cheeks. Again, sensitivity and me are pretty much strangers.

“Ms. Caroline? What's wrong?”

“I'll explain in a minute. For now, know we need your help with a matter of life or death.” She stopped and looked me in the eye. “No, of life or oblivion. This is why we’ve …drafted you. We would never do …what we will do …lightly.”

Mysterious much? Since she trudged on, I guessed that was all I'd be getting from her. Fine. Maybe if I helped I’d get a discount on my rent?

I wasn't sure how to take what awaited: twelve blue robed women of varying ages formed a ring around a stone alter. Not the scary 'sacrifice a virgin' kind, but a dais covered in candles and red roses. Darcy lay on a bed of golden leaves before it, and looked asleep. The energy of the group —of gloom and fear- washed over me; I swallowed hard.

“Is she hurt? Should we call an ambulance?”

I started to go to her side, but something weird happened; I bounced off an invisible wall. Like a mime wall, only real.

“Wait,” Tamsin said, pulling an engraved silver knife from her robe. I remember Mam had one of those, too; she called it an Athamé

Tamsin muttered strange words, and cut a door sized hole in the air.

“Walk through here,” she said, and I did, meeting no resistance. Double weird.

I knelt next to Darcy and held her wrist. A faint but steady pulse, thank God.

“I’ll drive her to a hospital if you tell me where one is,” I said, and looked up. I didn't speak another word, because Tamsin stood over me, muttering more foreign words. In her hand she held a long ebony stick. And then...

I couldn't move. Couldn’t twitch. Couldn't blink.

“Understand, Mr. Derhill, we had no choice. Darcy's initiation was a calamity. She's been corrupted by Fomorian dark magicks, which are anathema to Danu. When the initiation ritual was invoked, Danu's essence repelled Darcy’s tainted soul so powerfully, it almost threw her from the wheel of life. Even now, her soul tethers to her body by the thinnest of threads.

Fomorians? Mother used to tell me chilling stories about those folks. She acted like they were true. Think Sean, what’s it mean?

“That Darcy yet lives we have you to thank, for as the two magicks strove in her, your energy flowed to us, and we held her in her body. Just.

Now we ask more of you. Her body and soul are tainted. She cannot live if this remains so. If we separate them —body from soul- and purify the taint from each...”

Separate body from soul? What help did they needed from me!? ‘Lose your life’ fear slammed me now.

“You're wondering, 'why me?' Tamsin said, supplying voice to the question I couldn’t speak. “Necessity decided for us. We needed one with the Talent for what we must do, and you have it in spades. We also need all twelve priestesses to complete the transfer. So by default…”

Transfer? Transfer what?!

Didn't have time to reason it out, for Tamsin rejoined the other women and linked hands. When they started chanting, a cyclone twisting filled my mind.

I wasn't there anymore, instead I was

...falling
 

...falling
 

...falling
 

~o~O~o~
 
III. October 25. Monday Morning.

The sound of a car screaming woke me.

Not just any car, mine. A belt needed replacing, and until I did, my engine death-screeched until it warmed up. That's what assaulted my ears; someone starting my car, and …it wasn't me.

Or …was it?

I was sooo groggy. Like Rip Van Winkle, I felt I'd slept for decades and my mind swam through molasses. I fumbled open the window shade, and the moment I did, light blasted my eyes shut. Squinting, I could make out the barn in the background...

The barn? Hey? What's it doing over there?

...and my car and…

...me????

...in the foreground.

Either I was tripping, or my doppelganger sat in the front seat.

“Hey!”

My mouth spoke the word, but what came out was a squawk.

When ‘twin me’ revved the car and put it into gear, I sprang from bed and ...fell flat on my face.

What’s wrong with me? Everything was off. Wake Up, Sean!

I gathered myself up, and …stared my pink nightgown?

Something scratchy rubbed one of my ankles. Lifting it, I spied a rope tied to a dainty ankle.

What the...?

And …my ankle wasn't the only part of my anatomy now delicate.

I looked down at my chest ...my legs...

“HEYYY!! I've got a ...I'm a...”

“Morning, sunshine. I didn't think you’d ever wake up. You slept through a whole day,” Tamsin said, as if this was normal.

“What have you DONE to me?”

“We switched you and Darcy, Sean. Sean is your first name, right? It wouldn't seem right to call you Mr. Derhill.”

“Wait, what? Switched? No!” Breathing became a struggle.

“Calm down. You're hyperventilating.”

I didn't recall seeing this particular horror film, but it was sure to end bad for me. I had to escape asap. I bolted for the door, but was yanked back by the rope.

“Someone, HEEELLLP!”

“Stop, Sean! You'll injure yourself.” Tamsin came running to me, arms wide.

“Get AWAY!” I yanked hard on the rope, but it held fast. I lost it then, went berserk, started throwing anything I could get my hands on. Tamsin slapped her hand to my forehead, spoke strange words, and I...

...woke up.

Again.

I was back in bed? This time, ropes bound my arms and legs.

“Round 2, Sean.” Tamsin sat beside the bed. “If you’ll stay calm, I will explain.”

I pulled hard at my restraints. “Please please please lemme go! Gimme me back my body! I won't tell anyone, I swear.”

“We will, sweetie, just not right now. My priestess sisters gather here again in two weeks for Samhain; that's when we will return you to your body. I swear by Danu.”

I knew all about Samhain; Mam taught me. Always a big night for her. Time for me to come clean a bit. I did know magic existed, because Mother could work the odd spell or two. What I didn’t know was that magic could do something like this.

“This …can't be happening! …can’t be…”

“And yet, here you are.”

That shut me up.

She was right; here I lay, in a foreign body, a female one, tied to a bed by strange woman. Who worked powerful magic.

I was screwed.

“Why?” I managed.

“Bad Luck? Fate? Being the right person in the wrong place at the right time?”

Tamsin ran a hand through my -now long- hair; I flinched, but then let her. What could I do?

“I'm so sorry, but we had no choice. The alternative was too horrifying to consider; we would have lost Darcy forever.”

Her words in the Grove came back then; I didn't understand, but pieces were fitting together.

“Her initiation. Something went wrong. You said a …poison?”

Tamsin let out a sigh, and her shoulders drooped.

“I knew Darcy was unhappy, but I told myself it was a phase. I was so wrong; it went much deeper. From what her best friend Gwyneth told me, a Fomorian seduced her, we think, and implanted a feydark trigger spell. How could I have been so stupid? They tried to murder my daughter! They may yet succeed!”

Tamsin brought her fists to her eyes as tears traveled down her cheeks. And though she had done this body snatching crime to me, I wanted to reach out to her. I didn't, of course, what with my arms tied to the bed!

Darcy. I was in her body, ergo she was in …mine? Panic rose in me again.

“But she drove away, in my car! How could you let her? She needs to be here this instant so we can swap back.”

Tamsin shook her head. “This is brain surgery tricky, Sean, like unscrambling an egg. She doesn't remember who she was. She can’t. You see, a body and soul poisoning curse comes from darkest Formorian necromancy.”

Fomorians? Mother had a saying about these blokes; now how did it go? I blurted it out when it came to me:

“To fight against Fomorians was all the same to punch a wall by head, to hold an arm in a snake nest or to substitute a face to flame".

“That’s an old Danaan chestnut; where did you hear?” Tamsin cocked an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Back to Darcy …if she carried the memory of the feydark curse to your body, then it too would blacken. So we cast a Lethe spell to wipe her memory.”

“Wipe? As in lose her memories forever?”

How hideous was that? I tried not to imagine it.

Tamsin’s body trembled, and she whispered, “In a way, I have lost my daughter. When she entered you body, she inherited your memories. She thinks she‘s you, and believes she must return to work. One of our sisters followed Darcy to the city to watch over her.”

Darcy thought she was me?

“But I remember who I am. Um, I mean, was. I mean...”

Who was I? What defined identity? Body? Soul? Stop, brain! I soooo did not need an existential crisis now.

“...Anyway, why didn't you wipe my memory too, so I'd think I was Darcy? Don’t get me wrong, it would be the worst thing in the world to lose my life’s memories, but wouldn't that have made everything simpler?”

Tamsin patted my thigh. “Glad to see you thinking this through, dear, it gives me hope you will work with us. We couldn't, you see, if we'd given you access to Darcy's memories, then you would have been exposed to the same Fomor corruption she was; it’s bad enough her —your new- body is tainted.”

Tamsin looked out the window; her voice went whisper soft.

“A close thing. Even with all anchoring her, she almost slipped away. If you hadn't sent energy you did when you did...”

She blinked at me. “Which reminds me. Since you obviously are not an Ord, we are going to have a long chat about who your parents are-”

“-Were.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. You seemed so young, I assumed...”

The absence of my mother still wounds my soul. Maybe it always would. I tried to shrug, but, again, couldn’t because, I can’t move my arms.

“Plenty of time for that later; in the next week, we’ll work 24/7 to permanently expel the taint from her soul and her -now your- body. Can I ...count on you to help? If I release you, do you promise not to run screaming away?”

“Tamsin? How old am I?”

“Hmm?”

“Darcy. Her body. How old?”

Her voice caught. “She just turned 17, the age we are initiated with our Trial before Danu.”

Tamsin grew so sad again; all I wanted was hug her. Which I couldn't, dammit!

“Would you please release me?”

Her face brightened. “So you'll cooperate? And won't dash shrieking away?”

I bobbed my head.

What choice did I have? Either she spoke truth, which meant I had to help her to switch back, or she lied out her ass, which meant I had bigger problems.

Also, this might be kinda fun.

I mean, who gets a chance to be someone else, I mean, really? If Ma told me once of Cu Chulainn choice, she said it a thousand times; given his pick for a short life filled with glory, or a long uneventful one, á‰ire’s greatest warrior chose glory. And what would my mam think of me, shying away from an adventure? I was already in it; why not embrace it?

So, yeah, I agreed.

Also, I had to pee something fierce.
 

~o~O~o~
 
IV. October 26 — late Tuesday afternoon

“Again, Darcy.”

My word of the day? Experiment.

I was the grand experiment, as far the priestesses were concerned. They rallyed to Tamsin’s farm to save her daughter, which meant giving me a crash course in Danaan spellcraft 101. No problemo.

I sat under a massive oak near their grove and stared at my new enemy — a copper bowl filled with small kindling twigs, two feet before me. Chevonne grew more frustrated by the minute; we’d been at this exercise all morning, with zero results. I take that back; I’d given myself a massive headache.

“Don’t over think it. The magic flows around us; we swim in it. To use it, you must feel. If you think ‘and now I access the fire element’, you’ve lost the game. Breathe it.”

Sure. Makes sense, right? Unless you actually try it, and then it makes no sense at all. I’m supposed to activate fire, with my will, and not think about it? Rrriiiight.”

Here's why they were putting me through this misery: the priestesses’ fix for Darcy’s problem was to work a purification on Darcy’s soul —in my body- on Samhain, and for me to work a solo one on her body. Samhain is a powerful time in the Danaan’s yearly calendar, made all the more potent this year because a full moon fell on that night. Heap big mojo, as Mam used to say.

Confused yet? Let me really blow your mind: Tamsin and her ‘sisters’ were all descendants of a people called the Tuatha De Danaan —elves, for God’s sake!- who lived in Ireland before the Celts arrived. As near as I can tell, these people, and their descendants, share a genetic makeup that allows them to access an energy source as yet unrecognized by science (i.e. magic).

They aren’t unique; others exist around the globe, including those the sisters believed magically ‘poisoned’ Darcy, the Fomorians. They were the Danaans’ ancient enemies, who lived in Ireland before the elves arrived. Funny thing is, when I tried to categorize the People of Danaan as the good guys, and the Fomors as evil, Chevonne and Tamsin told things ain’t that simple. Ever.

Welcome to my bold new world. Bizarre right? Frankly, I’ve stopped using that word, because I found myself muttering it more times than the word ‘fuck’ is said in a Guy Ritchie movie.

“Darcy! Your mind’s a million miles away. Concentrate!” Chevonne snapped her fingers.

Concentrate? Yeah, sure. How am I supposed to do that? For one thing, everyone had taken to calling me ‘Darcy,’ which I totally understand, since I am her, at least in body. I guess if you called someone by one name all their life, it would be hard to instantly switch and call her Sean. It didn’t help me any, though.

Also not helping? Chevonne looking so damn hot. She was in her mid-twenties, had copper red hair, and was built. I would never cheat on Sarah, but I could still look at another woman, ya know, and appreciate the gifts God —or Danu- had given her.

“Dar-CY!”

Fine. I swept my long black hair behind my head again for the thousandth time, and scowled back at the copper bowl.

My first task was to learn how to cast a sacred circle.

Step one, I needed to place each of the elements — wind, water, earth and fire- at the four compass points, and activate them. Activating fire meant starting the kindling in the bowl with my ‘intention’, instead of, say, a BIC lighter, which made way more sense to me.

As I said, the only thing I’d activated this morning was a pounding in my head.

“Maybe you guys are wrong about me having this,” I made air quotes, “Power.”

“Nope.” Chevonne shook her head. “A switch isn’t possible with an Ord; like calls like.”

Whatever that meant. “An …Ord?”

Chevonne rolled her eyes; which, since they shimmered green, was distracting.

“Ordinaries. Humans who are magically challenged.”

“Oh. So, the fact you know Norms can’t switch-”

“Use Ord, Darse, Norm’s a character on Cheers.”

I blinked a few times, waiting to see if she was screwing with me, but ended getting lost in those amazing green eyes.

“Erm, okay, anyway, since you already know this about Ords, and er, not Ords-”

“Danaans. We are of the goddess Danu.”

“Rrrrightt. Point is, it sounds like you switch people all the time.”

“It’s not an everyday occurrence,” Tamsin said; startling me as she came up behind where I sat cross-legged, “but it does occur. The Weird Sisters, for example.”

“Weird …sisters?”

“No, The Weird Sisters,” Chevonne corrected. “Triplets who lived centuries ago; they switched bodies so often they forgot who they originally were. You might know ‘em better as the Three Witches from Macbeth.”

I was sooo done with letting them see my befuddled look. I ignored this latest crazy assault and craned to look at Tamsin.

“Sorry, but I’m not getting this fire starting exercise. Can we move on to the next thing? Like turning people into newts?”

“Don’t give up yet, dear,” Tamsin said sitting beside me. She threw an arm around my shoulders; she was becoming more ‘maternal’ by the hour. Only natural I suppose; I mean she did give birth to this body.

“I had another thought. The other night, when you sent your ‘harp energy,’ how did you think about it?”

I scrunched my forehead. “I …didn't know I was doing it, so I guess I didn’t think about it at all.”

“Exactly! Now, try something for me. Your harp has different colored strings, yes?”

My harp. áine.

Her image leapt to my mind; God I craved to hold her in my arms. Then I thought of other things I missed too …Sarah …my home …my voice caught when I spoke.

“I miss her …miss my harp.”

Tamsin ran her hand through my hair. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve been such a trooper, I keep forgetting how hard everything must be for you.”

It hadn’t been too hard so far. But that’s because I absolutely refused to acknowledge the switch.

Oh, sure, some things couldn’t be ignored; I’d be lying if I said otherwise. I mean, good Lord, I’m in a young girl’s body! I explored it, as any person -who wasn’t a zombie- would. And no, I won’t tell you about it.

The thing is, to me? I’m in a loaner, like a car rental. And those cars never feel like my own. Also, it felt … I dunno, wrong, or creepy, to do too much 'exploring', because in my mind, I’m still a twenty nine year old guy.

Chemistry was defeating me; every minute I spent in Darcy’s body, the young woman’s hormones were amping my emotions. I tried to convince myself I’d gone through something like this when I was her age, but I didn’t remember it being such a killer roller coaster ride.

“S’okay,” I said, and sniffled.

Sniffled, dammit it! Stop it, Sean!

“You had an idea about the colors of my …harp strings?”

“A thought popped into my head,” Tamsin said. “What colors are they?”

“Brass, but the Cs are colored red and the Fs are blue, to help you find your place in the strings.”

“Ah! And when you play a C string, do you think about it before you play?”

Where was she going with this?

“On some level I suppose, in the context of the measure I’m playing. But if you’re asking if I think ‘now it’s time to play a C,’ the answer’s no. That would make every song impossibly slow. My hands just know.”

“I see.” Tamsin said, smiling. I could tell Chevonne was as baffled as I about Tamsin’s questioning.

Tamsin stepped back and pointed at the kindling filled bowl.

“Try again, but this time, don’t think about lighting it. Instead, imagine in your mind you are playing your harp.”

“Sure.”

Easy enough; I always had harp songs playing in my head. I still didn’t see how this would make a rat’s ass difference in what we are doing.

“Are you playing?”

I nodded.

“Now, listen. Your red C strings are fire. Play one.”

“What?”

“Don’t think! Play one. Now!”

The finger I would have plucked the string with involuntarily twitched and…
…the kindling burst into flame.

Chevonne woo-hooed and clapped; all I could to do in my stunned state was blink.

“Excellent, Darcy,” Tamsin said. “Now …put it out. Your blue strings are water; pluck one.”

My finger twitched again, and the fire vanished in a cloud of smoking hissing steam.

“I see!” Chevonne said, bubbling. “And the plain strings will be air, yes? But …there are only three colors of strings, right? What will we use for earth? We could paint some brown and-”

“-No you won’t!” I said; and infused my words with as much indignation as I could. Brown harp strings? Sacrilege!

“But honey, it’s only for the visualization,” Tamsin said, in a voice which was clearly mother to pouty daughter. “We need the earth element represented too.”

I cocked my head. “And we have it. The sound board is made of wood; it can be earth.”

Tamsin’s eyes widened; she hadn’t thought of that. Heh.

“But how will you use it to activate the earth? You don’t play the soundboard.”

“Sure you do. Plenty of songs call for you to tap on the sound board. Like Paraguayan harp songs, where you make a heartbeat sound by-”

“-Just show us Darse; show us earth.”

A song sprang to my mind; my hand started tapping the sound board of my imaginary harp. Then, ever so slightly, the earth tremored at my feet to the rhythm of my beat.

“We are in business!” Chevonne shouted, as she high fived Tamsin. Then she bear hugged me -which I didn’t mind at all- before calming down.

“Now you know you can do it, we’ll wean you from having to use the harp image so you can activate the elements directly.”

“I’m not sure we should do that,” Tamsin said.

“Wouldn’t it be more efficient if she could drop the contrivance?” Chevonne said.

“Maybe, but I’m reminded of our history. Tell me, Darse, what do you know of the Dagda?”

First everyone called me Darcy, and now just ‘Darse’. I hoped to God it didn’t deteriorate to Dar.

“Um, Dagda? Wasn’t he a god or something?”

“You should learn of him: he is Danu’s son, the ruler of the Tuatha De Danaan and he invented the harp. He was First Bard, and mighty in skill. He could summon a winter’s night or summer’s day. His three types of music, called Goltrai, Geantrai, and Suantrai, left the listeners in ecstatic delirium, Goltrai, weeping in sorrow, Geantrai , or fast asleep, Suantrai, depending on his mood. His harp had a secret name, would come to him at his call, and only played on his command.”

I started to gape at the impossibilities she recited, but slapped my lips shut, for two reasons: 1) if I kept opening my mouth every time they told me another incredible tale from their world, a fly would eventually buzz in, and 2) I had just started a fire and put it out with a thought, so I needed to be opening my mind rather than my jaw.

Chevonne’s face brightened. “You think Darcy could be a True Bard! We haven't had one in centuries; wouldn’t that be a miracle?”

I had heard of the magic the Irish bards of old could work with their music; Mother drilled it into me. Could I really have this gift?

“Will I have this …talent …when you switch me back?”

Tamsin cocked an eyebrow. “You had it before you were switched, it seems, so the answer must be yes.”

The thought thrilled and scared me, because if I did have this ability, did it mean I should to quit my job and follow another path?

Tamsin patted my head and gave me a hand up. “Time enough for worry later. For now, let’s leave off training for the day and celebrate your break through. Since you did book here to enjoy the regional flavor, let’s make a trip to Barnacle Bob’s.”

“Sounds yummy. Is it like a crab shack?”

“A little more upscale than that,” Chevonne said. Since she looked close to drooling, I figured she’d eaten there before. “I’ll tell May and we’ll change. Meet you at the car in an hour?

“Um, change? I’m okay to go like this right?” I said, sweeping a hand down at the flannel shirt, jeans and running shoes I’d existed in since my switch.

“Nope. You’ll need something nicer. And I know just the thing.”

Uh-oh. The look of pure evil on Tamsin face made my throat go desert dry.
 

~o~O~o~
 
V. October 26 — early Tuesday evening, Darcy's closet

“This is not cruel and unusual punishment, Darse.”

“Is toooo.”

Holy crap! I sound like a teenage girl.

“These are called clothes. We've have worn them, for thousands of years. They protect us from cold, and allow us the option of not parading around buck naked, unless we want to. Are you telling me you want to, sweetie?”

Tamsin's blue eyes looked so innocent, it took me a moment to figure out what she had said.

“What? Naked? Me? Noooooooo.”

I wasn’t bothered about wearing what Tamsin would choose for me. Nope, it was the thought of going out in this body at all.

I hoped I’d serve my two week sentence hunkered down here in jeans or baggy sweats, switch back, and be on my merry way with a fantastic tale to tell my future grandbrats.

I looked away from the long khaki skirt and gray florally cardigan sweater Tamsin held, to the rack filled with grungy black cargo pants, jeans and Ts. Scattered below were pairs of black combat boots.

“Shouldn't I wear those clothes? I mean, to look like the real Darcy, so folks won't get suspicious?”

Tamsin's shoulders sagged. “I suppose, but you ...er, she, never wears the outfits I buy; not anymore. And I thought, this once, I might get to see what they look like on my daughter's body.”

Guilt trip much? Couldn't I do this to be nice? We're just talking about pieces of clothe, right? I huffed out a pained martyr's sigh.

“Guess so.”

“You will? You're wonderful, Darse. And look...”

Tamsin dragged a shoe box from the other side of Darcy's closet. From it, she pulled a pair of gray suede flat soled boots.

“...these will be perfect.”

Actually, the boots looked cool. This was starting to be fun.

Maybe too much fun? Shouldn't I be worried about what was happening with Darcy in my body? I mean, I know Tamsin said Darcy would only have my memories and completely believe she was me, but still, couldn't something go wrong?

"Before I get all decked out, would you do me a favor?"

"Sure sweetie, what?" Tamsin said.

“Would you check on how Darcy is doing in, er, my life? Ya know, to make sure everything is alright?"

"I've been worried about her too, and have been getting daily updates from the priestesses who are watching him,” Tamsin said. "So far, everything is fine."

Not nearly enough. What I needed to know was ...if he had spoken to Sarah.

"Please call, hey? My fiancée and I had a falling out before I came here and I'm worried about what Darcy might do to our relationship."

"Of course, love," Tamsin said, whipping out her cell and punching buttons. "Addie? Tam. I wonder if you could give me a quickie on how Sean is doing."

After several 'um-hmms' and 'I sees', Tamsin thanked Addie and clicked the cell off. Something Addie said made Tamsin blush during the call; I hoped it wasn't bad news.

"Well?"

"Since 'Sean's' return, he’s been spending a lot of time with Sarah, at your place and hers."

Spending time together? Huh. "Did, er, Addie, say what kind of time? Like, quality time or-"

"-Young lover time. Addie saw them going for a walk a few minutes ago, and,” Tamsin reddened again, "they couldn't keep their hands off each other."

What? Guess the 'breather' between me and Sarah is over, but how weird to think about someone else -who was but wasn't me- groping her.

"So good news, right?" Tamsin's eyes searched mine; clearly neither of us knew what to make of it.

I looked into her worried blue eyes and bit my lower lip. "Y-yeah ...guess so..."

"Don't look so sad, Darse, everything will be right as rain,” Tamsin said, wrapping an arm around me.

At that moment, I felt far shorter than my new 5' 3" frame; I was scared, and laying my head on her chest felt right. After some moments, Tamsin pulled away and wiped wetness from my cheeks.

"No tears, luv,” she cooed. "Tonight is about having fun. We've got a date with Barnacle Bob."

60 minutes later saw me sliding into the back seat of Tamsin's dark green Jaguar sedan. Since it had been parked in the garage attached to the house, this was the first time I'd seen her wheels.

“Hey, Mommy, I didn't know farmers were into Jags.”

“Ha! You've figured out by now the whole 'farm' thing is a front. Though it was a working farm when we bought it decades ago, we've done zero farming since. I run the converted barn as a rental so my neighbors won't wonder what really goes on out here.”

We were waiting for May and Chevonne to finish getting ready in that very barn. Both, I’d learned, were priestesses of Tamsin's 'order'; May was actually High Priestess. Oooo. I’d have to remember to be especially kiss-ass with her.

Tamsin told me male Danaan orders existed around the globe as well; the groups practiced their female and male magicks separately, but sometimes they combined to work together. It had always been so; the only reason the Ord world was clueless was because the Danaans went into deep hiding when Christianity swept the Celtic world.

“So what is the place a front for?”

“Powerful ley lines intersect in our sacred grove. We bought it just for that, and I have been the Grove Guardian every since Conner died.”

Connor? Her husband and Darcy's father, I assumed? Before I could ask, May and Chevonne emerged from the barn.

May's silver hair was her only feature which showed her to be the 'elder priestess.' Otherwise, I would have guessed from her smooth face and spritely pace she was in her late forties, tops and not pushing ninety, which Tamsin swore was the case. So how long did these long these Danaans live?

Chevonne scooted next to me in the back seat, dressed in skinny jeans and clingy sweater. Mmmm. She eyed my outfit as well, though I doubt with the same lust.

“Don't you look darling.”

“I was about to say the same about you,” I answered, and forced my eyes up from her chest.

Full disclosure — I did not think she looked ‘darling’. More like smokin’ hot.

Chevonne snickered. “Tam? I think Darcy has a crush on me.”

My cheeks burned. “Erm, no offense ...I mean I'm engaged and wouldn't think about ...urm...”

Chevonne leaned over, brushed her lips across mine, and whispered, “wouldn't think about what?”

That instant, I utterly failed in my quest to ignore my loaner body; my nipples hardened, my breathing grew ragged, and I became squirmy.

“What are you?... we shouldn't...”

Laughing, Chevonne drew back. “You are precious; I've never seen so much color on your face.”

“Don't let her vex you dearie, May said. “We Danaans have never been confined to loving one sex; aren't we supposed to enjoy all the pleasures of the body Danu gifted us with? Mono-sexuality is an Ord invention.”

Wait! All Danaans are bisexual? Mother of God! Chevonne might actually want to...

I halted the thought, for even if I was in another body, I’d be cheating on Sarah if I went down this path.

“If you are quite finished molesting my daughter, we need to be going. Tell her how adorable she is, yes, but hands off for the rest of the trip!”

Yea! Mama Tamsin to the rescue! But …did I want to be rescued?

End Part 1.