THE LONELY WICCANS’ YULE
PART 1: YULE
1
Freya was having one of those moments. You know the kind. She had an hour to herself and didn’t know what to do with it.
Should she take out her sewing machine, quilt a couple of squares, and then put it all away again? Or maybe pull out her dried herbs and make a poultice or two? No, too much work for too little reward. Every activity she enjoyed created a bit of a mess. She had thought about baking her annual Yule log cake, but she was alone now. Suddenly, it seemed like too much trouble and too many calories for one person. So, she stood in her kitchen, inert but unsure how to change that.
A knock at the door decided the dilemma for her. Crossing to the cottage’s front door, she wondered if her next massage client was super early. Mrs. Reeve had always been punctual, but never an hour early.
A peek through the white, lace curtain revealed the shape of a man, so not Mrs. Reeve at all. She didn’t think anyone would request entrance in broad daylight to rob her, but stranger things have happened. Probably not a serial killer either, since broad daylight wasn’t the best time for murder. Still, she kepther protection spells up just in case. They’d successfully kept out Jehovah’s Witnesses and aggressive Girl Scouts before, so the spells were doing their job.
Upon opening the door, a handsome man with ocean blue eyes, wearing a smart gray wool coat and carrying a cane, smiled. “Good morning, are you Freya Suretti?”
Oh, my! A British accent… Suddenly, he became even more handsome. “I am. Can I help you?”
“I hope so. My name is Eric Devonshire, but please call me Devon. I need your skills as a massage therapist. You were highly recommended; it almost sounded like you have magic hands.”
Freya had to stifle a laugh. Indeed, she did have magic in her hands, and she used it when a regular massage wouldn’t yield the desired outcome.
“Come in. Let me give you a little paperwork and see what your needs are. Would you like a cup of tea while we chat?”
He smiled, nodded, and entered easily, so he wasn’t an evil entity or pushy salesperson.
“That would be lovely.” He entered with the kind of humble confidence only the British could pull off, then proceeded to remove his coat with a wince.
“You can hang your coat on the rack behind the door and sit at the kitchen table.” She laid a pen and the assessment form in front of him, then put a kettle of water on the stove to heat as he filled it out.
He was finished when she returned with two cups of hot tea. Perusing his answers, she exclaimed, “Oh! You’re from Glastonbury, the place we call Avalon.”
“Many myths and legends are associated with the area. Most residents are well aware and choose to live there to be close to spirit… and to live in harmony in a supportive and loving community. I enjoy it because shared values and goodwill abound.”
“That sounds wonderful. But what about the healing powers the water is said to have? You couldn’t find relief for your injuries?”
“Sadly, no. At least not permanently.”
Speaking of sadly… this man seemed well adjusted, but Freya sensed a deep sadness beneath it all. His blue eyes seemed to droop at the outer corners, and what small wrinkles he had weren’t what you’d call laugh lines.
“Let’s see your leg.”
When he rolled up his pant leg, she nearly choked on her tea.Holy shit. The scarring was intense—uneven stitching, deep pink lines, and missing chunks of muscle. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral. “When did this happen?” she asked, keeping her voice carefully controlled.
“A year ago.”
Okay, it could take a long time for scars like that to fade, but she wondered why he hadn’t had some plastic surgery to restore the leg to look more normal. That alone might have helped with his emotional healing.
“Where did you have your initial surgery?”
“A small clinic in the Eastern European village where I was staying. I tried to get another, more experienced surgeon to look at it when I got home, but he said it was too late. And before you suggest plastic surgery, I don’t want that. Just functionality. I even went to a naturopath, hoping to find someone like you with some kind of miraculous advantage.”
Hmmm… It’s as if he’s reading my mind.
Freya suddenly had an epiphany…What if my family sent Devon to me as a secret message, telling me where they are? But why would it have to be a secret?
“I really need to know how you heard about me.” She realized her tone sounded a little demanding, but so be it.
He leaned back in his chair but didn’t look offended. “My great aunt, Elspeth. Elspeth Devonshire.”
