Free Perfect Timing by Catherine Anderson

mouth had gone dry. “Are you seeing the same pattern I’m seeing, Dad? Your father, you, and all your brothers lost your first wives, and each and every one of them died of things related to the blood. Mama hemorrhaged to death giving birth to Sam. Paul’s wife slit her wrists and bled to death. Marcus lost his wife in a car accident due to a severed main artery. Hugh’s first wife died of hemophilia.” Quincy had to stop and swallow before he could go on. “Now Loni may be dying of leukemia.”
    “What’re you sayin’?” Frank asked. “That this Ceara gal might be tellin’ the truth?”
    Quincy wasn’t sure what he was saying, but this coincidence spooked the hell out of him. “I’m just looking and seeing a pattern, is all. Did you keep up with other branches of the Harrigan family?”
    Frank shook his head. “My dad had a fallin’-out with his old man way back when, and he lost touch with all his siblings. If any of them are still alive, I reckon they’re in the States somewhere, but Dad never tried to find them, and I never saw much point. To me they’re strangers.”
    “I wonder if there were other Harrigan men who lost their first wives in similar ways.” For Quincy, it was a scary thought. He wasn’t a superstitious man. He knew that druids had once existed in both Ireland and Scotland, but he’d never for a moment believed that they possessed magical powers. “I wish we could track down some of your other relatives.”
    “It’d probably be more trouble than it’s worth. Me callin’ folks out of the blue to ask if any first wives died at young ages? They’d think I was crazy.” Frank carefully lifted a journal from the box and opened it. It looked more fragile to Quincy than any of the others. “I never read much of this one,” he said. “Far as I’m concerned, it’s just a bunch of hocus-pocus. Your mama was fascinated by it, though.”
    Quincy leaned over to peer at the book. Much of the writing was in archaic English, and some of it was in another weird language.
    “Irish Gaelic,” Frank explained. “If it looks strange to you, that’s because it is . At least, to us who never learned the language. As I recall it was based on the Latin alphabet and used fewer letters.”
    Quincy began studying what appeared to be a recipe, written in English but still difficult to decipher because of the badly faded ink, odd wording, and elaborate script.
    “It’s a spell, I think,” Frank said. “There was some real weird characters in my family. Apparently they practiced witchcraft of some kind. That’s why I’ve never read much of this journal. Never wanted any part of it.”
    “And Mama did?”
    “Your mama did some research and insisted the spells were actually beautiful prayers. My Emily, she was a sweetheart. Never saw the bad in anybody, and especially not in a Harrigan. She couldn’t bring herself to believe my ancestors dabbled in anything dark or evil.”
    Frank carefully closed the book and looked at Quincy. “As much as I prefer to avoid this kinda shit, I can’t stop thinkin’ about this Ceara woman,” he said slowly. “What if she’s for real, a druid from centuries ago who traveled forward in time to end a curse on our family?”
    Quincy had been mentally circling that possibility ever since he’d seen the old family tree, but it shocked him to hear his father echo his thoughts. Frank always kept both feet firmly rooted in reality. “Dad, you’re a devout Catholic clear to your core. You don’t believe in stuff like that.”
    Frank held up a staying hand. “I know it sounds crazy, but there’s no denyin’ that my Emily bled to death givin’ birth to Sam, or that my father’s first wife bled to death, or that the first wives of each of my brothers died from things havin’ to do with the blood. Now Loni, Clint’s wife, is at death’s door with a rare form of leukemia. I think you’re right; there is a pattern. And we’d be fools to ignore it. Loni’s