Free Wild Irish Rebel by Tricia O'Malley

from one of our ancestors," Fiona mused.
    Morgan whipped her head around to look at Fiona. The old woman had a considering look in her eye. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Morgan studied her.
    "You think that I am channeling someone else's experience?"
    "You might be. You know that some of our ancestors were persecuted as witches. An exorcism would have been right in line with what would be considered a first act of trying to cure them."
    "I just, wow, I'd never even considered that."
    "Yes, you may have been living through a modern-day witch hunt of sorts at the hand of the nuns," Fiona mused.
    All of a sudden, it was as though the memory had no power over her anymore. Fiona had reframed it in a manner that allowed her to distance herself from it and instead of being ashamed of what had happened to her, Morgan could now group herself in with her ancestors.
    "I never, ever considered that," Morgan breathed.
    "Yes, well, it can be hard to see something objectively when you are so close to the situation," Fiona said.
    "If I told you the dream do you think you could figure out who it was?" Morgan asked eagerly. The thought of chasing down an ancestor, an actual blood relative of hers, excited her.
    "So you're okay with me finding your ancestors and yet you don't want to know about your mother?" Fiona observed.
    "It seems absurd when you say it like that, doesn't it?" Morgan asked.
    "Feelings aren't rational, my dear," Fiona said.
    Morgan laughed when Ronan nosed her again, this time with a stick in his mouth.
    "Fetch, is it?" She tugged the bedraggled stick from his mouth and tossed it into the air. The dog let out a joyous bark like all his Christmases had come at once and raced after the stick, a furry bullet slicing through the tall grass.
    "No, it's not rational. But, I don't think that I am ready to know more about my mother. I guess that I'm learning to be okay with where I am at and building from there. Is that okay?" Morgan asked.
    "Perfectly fine, dear. Now, let's go inside so I can pull out my book. I might be able to find your ancestors as well as figure out a few tricks we can work on with controlling your powers."

     
     
    Chapter Twelve
     
    It might be from your ancestors. Morgan shook her head again as she sipped on a small glass of whiskey in the reading cove of Fiona's cottage. A cheerful fire burned in the stove, warding off the hint of chill that still clung in the early spring evenings. Ronan curled at her feet, every once in a while letting out a sleepy snort, his feet moving with his puppy dreams.
    It was perhaps the most comfortable and most welcoming place that Morgan had ever been in. If Fiona truly meant her words, then Morgan could start to consider this cottage like a second home.
    She'd always been jealous of her schoolmates and how they'd so casually mentioned going home to their family, or talked about what posters they were putting up in their rooms. The best Morgan could ever do was briefly mention a place that she was staying at. And, most of those homes had strict rules. Posters of cute movie stars had never been taped to her walls. She'd grown so used to being on her own that being welcomed into a home by Fiona as part of her brood that she watched over was a surreal experience.
    And a welcome one.
    "Ah, okay, I think that I may have found something. Though, I need to dig a little deeper. Can you tell me more about your dream again…no so much what they were saying, but are there any identifying articles of clothing or jewelry?"
    "Hmm, let me think about this for a moment. Usually I try not to remember these dreams at all," Morgan said.
    "I don't blame you. But, if I could date this a bit, I might have a better idea whose experience you are reliving."
    Morgan shuddered a bit, thinking about how someone else had gone through even worse treatment than she had.
    "I remember dark robes, crosses of course, and a silver and gold cup of sorts."
    Fiona peered at her over her worn leather