The Washer Woman's Daughter

By Rebecca Ayers

Bridget Nighean’s life is shattered when she meets a mysterious young man on the same night that her mother is murdered and receives a magical inheritance...the power of a banshee.

She is soon swept into the politics of the immortal Fae as she searches for her mother’s killer and struggles to understand her hereditary magic. With the aid of her best friend and a magical guardian, Bridget sets out to meet her grandmother and learn why her mother kept her powers hidden.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Ayers
• Release date: Apr 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310767883

Rebecca Ayers

Author Rebecca Ayers is a self-identified bibliophile whose love of words has guided her through every aspect of her life. Raised in the American South, she grew up with a love of folklore and storytelling. She has been writing stories since the age of six and continues to pursue her passion. The Washer Woman's Daughter is her first full length novel.

Book preview

The Washer Woman’s Daughter

Rebecca Ayers

Text copyright © 2015 Rebecca Ayers

ISBN-13: 978-1508937425

ISBN-10: 1508937427

All Rights Reserved

Acknowledgements

To my family and everyone who has believed in me through the years. This book is dedicated to my parents for their undying love and support. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Prologue

Mist rolled down the hillside toward the place where a young woman knelt at the water’s edge. Her long chestnut colored hair floated around her face as she stared into the lake, hoping for one last sign of him. She felt the mist’s touch at her back, knifing through her red velvet gown, and she knew that he drew near. The mist flowed past, drawing her gaze to the farthest shore. There, nearly beyond her line of sight, she saw the figure of a man materialize and her heart swelled with longing.

She knew him even at such a distance, the way the mists swirled around his legs like a great dragon. The years could have ravaged him beyond recognition and still her soul would know its mate. She came to her feet with dread and threw her arms out wide; bursting into a wailing song. The man’s dark eyes widened at the sound and for a moment she saw the lines of his face draw back into a sad smile.

As she sang she felt them both become caught up in the ancient magic of her ancestors. The mists swirling around the man began to diminish and he began his slow walk down into the water. His handsome face betrayed no emotion as the water flowed past his chest, continuing his steady march to his doom.

With a terrible regret she felt her body begin to shift and change as her pale skin began to crack and wrinkle with age. Her gown now hung loosely where it had once fit her youthful curves and she began to float toward the sky. She turned away from the look of shock on his face, unwilling to meet his eyes.

This changes nothing, my lady, the man called softly from the lake. No matter your form, no matter your transgressions, my love for you will never change.

His words nearly quelled the song in her throat and for an instant she became silent, turning to stare at the man as he barely held his head above the water. Sensing her moment of weakness the man smiled.

Sing to me, my love, he whispered.

Tears sprang into her eyes at the tenderness of his voice and she watched as the water crept up to his lips. She took a shuddering breath and began to sing once more. Her wailing song continued until his dark eyes were drowned in the lake water, her voice dragging him into the depths of eternity.

One

Bridget Nighean shook her black curls out from in front of her eyes and flung her hand up onto her bedside table, knocking her alarm clock off of its stand.

Just shut up, would you? she growled as she struggled to reach the clock. Still tangled up in her comforter she rolled off of the bed and winced as she hit the hard floor.

A sigh came from the other side of the bed and she heard the springs creak. Her dog, a Scottish deerhound named Connal, climbed under the bed to swat at the clock with his large paw. The clock clattered and cracked in half as it banged against the wall but, blessedly, the ringer had gone silent.

Bridget couldn’t help but grin as her dog raised one of his heavy eyebrows at her, looking almost as though he were about to scold her for waking him up.

Thanks, bud, she said as she army crawled under the bed and gave his head a pat. Connal huffed, his breath ruffling her hair, and turned to leave. Bridget shook her head as she heard his claws click across the hardwood floors and he pushed his way out of the door toward the kitchen.

Glad you’re awake, Bridget’s mother said as her daughter surfaced from under the bed, clutching the remains of her busted clock. If you’re done picking fights with innocent time pieces you should probably get dressed. Breakfast is in ten minutes.

Bridget blushed as her mother’s warm brown eyes danced with amusement. Rosalind Nighean, beautiful and blond, had always been tolerant of her daughter’s minor eccentricities.

Sure thing, Ma, she said as she stood up and disentangled herself from the bedding. Sorry for making all of that racket.

I'll be sure and buy you a new alarm clock on the way home tonight. She leaned her slender shoulders against the doorframe and grinned. Just try not to break anything else this morning. She winked and closed the door, the soft scent of her rose perfume lingering as she left the room.

Bridget groaned and walked over to her wooden vanity. Catching a look at herself in the mirror she couldn’t help but smile a little at her disheveled appearance, so unlike her mother. Her hair hung almost to her waist in a cascade of curls and her dark blue eyes blinked against the light. Only the shape of her face was similar to her mother, softly rounded with full lips and high cheekbones.

Breakfast is ready, kiddo, Rosalind called out as Bridget finished getting dressed. Juliet will be here in a few to pick you up.

Coming, Ma! Bridget shouted back. With a final glance back at the wreck that was her bedroom; she grabbed her backpack from the hook behind her door and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

Rosalind grinned as her daughter threw her backpack on the floor beside the kitchen table with an unceremonious thump. She leaned over and gave Bridget a quick hug.

Love the outfit, her mother said, taking in her lacey white peasant blouse and dark jeans. It’s just like something I would have worn in the seventies.

Bridget smiled and stacked four waffles onto her plate. That’s the idea. She sat down at the small island in the middle of the kitchen. Juliet bought the shirt for herself from some vintage shop downtown but it was too big for her, which makes it perfect for me.

Rosalind nodded and poured herself a cup of coffee. I’ll have to go check the place out one day in my spare time.

Bridget remained silent as she dug into her waffles, unwilling to allow the conversation to spiral into one of her mother’s famously long clothing rants. Rosalind had been the head seamstress for a couture gown company years before Bridget was born and had never lost her love of all things fashion.

Somebody’s hungry, her mom observed as she sat down, allowing the conversation to shift with a reluctant sigh. Expecting a rough day, Bree?

Not really, she said around a mouthful of waffle. I’ve just been feeling really restless lately. Like how Connal gets right before a big storm.

Rosalind’s shoulders suddenly stiffened as she poured syrup onto her own waffle. Her hands trembled slightly and she took a deep breath. Have you been having any strange dreams lately?

Bridget noticed her mom’s discomfort and put her fork down, taking a long drink of orange juice as she tried to remember last night’s dream.

I don’t think so, she said after a few moments. I normally remember my dreams but my brain seems to be fogging up lately.

Rosalind’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as the doorbell rang, announcing Juliet’s arrival. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts with a sigh, and picked up Bridget's backpack.

Have a good day at school, darling, she whispered as she kissed her forehead and handed her the backpack. Promise me that you’ll be safe.

Ok, sure, Bridget said. She was struck by her mother’s sudden solemnity. I’ll get Juliet to drop me off at the laundry mat after school.

Crap, I didn’t notice how late it was. Rosalind slammed her hand down on the counter and whirled around to look at the clock on the stove. I’ve got to get the place open in ten minutes. Mr. Coch is supposed to pick up his suit at 8.

Better get going then, Bridget said. Love you, Ma.

Love you too! Rosalind called back as she hurried down the hall.

Giving Connal a final pat on the head as she walked past, she opened the front door and walked down to where her ride waited. Her best friend, Juliet, grinned from her place at the front of her huge black motorcycle, the green tips of her hair sticking out crazily from beneath her helmet.

Juliet had moved into town with her grandmother when Bridget was still in middle school and the two girls quickly became inseparable. She now lived on her own in a small apartment across town, financially supported by her absentee father who ran a major corporation overseas on the grounds that she continue to do well in school.

God, I thought you were never coming! Juliet shouted playfully as Bridget climbed into the sidecar.

Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Bridget said as she buckled on her own helmet. We’d better get moving if we are ever going to make it to school in time.

That’s the spirit! Hold tight, it’s going to be bumpy ride.

With a grin, Juliet’s skinny leg shot down and knocked the kick-stop out from under them. Just as the bike lurched dangerously to the side she hit the gas and the two friends roared down the street.

She couldn’t help but laugh as adrenaline shot through her and threw her hands up in the air as they sped down the highway. Juliet’s insane driving always made her feel like she was flying.

The first bell rang just as the two girls rolled into the senior parking area and Juliet pulled into a vacant space near the back of the lot.

Whew, Juliet huffed as she pulled off her helmet; giving her short brown hair a shake that made its wild tips shimmer in the morning sun. I thought we weren’t going to make it there for a second.

Is that so? Bridget asked as she climbed out of the sidecar. Well, your instincts are way better than mine.

Dang straight. Juliet straightened her vintage aviator jacket with an imperious air. I wasn’t born psychic for nothing.

Well then, I guess you saw this one coming. She giggled as she punched her friend playfully in the arm.

Of course I didn’t, whacko, Juliet swung her backpack over her slim shoulders and walked into the front entrance of the school. My visions only work on important things, you know that.

Well then, why didn’t one of your ghost buddies give you a heads up?

Juliet shrugged, her wide gray eyes suddenly mischievous. Most of the ghosties are way too old school to put up with my crap all of the time. Some little old lady woke me up the other night just to tell me that I needed to fix my hair.

Better be glad she didn’t see your tattoo then, Bridget said, completely unconcerned by her friend’s bizarre narrative.

Juliet rolled her eyes, the conversation abruptly ending as they walked into homeroom. The two girls had been friends long enough that Juliet’s strange talents were as normal as Bridget’s curly hair, but Juliet was careful never to let anything slip around their classmates. Being a girl with a love for leather and hair dye had done little to help her popularity once they reached high school.

The two girls found their seats and Juliet propped her boots up on the seat of the desk behind her. Bridget had just finished arranging her notebook and pens when she noticed that the boy beside her was fidgeting nervously.

Psst, Juliet, Bobby Larson, the boy in question, whispered.

What do you want, Bobby? Juliet said with an exaggerated flip of her hair. This had better not be about prom again. You know better than to try to put me in a dress.

Bobby’s black eyes flashed for a second and his cheeks flushed, but he soldiered on. Not hardly, he said. I’ve given up on that fight.

Juliet grinned and nodded. She relaxed and slid her jacket off of to reveal a bright green tank top. Glad to hear that, Bobby. Now, what’s up?

You aren’t going to believe this, Bobby gestured wildly with his hands. But a new family just moved to town and their oldest son is a total freako.

Suddenly interested, both girls leaned in closer. What exactly do you mean by ‘freako’, Bobby? Bridget asked. Has he got a few too many facial piercings for our small town or something?

I mean that when I went riding past their house last night I saw some dude swimming around in the pool.

Juliet groaned, burying her face in her hands.

And that makes him freaky? Bridget prompted with a grin. Come on, Bobby, you’ve got to do better than that.

Just wait for it, alright? Bobby muttered. My dad told me that somebody was moving into one of his old rental houses so when I rode past I saw that the lights were on and slowed down to see if anyone was outside.

Casing the place for a hot teenage daughter, probably, Juliet whispered to Bridget with a prod to the shoulder.

Bobby rolled his eyes and continued. Anyway, I heard a guy singing something weird to himself and when he got out of the pool he was completely naked.

Juliet burst into laughter and Bridget blushed, turning her attention pointedly to the front of the room.

I think you’re the one who’s the freako, Bobby, Juliet said as she fanned herself with her notebook, her cheeks flushed from laughing. Spying on some poor naked guy.

Hey, Bobby yelled, attracting the attention of some of the people around them. I wasn’t spying because he was naked. I only looked because I wanted to know what he was saying.

You probably just didn’t understand his accent, Bobby, the homeroom teacher, Mrs. Henderson, said as she breezed past them to her desk. The plump old woman grinned at Bobby and the two girls as they looked up, startled.

His name is Ronan MacTiernan, she continued as she unloaded papers from her briefcase onto her desk. He just moved here from Scotland with his father.

How do you know that, Mrs. H? Is he a new student of something? Juliet asked.

As a matter of fact, he is a new student at the university, and my great nephew. Which puts him way out of your league, Miss Piper. Mrs. Henderson said with a disapproving glance at Juliet’s outfit. Now, if you three would please try and get your minds out of the gutter I would be eternally grateful.

Bobby and Juliet nodded grudgingly as Bridget’s mind suddenly burned with curiosity. Mrs. Henderson bustled past them to begin writing on the whiteboard as Bridget turned to Bobby with a grin.

Your family still lives on Maple Street, right?

Yeah, Bobby whispered. The new guy lives in Mr. Keith’s old house. Just let me know when you’re going to snoop, I’d like to meet this guy in person.

Sure thing, Bobby, Juliet suddenly hissed in his ear. I know you’d hate to miss another sighting of the Scottish moon.

Quiet down over there! Mrs. Henderson shouted as Bobby sniffed angrily, turning away from Juliet. Class has begun.

Two

When the last bell rang, Bridget raced out to meet Juliet in the parking lot.

Where are we headed first? Juliet asked as she tossed the passenger’s helmet to Bridget. I am straight up dying for some tacos.

She laughed and climbed into the sidecar. I swear, Jules, you are always dying for tacos.

They’re like nature’s most delicious food! Juliet moaned as she climbed onto the driver’s seat. And you didn’t answer my question.

Bridget rolled her eyes and pulled her backpack up into the seat with her. As much as I would love a taco run, I promised Ma that I’d come straight to the laundry mat after school.

Main Street it is, Juliet said with an exaggerated pout.

Bridget patted her friend’s leg sympathetically as the motorcycle roared

Reviews for The Washer Woman's Daughter

[skgregory · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Bridget is a normal girl until her mother is murdered and she discovers a secret about herself. A mixture of the modern with Celtic myth, this book was an enjoyable read with some interesting characters. Great for young adult supernatural fans. I would definitely recommend this book and read more from this author.