“Even if the spell works and the wave is averted?” I asked.
Hunter’s dad nodded. The sudden whistle of the kettle distracted us, and Hunter mechanically made three mugs of tea. I gazed numbly at the steam rising from mine, then flicked my fingers over it widdershins and thought, Cool the fire. I took a sip. It was perfect.
“Well, that’s a problem,” Hunter said.
“No, it isn’t,” said Mr. Niall.“I’ll cast the spell.”
Hunter stared at him.“But you just said it would probably kill the caster!”
His father seemed calm: his mind had been made up for a while. “Yes. There are only so many blood witches around Widow’s Vale. I’m the logical choice—I’m crafting the spell, so I’ll know it best—and I would once again be with my mùirn beatha dàn.”
Hunter had told me the loss of his mother, just a few months ago, had almost destroyed his father.
“I just got you back!” Hunter said, pushing away from the table. “You can’t possibly do this! There has to be some other witch who would be a better choice.”
Mr. Niall smiled wryly. “Like a witch with terminal cancer? All right, we can look for one.” He shook his head. “Look, lad, it’s got to be me.You know it as well as I do.”
“I’m stronger,” Hunter said, wearing the determined look that I knew so well. “I should cast it. I’m sure I could survive. You could teach me the spell.”
Mr. Niall shook his head.
“Dammit, I won’t let you!” Hunter’s loud voice filled the small kitchen. If he’d yelled at me like that, I would have been appalled, but his father seemed unmoved.
“It’s not your decision, lad,” he said. Calmly he picked up his mug of tea and drank.
“How long do we have?” I whispered, running my hands over the worn surface of the tabletop. “Is it tomorrow, or next week, or . . .”
Mr. Niall put down his mug. “It’s impossible to say for certain.” He looked at Hunter. “I would say, given the level of decay in the air and what I’ve read about the effects of an oncoming wave . . . perhaps a week. Perhaps a little less.”
“Oh, Goddess!” I put my head down on the table and felt tears welling up behind my eyes. “A week! You’re saying we might have one week left on this planet, a week before our families all die? All because of me? All because of my father?”
Mr. Niall surveyed me with an odd, grave expression. “I’m afraid so, lass.” He stood. “I’m going back to work.” Without a good-bye he left the room, and I heard him go upstairs.
“I just got him back,” Hunter said, sounding near tears. I looked up from the table and realized, all at once, that no matter what happened to my family, Hunter was certainly going to lose his father. I stood up and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. So many times he had comforted me, and now I was glad to have the chance to give some back to him.
“I know,” I said softly.
“He’s got years left. Years to teach me. For me to get to know him again.” “I know.” I held his head against my chest.
His body was tight with tension. “Bloody hell.This can’t get any worse.”
“It can always get worse,” I said, and we both knew it was true.
6-Alisa
>
“Can I get you anything? I’m running to the store.” Hilary’s voice interrupted my reading, and I glanced up as the door to my room opened. There she was, in black leggings and a red tunic, her artificially streaked hair held back by a red Alice band.
“No. I’m okay,” I said, raising my voice so she could hear me over my CD player.
“Ginger ale? That’s what I like when I’m sick.”
“No thanks.”
I won the stare-down contest, and when Hilary finally broke, I went back to my reading. A minute later I heard the front door close with a little more force than necessary. I had elected to take a mental health day—going to school, having PE, eating lunch with people, paying attention in class—it all seemed ridiculous compared to finding out I was half witch. Thus my “illness” that Hilary was trying to treat. But she was gone now, and I had peace and quiet.
pulled Sarah Curtis’s Book of Shadows from under my bed and then got the small pile of letters. Since Tuesday, I had read all of them. It was like trying to absorb the news that a huge meteor was hurtling toward Earth—on some level, I just couldn’t comprehend it. I mean, until a month or two ago I hadn’t even known that real blood witches existed, and I kind of hadn’t even believed it until I had seen Morgan Rowlands and Hunter Niall do things that couldn’t be explained any other way. And now, surprise! I was half of something weird myself. Not only that, but my mom had pretty much felt the same way about being a witch—it had scared her, too, and before she met my dad, she had actually stripped herself of her powers.Which would explain why he didn’t know she was a witch.
I had a lot to take in—my mother being a witch, her stripping herself of her powers, which I didn’t even know you could do, and also about her family. Dad had always said that Mom had a falling-out with her family before he met her. He’d never known any of them. From the Book of Shadows and Sam Curtis’s letters, it was starting to look more like they had disinherited her when she stripped herself of her powers. So unless they had all been wiped out by a freak accident after my mother left Gloucester, there might actually still be some relatives living there. I guessed it was possible they were all dead—GLOUCESTER FAMILY DECIMATED BY ROGUE TORNADO—but that seemed kind of unlikely.
Mom had been a Rowanwand. I knew from what Hunter had said in circles that Rowanwands in general had a reputation for being the “good guy” witches. They were dedicated to knowledge, they helped other witches, they had all sworn to do no evil, to not take part in clan wars.That didn’t fit me at all. Dedicated to knowledge? I hated school. Sworn to do no evil? It seemed like every ten minutes, I was harshing out on someone. So I didn’t feel very Rowanwandish. Which was a good thing, in my opinion.
Maybe being a witch was like a recessive gene, and you had to have copies from both parents in order for it to kick in. That would be cool. I breathed out, already feeling relieved. Since Dad was normal, maybe I only carried the witch gene, but it wouldn’t be expressed. I frowned, thinking back to last semester’s biology class. Pea plants and fruit flies popped into my mind, but what about recessive witch genes? Or was it even a gene? But what else could it be?
I groaned and leaned back against my pillows. Now I really did have a headache. I went to the bathroom and took some Tylenol and was just climbing back into bed when I heard the front door shut again downstairs. Feeling my nerves literally fraying, I pushed the letters and and book under my covers and picked up The Crucible, which we were studying in sophomore English, ironically enough.
was just making a mental note to pick up the CliffsNotes for it when, lo and behold, Hilary popped her head around my door because I had forgotten to lock it. She was carrying a tray that had a sprout-filled sandwich on it and some teen magazines that had articles like “Are You Over Your Ex? Take This Quiz and Find Out!”
For those of us who are too dumb to figure it out ourselves.
“Alisa? I thought you might be hungry. When I was sick, my mom always brought me lunch and some fun magazines.”
“Oh. Thanks,” I said unenthusiastically. At the risk of stating the obvious, you’re not my mom. “I think I really just want to be left alone, though.”
Her face fell, and I immediately felt a pang of guilt.
“I know I’m not your mom,” she said, obvious hurt in her voice. “But would it be so hard for us to be friends? In a little while we’re going to be related. I mean, like it or not, Ali
sa, your dad and I are getting married, and this baby I’m having is your half brother or half sister.”
She set the tray down on my bed, and at that moment my CD player popped loudly. I smelled an electric burning smell and jumped up to unplug it. It was practically brand new! Why did everything keep self-destructing around me? Hilary gave me a long-suffering look, then swirled out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
I looked down at the plug in my hand, beginning to feel like a walking destructive force: just a few days ago, the butter dish at Mary K.’s, then my jewelry box, now the CD player. . . .
Oh my God. My breath froze in my throat. I stood stock-still, petrified by a sudden thought. I had just read about this kind of stuff in my mom’s journal.When she’d been younger, she’d caused weird telekinetic things to happen—things fell off shelves, radios quit working, car horns wouldn’t stop honking. Watches never worked on her—or on me, either. The batteries died instantly.
A grin that would have melted Alaska. He’s usually kind of serious, so when he does smile, everyone’s knees go weak. Or at least I’m assuming I’m not the only one. “I would say congratulations, but I understand you don’t feel that way.”
My cheeks burned, and I looked away.“No.”
He immediately sobered and leaned closer so only I could hear. “I know it must have been a shock. And I understand how you’ve been feeling about magick and witches. I’d like to talk to you about it, try to help if I can.”
I nodded. “Thanks.” I stood very still, waiting for a picture to fall off the wall, the door to fly open, or a window to crack. Nothing happened, and I held my breath, determined to stay very, very calm this evening.
Hunter went back to Morgan’s side, and I saw that she looked pretty bad, too. They must have been passing germs back and forth.Yuck.
“We can get started,” said Hunter. “I think everyone’s here. Is there any coven business first? I think Simon has volunteered to host next Saturday, right? Good. Okay, now. Tonight I’d like to talk a bit about magick.”
Hunter knelt and drew a large circle on Thalia’s living room floor. He always started by drawing a circle, but this time he added another circle around it and then one more circle around that. Then he took a small cloth bag of stones and placed different-colored stones around the outside circle. Standing, he gestured us into the little “door” he had left, and once we were all in the smallest circle, he closed the circles with chalk, stones, and also some runes that he traced in the air. I wondered what was going on.
“Now, magick,” he said, rubbing the chalk off his hands. He looked pale and tired. “Magick is basically energy, life force, chi, whatever you want to call it.The same magick that makes a flower bloom, produces fruit on a tree, brings a baby into the world is the exact same magick that can light fires spontaneously, move objects, and work invisibly within the universal construct in order to effect change—such as casting a protective spell, a fertility spell, or a healing spell. Now, can I have each of your impressions about magick?”
He nodded to Sharon Goodfine.
She frowned thoughtfully, her shiny dark hair brushing her shoulders. “To me, magick is potential—the possibility of doing something.”
“That’s a nice thought,” said Hunter.“Thalia?”
“It’s just cool,” she said, shrugging. “It’s different, out of the ordinary.”
Ethan said, “It’s like a different kind of control, a different way of getting a handle on things.”
“It’s being connected with the life force,” said Jenna.
“It’s beautiful,” Bree said.
Next was Morgan. “It’s . . . another dimension to life, an added meaning to regular life. It’s a power and a responsibility.”
Hunter nodded again.“Robbie?”
“It’s mysterious,” said Robbie.
“Alisa, how about you?” Hunter asked.
“It’s scary,” I said abruptly, thinking of my own experiences with it. As soon as I said that, all my feelings came rushing out. “It’s uncontrollable. It’s dangerous. It’s awful, like having some genetic error. You never know when it’s going to wreck your life.”
My fists were clenching, and my mouth felt tight. I realized I was surrounded by silence and looked up to see eleven pairs of eyes watching me. Nine pairs were surprised. Hunter was calm, accepting. Morgan looked understanding.
“Oh. Did I say that out loud?” I said, feeling embarrassed.
“It’s all right,” Hunter said. “Magick strikes everyone differently. I understand how you feel.” He turned to the others. “Now, since we have stones of protection, I won’t call on earth, air, fire, or water. But I do cast this circle in the name of the Goddess and the God and ask them to join us and bless our power tonight. Join hands.”
I took hold of Simon’s hand and Raven’s, feeling an impending sense of doom. If I was in this circle and it got all magicky, what would happen? What would I destroy?
Slowly we began to walk deasil, clockwise. Hunter started a chanting kind of song. It was incredibly pretty and easy to follow, and soon all of us were joining in. It was kind of like aural Prozac, because soon I began to feel calmer and more cheerful than I had I had in days. I felt like everyone here was my friend, that I was safe, that we were singing the most beautiful song, that I was filled with a light that made all my troubles seem bearable.
I was processing these feelings, and suddenly I realized that this was magick, too. This was a positive, gentle kind of magick. As the chant rose and grew, I felt better and better. It was like I was trying to worry about it being magick but just couldn’t. I knew it was weird, but it all felt okay. When we threw our hands apart and raised our arms to the sky, I was smiling widely, feeling loose and open instead of tight and upset.
Our circle broke apart then, and people were hugging and patting one another’s backs. Morgan came over to me and took my hand. She put her own palm on top of mine and held it there for a moment. She looked at her hand, and I felt a gentle heat. I took my hand away, and there was a rose-colored rune imprinted on my skin.
I grabbed her hand and looked at her palm. Nothing was there. I rubbed at my hand and realized that the rune was raised, it was my skin, raised up, like a scar. I stared at it, and Morgan gave a little smile. “That’s Wynn,” she said. “Happiness. Peace.” She said. “Happiness. Peace.” She caught my expression and added, “It’ll go away in a little while. It’s just something to take away from here.”
She went back to join Hunter, and I looked at my hand again. This was visible magick, right here on me. Peace, happiness. Did she just mean the rune or the actual feelings, too?
7-Morgan
>
On Sunday, I went to church with my family, despite feeling definitely ill. Afterward we went to the Widow’s Diner, where I could manage to choke down only a few bites of my BLT.
At home I tossed down some sinus/allergy stuff, then changed, grabbed my keys, and yelled that I was going to Hunter’s. When Sky had gone to France and then England, my parents had known that left Hunter with the house to himself. For a while they had given me squirrel eyes whenever I went there and again when I got back. Now that his father lived there, they were less suspicious. Of course, they hadn’t met Mr. Niall and had no clue as to how different he was from their vision of a father.
Fatherly or not, his presence was enough to make me feel weird about being alone with Hunter anywhere in his house. I sighed and got into Das Boot. Outside it was horrible—after a few misleading days of decent springlike weather, we had taken a big step backward, and it was in the mid-thirties, overcast, and smelling like snow. Before I reached Hunter’s, tiny, icy raindrops starting pinging against my windshield.
“Hullo, my love,” said Hunter as I approached the front door. He gave me a critical glance, then said, “How about some hot tea?”
“Do you have any cider?” I asked. “With spices in it? Or lemon?”
He nodded and I went in, glad to see the fireplace in the living room had been lit. I dropped my coat and stood before the fire, holding out my hands. The dancing flames were soothing. On his way to the kitchen, Hunter stopped in back of me, wrapped his his arms around my chest, and held me close. I leaned back and let my eyes drift shut, feeling his warmth, the strength in his arms. One of his hands came up to stroke my hair, melting the few bits of ice crystal that lingered there. He leaned down and kissed my neck. I tilted my head to give him better access. Slowly he put careful kisses up my neck and across my jaw. I turned to face him and smiled wryly—he looked as bad as I felt. It seemed kind of pathetic, how bad we were both feeling, yet we still had such a strong desire to be in each other’s embrace. His lips were very soft on mine, moving gently, afraid to make either of us feel worse.
When I heard Mr. Niall’s footsteps on the stairs, Hunter and I untangled and headed toward the kitchen. Moments later Mr. Niall joined us, and Hunter started mulling cider on the stove. I sat glumly at the table, my pounding head resting in my hands.