“I’ll leave,” Ciaran said, sounding sad. “I won’t ask you again. It’s a pity it all has to end this way.”
“End what way?” I practically shrieked, almost hysterical. “You’ve chosen your fate, daughter,” he said, turning to leave. “It isn’t what I wanted, but you leave me no choice. But know that by your decision you have sacrificed not only yourself, but everyone and everything you love.” He gave a rueful, bitter smile. “Good- bye, Morgan. You were a shining star.”
I felt ready to jump out of my skin and tried to choke out something, something to make him explain, make him tell me what he was going to do. Then I remembered: I knew his true name! The name of his very essence, the name by which I could I could control him absolutely. The name that was a color, a song, a rune all at once. Just as the name sprang to my trembling lips, Ciaran faded into the night. I blinked and peered into the darkness but saw nothing: no shadow, no footprints on the dead grass, no mark in the cold dew that was just starting to form.
Abruptly my knees finally gave way and I sat down, hard, on the cold cement steps. My
breath felt cold and caught in my throat. My hands were shaking—I felt stupid with panic, with dread. As soon as I could get to my feet, I went inside, smiled, and said good night to my family.Then I went upstairs and called Hunter. And told him that Ciaran had gotten in touch with me.
The next morning Hunter was waiting for me outside my house when Mary K. and I came out to go to school.
“Hi, Hunter!” my sister said, looking surprised but pleased to see him at this hour. “Hullo, Mary K.,” he said.“Mind if I tag along this morning?” Bewildered, my sister shrugged and got into the backseat of Das Boot. He and I exchanged meaningful glances.
For the rest of the day, Hunter hung out in my car outside school. Last night I had been inside my spelled house. Today, at school, I didn’t have much protection. Whenever I passed a window, I looked out to see him. Even though he and I both knew this was like erecting a tissue-paper house in front of a gale-force wind, still, it made both of us feel better to be close.
At lunch he joined me and the members of Kithic in the cafeteria. After we’d talked last night, we’d agreed not to say anything to the rest of our coven until we knew more about what was going on.
“Hi, Hunter,” said Bree, taking the seat next to him. “What are you doing here?” “Just missed my girl, I guess,” Hunter said, accepting half the sandwich I offered him. He immediately changed the subject. “So you’re all coming to the next circle, right? At Thalia’s?”
I saw Bree’s beautiful, coffee-colored eyes narrow a fraction and thought it lucky that Thalia didn’t go to our school. She had made it no secret that she found Robbie attractive. Privately I thought a bit of competition might be good for Bree. Raven Meltzer clomped over in her motorcycle boots and sat down at the end of the table. She looked uncharacteristically sedate today, in a torn black sweatshirt, men’s suit trousers, and less than half an inch of makeup. She nodded at the rest of the table, then surveyed her bought lunch without enthusiasm. I looked around at my coven, my friends, remembering Ciaran’s words from last night: He had said that with my decision, I had sacrificed them. At the start of the school year I had really known only Bree and Robbie. Now all of them—Jenna, Raven, Ethan, Sharon, and Matt—felt like an extended family. Despite how different we were, despite what other groups we belonged to, we were a coven. We had made magick together. And now, because of me, they might all be in serious danger. I took in a couple of shuddering breaths and opened my carton of chocolate milk. Hunter and I would somehow fix this situation. I had to believe that.
After school I joined Hunter at Das Boot. We gave Mary K. a ride home and picked up
his car, and then we both drove to his house. Once there, he called upstairs to his dad. Mr. Niall soon came down and greeted me with what seemed like a fraction more warmth than usual. I felt slightly encouraged as the three of us sat around the worn wooden table in the kitchen.
“Last night Ciaran asked you to join him,” Hunter said, jumping right in. I tried to ignore Mr. Niall’s visible flinch.
“Yes,” I said. “He’s asked before. I’ve always said no. I said no again last night. But this felt more final. He said he was sorry to hear it—but that I could still save myself, my friends, and my family—if I made the right decision.” “He said specifically your friends, your family?” Hunter asked. “Yes.”
Hunter and Mr. Niall met eyes across the table. Mr. Niall stretched his hands out on the table and looked at them. Finally he said,“Yes, I think that sounds like a dark wave.” My mouth dropped open—somehow, despite his implications, I hadn’t let myself believe Ciaran could have meant that. “So you really think Ciaran would send a dark wave here, to Widow’s Vale? For me?”
“That’s what it sounds like,” said Mr. Niall, and Hunter nodded slowly. “Though it would likely be targeted to attack only the coven members and their families, and not the whole town.”
“I agree with Da,” said Hunter. “From what you told me last night, it sounds like Ciaran thinks your power is just too strong not to be allied with his. And I would guess he also wants revenge since you won’t join him. Not to mention the added bonus of taking a Seeker out at the same time.”
As much as I had tried to deny the real threat behind Ciaran’s words, as soon as Hunter said “dark wave,” I knew he was right. Still, it felt like a fresh, crushing blow, and I took small, shallow breaths, trying to keep calm. “I think he’s been planning it for a while,” Mr. Niall went on. “I’ve been feeling the effects this past week.There’s a feeling of deadness, of decay in the air. An oppression. At first I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. But now I’m certain my instincts are right—there’s a dark wave coming.”
In a flash I remembered Mom’s crocuses dying in a row beside the front walk. I thought of how the lawn hadn’t begun to green up, though it was time. I thought of how awful I’d been feeling physically. “What can we do? How can we stop it?” I asked, trying not to sound completely terrified. Inside me, my mind was screaming, There’s no way to stop it, there’s never been a way.
“I contacted the council,” Hunter answered me. “They were no help at all, as usual. They’re looking for Ciaran, and now that they know he’s here, they’ll surround Widow’s Vale.”
“For me it means I’ll devote all my time and energy to crafting a spell that could combat
a dark wave,” said Hunter’s father. “I’ve been able to decipher a lot of the hidden writing in Rose’s book. I’ve started to sketch out the basic form of the spell, its shape. I wish I had more time, but I’ll work as fast as I can.” The weight of this hung over my head like an iron safe. This was happening because of me. I had caused this to happen. Ciaran was my biological father—and because of that, everything I held dear would be destroyed. “What if I left town?” I suggested wildly. “If I left town, Ciaran would come after just me and leave everyone else alone.” “No!” Hunter and his father cried at the same time. Taken back by their vehemence, I started to explain, but Mr. Niall cut me off. “No,” he said. “That doesn’t work. I know that all too well. It won’t really solve anything. It wouldn’t guarantee the town’s safety, and you’d be as good as dead. No, we have to face this thing head-on.”
“What about the rest of Kithic?” I asked. “Shouldn’t they know? Could they help somehow? All of us together?”
Looking uncomfortable, Hunter said, “I don’t think we should tell Kithic.” “What? Why not? They’re in danger!”
Hunter stood and put the kettle to boil on the stove. When he turned back, his face looked pained. “It’s just . . . this is blood witch business. We’re not supposed to involve nonwitches in our affairs. Not only that, but there’s truly nothing they can do. They might have strong wills, but they have very little power. And if we tell them, they probably wouldn’t believe us, anyway. But if they did, then everyone would panic, which wouldn’t help anything.”
“So we just have to pretend we don’t know everyone might die,” I said, holding my head in my hands, my elbows on the table.
“Yes,” Hunter said quietly, and once again I was reminded of the fact that he was a council Seeker and that he’d had to make hard decisions, tough calls, as part of his job. But I was new to it, and this hurt me. It was going to be literally painful not to tell my own family, or Bree, Robbie. . . . I swallowed hard. “There’s something else,” Mr. Niall said. “I haven’t mentioned this to you yet,” he told Hunter. “With this type of spell, actually, as with most spells, the person who casts it will have to be a blood witch and will also have to be physically very close to where the dark wave would originate. My guess is that Ciaran would use the local power sink to help amplify the wave’s power.”
I nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” At the edge of town is an old Methodist cemetery where several magickal “leys” cross. That made that area a power sink: any magick made there was stronger. Any inherent blood witch powers were also stronger there. “The problem, of course,” Mr. Niall went on,“is that to be close enough to cast the spell, a witch is in effect sacrificing herself or himself because it will most likely cause death.”
“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
>
of the ‘dark wave of destruction’ is without question the most evil spell a witch can
perpetrate. To create, call on, participate in, or use such evil is the very antithesis of
what being a witch should be.” —Dinara Rafferty, ICOW Elder, Loughrea, Ireland,
1994>
“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 bo
ok 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, Alisa, 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. . . .