Reckoning

  No one was around on the platform. Only a few people were out walking on the street---it was still early on an overcast Sunday morning, after all. I didn't know where I was or how to find Sam's house, so I just headed out and started walking in the direction that seemed most promising. I don't know how to describe it, but the town felt right to me. I could sense the heavy pull of the ocean. Lobster traps and fishing gear turned up everywhere---in signs and displays, on people's lawns. It seemed like a very modest place, a functioning fishing town, very old and not very fancy. While I definitely wasn't giddy with delight, I felt a sense of calm after the chaotic night. Whatever it was that had been calling me---it was here. A half hour later a lonely cab happened to go past me, and I frantically waved it down. The driver looked at me a bit hesitantly---I guess high school kids don't usually hail cabs off the street in Gloucester---then took me in. I gave him the printout of the e-mail with Sam's address on it and settled back in the seat. We wound up and down the tight streets filled with colonial style houses, many marked with plaques commemorating the people who had lived there hundreds of years ago. The cab slowed at a neat little cape house, tucked tightly in a row of similar houses on one of the town's center streets. We stopped and the driver turned on me. "It's all right," he said, eyeing me and my bag. "No charge." "Are you sure?" I said. reaching into my pocket for my eighteen dollars. "I have money." "Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm going off duty." I must look lost, I thought. Or just really pathetic. Still, it was nice of the driver. I thanked him profusely and slid out of the car.

  So there I was, standing on my uncle's doorstep at just before ten in the morning on a Sunday. I looked up above his door and saw a pentacle there---a little one, imprinted into a clay plate, and carefully hung above the entrance. This was definitely the right place. It should have felt very strange and very scary. My uncle and I were strangers to each other. But I knew that it was going to be all right. There was something about his relationship with my mother, the tone of his note, and my dreams that told me he would welcome me. With a deep breath, I rang the bell.

  Meowing from inside. Lots of it. I tightened my grip on the handle of the bag as I heard footsteps coming towards the door. "It's all right," a man's voice was saying. "Calm down, it's just the doorbell."

  More frantic meowing.

  "What, do you think it's a fish delivery for you guys?" he said. "Just calm down. Let me through. The door opened.

  The man who stood before me looked very boyish, though I knew he was in his forties. His hair was light brown, streaked through with golden blond and a few shots of gray. His blue eyes were framed by a stylish pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Obviously he had just been relaxing on a lazy Sunday morning, and was comfortably dressed in a Boston University T-shirt and a pair of running pants.

  "Sam Curtis?" I asked.

  "Yes?" he said, looking at me strangely. He became very still and seemingly tense as he studied me. It was as if he had found a mysterious package on his front step and was still trying

  to figure out if it was a clock or a bomb.

  "I'm Alisa," I said, "Alisa Soto. Sarah's daughter." "Goddess!" said Sam, gripping the door frame. I could tell he wasn't sure of he should hug me or shake my hand. As a compromise, he decided to grab my shoulder "I can't believe it!" he almost whispered, looking me over. "Alisa!" I nodded shyly.

  "How did you get here? It's what, ten in the morning?" "I got your note," I said quickly evading his question, "and I thought it would be okay." "Of course!" he said. "Of course! Let's get you inside." 7. Sam

  Samhain, October 31, Máirin's Book of Shadows is missing. I was reading it all last night before going to sleep, and I left it on m desk. When I woke up, it was gone. I immediately ran to tell Mother. I was wild with excitement and fear, but she was very subdued when I told her that it was missing. She told me not to worry. The there was nothing that could be done. Control, she reminded me. Witched must always be master of themselves. Only clear thought can produce strong magick.

  Still, I feel as though I had the answer in my hands, only to have it snitched away! Oh, Goddess, what can I do?

  ---Aoibheann

  Inside Sam's house, I was met by the comforting witchy smell of lingering herbs and incense, particularly sage. Everything was made of wood and brick, and there was a fireplace with a little fire to take off the morning chill. Two Siamese cats padded up to me, chattering their greetings.

  "Meet Astrophe and Mandu," he said, picking up one of the cats and handing him to me. The cat purred loudly and pushed his head under my chin in affection. "That's Mandu," Sam said. "He's a baby, loves to be picked up. Astrophe will get you when you sit down. He thinks every lap is his."

  "Astrophe and Mandu?" I asked as the cat gave me little kisses with his wet nose. "Are those magickal names?"

  "No," Sam laughed. "Cat-astrophe. Cat-mandu." I groaned, remembering my mom's description of her brother in her Book of Shadows. She'd said he was a real joker. Actually, she'd said he was asinine. I knew they played practical jokes on each other all the time.

  "It's so early," he said. "When did you leave to get here?" He cast a slightly strange look over his shoulder at me, but I kept my focus on Mandu, who was swatting my hair.

  "Sorry," I said. "I thought I'd take the earliest train. You know. Get a jump on things." Lame. Obvious. But what was I going to say? "Wait a minute," he said, "let me change into some proper clothes, and I'll make us some breakfast. I'll be right back. Make yourself at home." With one cat in my arms and another wrapped around my ankles, I took a walk through Sam's living room. The wood floor was covered with a large Turkish rug colored in browns and oranges. On one side of the room there was a small altar, with some candles, seashells, fresh flowers, a cup and a beautiful black-handled athame. He seemed to have about a million representations of the moon, in pictures, tiles and masks. Bookshelves took up most of the wall space. (Rowanwands are famous for collecting, and

  sometimes hoarding, knowledge. I wasn't sure if I'd gotten much of that particular family trait.)

  Sam's collection covered an incredible array of subjects, from physics to literature to art. There were volumes on herbs, magick, Wiccan history, divination, Celtic Gods and Goddesses, tarot, and hundred other witch-related subjects. Two shelves were devoted to volumes on astronomy. Three more were occupied by books on yoga, meditation, charka's, and Indian religion,

  I noticed a few shelves that were devoted to the history of homosexuality and some current books on gay politics and culture. I was paused on these when I realized that Sam was back. He was casually dressed in a maroon short-sleeved shirt and tan pants. "I have a lot of book, I know," he said. "Such an Rowanwand. This is nothing. You should see the family library. I think we have more books then the town library." He noticed what shelf I was looking at and smiled. 'Oh," he said, nodding. "I'm gay."

  I didn't know much about my uncle, so the fact he was gay was just one item on a very long list. I liked his ease with the fact. I figured it had something to do with being Wiccan. I supposed they were a lot more open and well adjusted when it came to that subject. So I had a gay uncle. That was kind of cool.

  "Okay," he said, directing me to the kitchen, "let's get some food for you. I can tell you're starved."

  There's no use hiding anything from witched. They always seem to know. I set Mandu down on the ground and followed Sam into the kitchen. "Do you drink coffee?" he asked.

  I nodded. I was dying for coffee, actually. I hadn't slept much. "How do you like it?"

  "Sweet," I said, sitting down at the table. Astrophe, as promised, hopped right into my lap and curled into a ball. "And milky, please." "Sweet and milky coffee." Sam nodded approvingly. "You are definitely my niece! We're going to get along well." He cheerfully put down two huge mugs and filled them up. Then he loaded sugar and milk and pushed a cup in my direction. I took it, thanking him. It was incredible. Uncle Sam didn't fool around in the coffee department. This was the good stuff. "All right," he said,
opening the refrigerator. "Let's see. How about an omelette? I have some cheddar cheese and bacon. That might taste good." He couldn't have know that I'd been living on mashed tofu and organic leeks for weeks now, could he? A bacon and cheese omelette sounded like heaven on a plate. I tried not to drool when I nodded my appreciation. For appetizers, he had put some chocolate croissants, macaroons, orange slices and strawberries on a plate for me to munch on as he worked. Munch I did. I could barely control myself. I noticed that he kept glancing back at me as he set some brown eggs, hickory-smoked bacon, and a big piece of cheese wrapped in paper out on the counter.

  "I'm sorry that I keep staring," he finally said, whisking together the eggs. "It's just that you look so much like your mom."

  This stopped me cold.

  "I do?" I asked.

  "It's kind of amazing," he said.

  I had a few photo's of my mom, and while I'd seen a little resemblance, I didn't think I really looked a lot like her. My father's family is from Buenos Aires, so I'm half Latina. Half witch, half Latina... half everything. My eyes are brown, and my hair is dark but streaked with a honey color. My skin has a warm olive tone---not at all like the alabaster face that I saw in the pictures. "Mom was very blond, right?" I said. "Kind of pale?" "That's true," Sam admitted. "The Curtises come from England, and we all tend to be fair. Your coloring is darker, but there's so much of your mother in you. It's in your expression. Your face. Your height, the way you stand. Even your voice. You could be her twin. "I'd like to know more about her," I said. "That's why I'm here." He nodded, as if I'd just said something he'd expected to hear. Then he turned to the stove and poured the egg mixture into the pan where the bacon was cooking.

  "I'm glad," he said. "I've wondered what your life must be like. I assume you weren't raised

  practicing Wicca?"

  "No," I said, grabbing another strawberry. "I didn't know about any of this until a few months ago. I kind of stumbled into a coven at school. I saw people do things that I'd never known were possible. I've seen a lot, actually. Not all good." He turned in surprise, then had to go back and do a little fancy pan-shaking. A minute later he presented me with the largest omelette ever made. "Aren't you going to eat something?" I asked as he sat down. "I will." He smiled". "Later. I'd rather talk now. You eat up." I didn't need to be told twice. Between mouthfuls, I told Sam a little about Widow's Vale Kithic, my dad and Hilary. This left the door open for him to start talking. "About your mom," he said. "There's a lot to tell." "I know part of the story," I said, accepting more coffee. "I have her Book of Shadows." "How did you get that?" he asked, shocked. "Through a friend, actually. I shrugged. "It just kind of turned up at her house. It seemed to have a pull on me. I actually stole it from her. She didn't mind after I told her why." "It just turned up at your friend's house?" I nodded. Sam looked at me for a second, then laughed and shook his head. "Well, the Goddess certainly does work in mysterious ways So you must know your mother stripped herself of her powers. Do you know why?" "I know about the storm," I said, feeling that was what he was getting at. When he was young, Sam had used a book of dark magick to try bring a little much-needed rain to the town. Instead he accidentally produced a storm that raged out of control and killed several sailors. This was one of the events that had caused my mother to give up her magick, but not the only one. She had been pushed to the brink by her own telekinesis, which had frightened her as much as mine frightened me. The final thing that caused her to strip herself was a telekinetic incident after she argued with Sam. A table lurched away from the wall and pushed him down the stairs, nearly killing him. Sam didn't know anything about my mom's telekinesis. I could see he thought she'd left because of his actions, and it was clear that the guilt never left him.

  "I was a really stupid kid," he said. "Beyond stupid. I had good intentions, but I produced really bad results. Horrific results."

  "It wasn't just that," I said, trying to make him feel better. "She was afraid in general. She thought that her own powers were dangerous. She---" I cut myself off. Did I want to get into the whole story of her telekinesis and mine? I would eventually, but maybe not this very moment. "It was a lot of things," I said. "She wrote about it. It wasn't just the storm, honestly." He looked up, and his eyes had a glint of hope in them. He'd obviously been carrying a very heavy weight around with him for years. I felt for him. "You know," he said, nervously shifting his coffee cup, "we know Sarah---your mom---is gone. We could sense that much---but we really don't know..." "She died in 1991," I explained, "right before I turned four. She had breast cancer." "Breast cancer," he repeated, taking it in. Maybe to witches that seems really mundane. For all I know, we can cure that with magick. That thought made me a bit sick to my stomach---maybe my mother could have lived.

  But I was jumping to conclusions.

  "Was she ill for very long?" he asked quietly. "No," I said. "My dad told me that by the time they found it, it was too late. She only lived for about another two months."

  Sam looked stunned, shaky. For me this was old news---horrible, but something I had long accepted. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his brow. "I'm so sorry, Alisa," he said. "I didn't know. If I had, I would have come there. I promise you." "You didn't know," I said. "It's not your fault." "I kept in touch with Sarah for the first few years," he explained. "But I had mixed feelings. I didn't understand why she had done the things she did. And then I went to college, got my first boyfriend---I got caught up in my life and my own dramas with our parents. I let things slide,

  and years went by. Pretty soon I didn't have her address, and she didn't have mine."

  He saw my coffee cup was empty, and he jumped up to the stove for the pot, as if keeping me well fed and full of java helped ease his guilt. "So, how many people are in the family?" I asked, changing the subject. "I mean, who lives here, in Gloucester?"

  "Let's see," said Sam. "There's my mother, your grandmother. Her name is Evelyn. My father died a number of years ago, as did my mother's sister. But there's Ruth, her daughter. And Ruth has a daughter your age, named Brigid. Plus there's the coven---Ròiseal. We're all family, even though we are not related. There are eight of us in all. My mother is the leader." "Can I meet her---I mean, my grandmother?" I said eagerly. My mother's mother. I could barely imagine it.

  Sam seemed to pull back a little, though he continued to smile. "Of course," he said, "I can take you over there as soon as you're done eating." I shoveled in my breakfast, wanting to finish it as quickly as possible. Sam looked genuinely pleased at how much I enjoyed his cooking. "I'll get the dished," he said. "If you want to freshen up, there's a bathroom right by the stairs." "That would be good," I said, wondering what I must look like after the crying jags of last night and all the lost sleep. Surprisingly, the damage wasn't too bad. I brushed my teeth and fixed my hair, pulling a thick strand away from my face and off to the side, securing it with a clip I found in the pocket of my bag. Ten minutes later we were in Sam's ancient Dodge, driving up the avenue that ran along the water. We veered off, up a slight incline, into and area of dense trees. Then the trees thinned out, and I could see that we were on a high road above a rocky beach.

  "This is it," Sam said, pulling over.

  The house was large and imposing. It faced the water and was painted a soft gray with black shutters. I saw the widow's walk my mother had written about so many times and the front porch with at least half a dozen stone steps leading up to it. There was the porch swing that she used to sit in and look out over the water. A row of thick trees and bushes dotted the property, and other tall trees dotted the front yard and lined the walk, making a shady grove. Two cars were already parked in the driveway, so we had to park on the street. Sam unclicked his seat belt but waited a moment before getting out of the car. "Listen," he said, "my mother is a little touchy about the subject of Sarah. She didn't take the whole thing well. She hasn't really talked about Sarah since she left. Mother had also been under a lot of stress recently. We've got a lot going on here
. So she might need a minute to get over the shock."

  "Don't worry," I said. "It will be fine. I can't wait to meet her." Sam nodded, but his brow remained furrowed. As I stepped out of the care, I felt the strong, clean breezed coming up off the water, and in the distance I could see fishing boats heading out from the harbor. It was a beautiful sight. My mother must have loved growing up here. A splintering noise drew my attention. Sam had stepped ahead to pick up a rolled newspaper from the walk to take inside. A branch from the tree right above his head had split and was falling---and it was huge, big enough to cause serious harm. I screamed. Sam Straightened, glanced up, and jumped aside. The massive piece of wood made a sickening smack on the stone walkway and cracked in two.

  "Goddess," he said, his voice full of awe. He looked from the branch to the tree, then reached down and picked up one of the broken pieces of wood. "Are you all right?" I asked, rushing to him. "Fine," he said, examining the branch closely. "But it's a good thing you yelled." With one last wide-eyed look at the tree, he took me by the shoulders and hurried me to the front door. Branches fall out of trees all the time, I thought. Then again, it seemed like less of a coincidence when you considered a telekinetic girl was passing by when it happened. Had I just done that? Had I almost killed Sam?

  8. Homecoming

  August 15, I've been spending more and more time with Hugh recently. He's a good man, very suitable from a coven in Boston called Salldair. Although he is ten years older than I am, we do seem to make a fine match.

  Hugh is a professor of Germanic languages at Simmons College in Boston, and he's written several textbooks. This makes him, more or less, an ideal Rowanwand husband. I know that's what mother and father are thinking at any rate. They're very fond of him. I don't really feel ready for marriage, but I know I must marry. I did fight when they first suggested it, but now I see that I was selfish and foolish. I am nineteen years old. I must accept my responsibilities. Of course, it's unthinkable that I should leave Gloucester. Our family is the head of Ròiseal. As the oldest child I will take over the coven when Mother and Father are gone. That's the way it always has been. ---Aoibheann