Dark Magick

by Cate Tiernan

  I swallowed hard and blinked several times, trying to bring myself out of it I couldn't get enough air and was dimly aware that I was gaping like a fish, trying to get more oxygen to my brain. When I blinked again, I saw sunlight and another, older Morgan walking through a field of wheat, like one of those corny shampoo commercials. I was pregnant There was no dramatic power around me, no ecstatic conjuring, just peace and quiet and calm. Now I was breathing quickly, and every time my eyes closed, I alternated between the two images, the two Morgans. I became aware of a deep-seated pain in my chest and throat, and I started to feel panicky and out of control. I want to get out of this, I thought. I want to get out Let me out! Somehow I managed to wrench my gaze away from the candle flame, and then I was leaning over, gasping on my carpet, feeling dizzy and sick. I was flooded with sensation, with memories and visions I couldn't interpret or even see clearly, and suddenly I knew that I was about to vomit I staggered to my feet, breaking my circle, and lurched drunkenly to the bathroom. I yanked off my robe, slid across the tiled wall until I hovered over the toilet and then I threw up, almost crying with misery.

  I don't know how long I was in there, but it was a long while, and finally I started to cry, aching, deep sobs. I sat there till the sobs subsided, then shakily got to my feet flushed the toilet, and crept to the sink. Splashing my face with cold water helped, and I brushed my teeth and washed my face again and changed into my pajamas. I felt weak and hollow, as if I had the flu. Back in my room, Dagda sat in the middle of the broken circle, gazing meditatively at the candle. "Hi, boy," I whispered, then cupped my hand and blew out the candle. My hands trembling, I dismantled everything, storing the tools in their metal box, folding my mother's robe, which seemed alive, crackling with energy. The very air in my room felt charged and unhealthy. I flung open a window, welcoming the twenty-five-degree chill. I vacuumed up my circle and hid the toolbox again, spelling the HVAC vent with runes of secrecy. Soon after that, the front door opened and I heard my parents' voices. The phone rang at the same moment I sprang over to the hall extension and said breathlessly, "Hi. I'm glad you called." "Are you okay?" Cal said. "I suddenly got a weird feeling about you." He would not be thrilled to hear about my using my mother's tools in a circle. Lack of experience, lack of knowledge, lack of supervision. And so on. "I'm okay," I said, trying to slow my breathing. I did feel better, though still a bit shaky. "I just—missed you." "I miss you, too," he said quietly. "I wish I could be there with you at night." A cool breeze from my room gave me a quick shiver. "That would be wonderful," I said.

  "Well, it's late," he said. "Sleep tight. Think of me when you're lying there." I felt his voice in the pit of my stomach, and my hand tightened on the phone.

  "I will," I whispered as Mary K. started coming upstairs loudly. Page

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  "Good night, my love."

  "Good night."

  8. Symbols

  September I'm in Ireland. I went to the town of Ballynigel, where the Belwicket coven once was. It was wiped out around Imbolc in 1982, along with most of the town. So far it's the only Woodbane coven I've found that the dark wave has destroyed. But everyone knows Belwicket renounced evil back in the 1800s and had kept to the council's laws since the laws were first written. Did that have something to do with it? When I stood there and saw the bits of riven earth and charred stones that are all that's left, it made my heart ache. Tonight I am meeting with Jeremy Mertwick, for the second ring of the council. I have written them a letter every week, appealing their decision. I still hope to make them see reason. I am strong and sure, and my pain has made me older than they know.

  -Giomanach

  "C'mon, last day before break," Mary K. coaxed, standing over my bed. She waved a warm Toaster Strudel under my nose. I sat up, patted Dagda, and then staggered unhappily to the shower.

  "Five minutes," Mary K. called in warning. Then I heard her say, "Come on, little guy. Auntie Mary K. will feed you." Her voice faded as the hot spray needled down my skin, making me feel semihuman.

  Downstairs, my sister handed me a Diet Coke. "Robbie called. His car won't start. We need to pick him up on the way." We headed out and detoured over to Robbie's house. He was waiting out front, leaning against his red Volkswagen. "Battery dead again?" I greeted him as he climbed into Das Boot's backseat.

  He nodded glumly. "Again." We drove on in companionable morning silence. At school Mary K. was met as usual by Bakker. "Young love," Robbie said dryly, watching them nuzzle. "Ugh," I said, turning off the engine. "Thanks for the ride," Robbie Page

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  said. Something in his voice made me turn and look at him. "So I kissed Bree on Monday,” he said. I sat back, taking my hand off the door handle. I had been so wrapped up in my own misery that I had forgotten to check in with Robbie about Bree. "Wow,: I said, examining his face. "I wondered what had happened. I, um, I saw her yesterday with Chip." Robbie nodded, scanning the school grounds through the car window. He said nothing, and I prompted him: “So?”

  He shrugged, his broad shoulders moving inside his army surplus parka. He gave a short laugh. "She let me kiss her. It blew my mind. She just laughed and seemed into it, and I thought, All right And then I came up for air and said that I loved her." He stopped.

  "And?" I practically screeched.

  "She wasn't into that. Dropped me like a stone. Practically pushed me out the door." He rubbed his forehead, as if he had a headache. Silently I offered him my soda, and he finished it off and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "Hmmm," I said. I didn't trust Bree anymore. Before, she might have done the same thing to Robbie, but now I couldn't help wondering how her involvement in Kithic had affected her actions.

  "Yeah. Hmmm."

  "But the making out worked?" I asked.

  "Worked fabulously. Hot, hot, hot." He couldn't help grinning at the memory. "Okay, I don't need to know," I said quickly. I took a minute to think. Was Bree capable of using Robbie for some dark purpose, or was she just toying with him in her usual way? I didn't know. I decided to take a chance.

  "Well, my advice to you is," I said, "just make out with her. Don't talk to her about your feelings. Not yet, anyway." He frowned. Outside the car, we saw Cal crunching toward us through the leftover snow, his breath puffing like a dragon's. As usual, my heart lurched when I saw him.

  "Hey, I love her. I don't want to use her like that" "No. My point is, let her use you like that." "Like a boy toy?" He sounded outraged, but I saw a fleeting interest cross his face.

  "Like someone who knocks her off her feet," I pointed out. "Someone who gives her something she can't get from Chip Newton or anyone else." Robbie stared at me. "You are ruthless." I heard admiration in his voice.

  "I want you to be happy," I said firmly. "I think, deep down, you want her to be happy, too," Robbie said, unfolding his long frame from the backseat "Hey, Cal," he said, before I could respond to his remark.

  Cal leaned into the open door. "Getting out anytime soon?" I looked at him. "How about you get in, we take off, and just keep driving until we run out of gas?" I checked my gauge. "Got a full tank." I was only half joking.

  When I glanced up, I was startled by the look in his eyes. "Don't tempt me," he said, his voice rough. For a long moment I hung there, suspended in time, pinned by the fierce look of desire and longing. I remembered how it had felt, making out on his bed, touching each other, and I shuddered. "Hey, Cal," said Ethan from the sidewalk, waving at us as he went into the building.

  Cal sighed. "Guess we better go in."

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak,

  Cal and I joined the other Cirrus members at the top of the basement stairs. “Talk about brutal weather," said Jenna as we walked up. She hugged her Nordic sweater closely around her, looking ethereal. I wondered how her asthma was lately and if I could use my tools to help her breathing. "It's not even officially winter yet. This is the third-coldest autumn on recor
d," Sharon complained, and snuggled closer to Ethan, who looked pleased. Hiding a smile, I sank down on a step, and Cal sat next to me and twined his hand through mine.

  "Oh, this is cozy," said Ravens voice. Her dark head appeared over the staircase, followed by another dark head: Matt's. He sat down on a step, the Page

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  picture of guilt, and she stood there smiling down at us, the Wicked Witch of the Northeast

  "Hi, Raven," said Cal, and she looked him up and down with her shining black eyes.

  "Hello, Cal," she drawled. "Having a coven meeting?" She didn't bother lowering her voice, and some students walking past glanced up, startled. And this was Bree's new best friend.

  "How's your coven going?" I heard myself ask. "Everything okay with Sky?"

  Raven's eyes focused on me. Her silver nose ring glinted, her full lips were painted a rich purple, and I was struck by her presence: she was bizarre and luxurious, silly and compelling at the same time. "Don't talk about Sky," Raven said. "She's a better witch than you'll ever be. You have no idea what you're up against." She stroked two fingers along Matt's smooth cheek, making him flinch, and walked off. "Well, that was fun," said Robbie when she was gone. "Matt, why don't you just join Kithic?" Jenna said abruptly, her jaw tight.

  Matt frowned, not raising his eyes. "I don't want to," he mumbled. "Okay, we only have a minute," said Cal, getting down to business. "We have a circle coming up this Saturday, our first in two weeks, and I have an assignment for you."

  "I'm sorry, Cal, I won't be here," said Sharon. "That's okay," he said. "I know you have plans with your family. Do these exercises on your own, and tell us about it the next time we see you. Now, one of the basic platforms of Wicca is self-knowledge. One of my teachers once said, 'Know yourself, and you know the universe,' and that may have been overstating it a bit, but not entirely." Jenna and Sharon nodded, and I saw Ethan gently massaging Sharon's shoulder.

  "I want you to work on self-imaging," Cal went on. "You're going to find your personal correspondences, your own . . . what's the word? I guess helpers or connectors sort of comes close. They're the things that speak to you, that feel like you, that awaken something in you. Objects or symbols that strengthen your connection to your own magick,"

  "Not following you here," said Robbie.

  "Sorry—let me give you some examples. Things like stones, the four elements, flowers, animals, herbs, seasons, foods," said Cal, ticking them off on his fingers. "My stone is a tigereye. I often use it in my rituals. My element is fire. My metal is gold. My personal rune is—a secret. My season is autumn. My sign is Gemini. My cloth is linen.” "And your car of choice is Ford," Robbie said, and Cat 1 laughed. "Right. No, seriously. Think especially about elements, stars, stones, seasons, and plants. Define yourselves, but don't limit yourselves. Don't force anything. If nothing speaks to you, don't worry about it. Just move on to something else. But explore your connection to earthly things and to unearthly things." Cal looked around at us. "Any questions?" "This is so cool," said Sharon.

  "I already know your correspondences," Ethan told her. "Your metal is gold, your stone is a diamond, your season is the post-Christmas sale season ... ouch!" he said as Sharon clipped him smartly on the head. He laughed and raised his hands to defend himself.

  "Very funny!" said Sharon, trying not to smile. "And your element is dirt, and your metal is lead, and your plant is marijuana!" "I don't smoke anymore!** Ethan protested. We were ail laughing, and I felt almost lighthearted in i way that I hadn't since Hunter—

  The first bell rang, and suddenly the halls were filled with students swarming to their homerooms. We gathered our various belongings and went our separate ways. And I wondered how much longer I could take this inner darkness. After the school bell rang at noon, I waited for Cal and Mary K. by the east entrance. It was snowing again. Footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned to see Raven and Bree heading toward the double doors. Bree's face hardened when she saw me.

  “so what are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?”I blinked in surprise as the words left my mouth. Two pairs of dark eyes locked in on me as if I were glowing like neon light.

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  “Um, well, gee,”Raven said. “I guess I'm celebrating a day of wonder and thankfulness in the arms of my loving family. How about you?” Since I knew her loving family consisted of a mother who had too many boyfriends and an older brother who was away in the army, I guessed she didn't have plans.

  I shrugged. “Family. Turkey. A pumpkin pie gone wrong. Keeping my cat off the dining-room table.”

  “You have a cat?”Bree asked, unable to help herself. She had a major weakness for cats.

  I nodded. “A gray kitten. He's incredibly adorable. Totally bad. Bad and adorable.

  “This is delightful”Raven sighed as Bree opened her mouth to speak, “but we really must be going. We have things to do and people to see.” “Sky?”I asked.

  “None of your business,”Raven said with a smirk. "None of your business," Raven said with a smirk. Bree was silent as they thumped down the stairs in their matching heavy boots.

  A second later Mary K. ran up to say she was going to Jaycee's and Mom had said it was okay, and then Cal came up and asked if I could come over and of course I wanted to. I called Unser's Auto Shop and canceled Das Boot's repair appointment Then I followed Cal to his house, where we could be alone. Cal's room was wonderful. It ran the whole length and breadth of the big house since it was the attic. Six dormer windows made cozy nooks, bookcases lined the walls, and he had his own fireplace and an outside staircase leading down to the back patio. His bed was wide and romantic looking, with white bed linens and a gauzy mosquito net looped out of the way. The dark wooden desk where he did his homework had rows of cream-colored candles lining its edge. I had never been in here without envying him this magickal space. "Want some tea?" he asked, gesturing to the electric kettle. I nodded, and we didn't speak, enjoying the silence and safety of his room. Two minutes later Cal put a cup of tea into my hand, and I adjusted its temperature and took a sip. "Mmm."

  Cal turned away and stood looking out the window. "Morgan," he said. "Forgive me."

  "For what?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "I lied to you," he said quietly, and my heart clutched in panic. "Oh?" I marveled at how calm my voice sounded. "About my clan." The words had almost no sound. My heart skipped a beat, and I stared at him. He turned to me, his beautiful golden eyes holding promises of love, of passion, of a shared future. And yet his words ...

  He took a sip of tea. The pale light from the window outlined the planes of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. I waited, and he came close to me, so that his shirt was almost brushing mine and I could see the fine texture of his skin.

  Cal turned toward the window again and pushed his fingers through his hair, holding it back from his left temple. I caught a glimpse of a birthmark there, beneath the hair. I reached up and traced its outline with my fingers. It was a dark red athame, just like the one I had under my arm. The mark of the Woodbane clan.

  "Hunter was right," Cal went on, his voice low. "I am Woodbane. And I've always known it."

  I needed to sit down. I had been so upset when I first found out about my heritage, and Cal had said it wasn't so terrible. Now I saw why. I put down my tea and walked across the room to the futon couch. I sank onto it and he came to kneel at my side.

  "My father was Woodbane, and so is my mother," he said, looking more uncomfortable than I'd ever seen him. 'They're not the Belwicket kind of Woodbanes, where everyone renounces evil and swears to do good." He shrugged, not looking at me. "There's another kind of Woodbane, who practices magick traditionally, I mean traditionally for their clan. For Woodbanes that means not being so picky about how you get your knowledge and why you use your power. Traditional Woodbanes don't subscribe to the council's edict that witches never interfere with humans. They figure, humans interfere with us, we all live in the sa
me world, not two separate universes, so they're going to use their powers to take care of problems they might have with humans, or to protect themselves, or Page

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  to get what they need...."

  I was unable to take my eyes off his face. "After my dad married my mother, I think they started to go different ways, magickally," Cal continued. "Mom has always been very powerful and ambitious, and I think my father disagreed with some of the things she was doing"

  "Like what?" I asked, a little shocked. He waved an impatient hand. "You know, taking too many risks. Anyway, then my dad met Fiona, his second wife. Fiona was a Wyndenkell. I don't know if he wanted a Wyndenkell alliance or he just loved her more. But either way, he left my mother."

  I was finally getting some answers. "But if Hunter was right and your father was also his father, then wasn't he half Woodbane himself?" This sounded like some awful soap opera. The Young and the Wiccan. "That's the thing," said Cal. "Of course he was. So it made no sense for him to persecute Woodbanes. But he seemed to have a thing about them, like Mom said. An obsession. I wondered if he blamed my father—our father— for what happened to his parents and their coven, for some reason, and so decided to get all Woodbanes. Who knows? He was unhinged." "So you're Woodbane," I said, still trying to take all in. "Yes," he admitted.

  "Why didn't you tell me before? I was hysterical about being Woodbane." "I know," he said, sighing. "I should have. But Belwicket was a different kind of Woodbane, a completely good Woodbane, above reproach. I wasn't sure you would understand my family's heritage. I mean, it isn't like they're all evil. They don't worship demons or anything like that It's just—they do what they want to do. They don't always follow rules." "Why are you telling me now?"

  At last he looked at me, and I felt the pull of his gaze. "Because I love you. I trust you. I don't want any secrets to come between us. And—" The door to his room suddenly flew open. I jumped about a foot in the air. Selene stood there, dressed beautifully in a dark gold sweater and tweed pants.