by Cate Tiernan
Sweep book 5 Awakening.txt
about Cal, I found more—new and deeper layers of deception on his part, blindness on mine.
"He pitted us against each other. He used us both," Bree said. I nodded, unable to speak, seeing more layers falling away. But as I stood there, trying to process it all, it occurred to me that even if Bree was right about Cal, no one had I forced her to do the cruel things she'd done to me. Maybe i things were mending between us, but they could never go . back to what they had once been. We'd never trust each other the way we used to. I felt incredibly sad.
"What happened to David?" Bree said, pulling my attention back to the room.
"What?" I asked.
She nodded toward the counter. David was dipping a carrot stick into some hummus. His left hand was wrapped in a white gauze bandage. "I don't know," I said. "Let's go find out." Before I could move, Mary K. emerged from the back room and, to my astonishment walked up onto the platform and took the mike. "Excuse me. Could I have everyone's attention, please?" she said. When the room was quiet, she announced with a huge grin, "I'm pleased to introduce The Fianna!" Practical Magick erupted into applause as The Fianna made their way onto the stage. They were four skinny young guys and a wisp of a girl with short red hair. She launched into an a cappella verse in a voice that was positively haunting. It reminded me of Hunter's voice when he sang the chant in our circle, a voice drawn out of the world of our ancestors, a pure, shimmering thread that connected us to the past.
I jumped when I heard Hunter's voice behind me. "I need to talk to you," he said quietly.
Bree gave me a questioning look and then moved to rejoin Sky across the room.
"Not here," Hunter said. Taking my elbow, he led me through the crowded room and out the door.
"It's freezing out here," I complained, crossing my arms over my nonexistent chest. "And I want to hear The Fianna." "Morbid Irish ballads later," he said. "Believe me, there are plenty more where those came from." He opened the door to Sky's green car. "Get in." I ducked into the passenger seat, muttering, "Do you always have to order me around?"
He grinned. "It's the cold," he said. "Don't have time for the niceties. Don't want you freezing in that pretty outfit" He shut my door, then climbed into the driver's seat
Flustered at hearing the word pretty come out of his mouth in reference to me, I sat there in silence.
He turned on the heat then rubbed his hands to warm them up. "I went to that field. Where you thought the first dark presence might have been." "Wh-what did you find out?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear his answer. He shook his head. "I don't think it was Selene." "Really?" My heart returned to its normal rhythm. But then it sped up again as I asked, "But then who? What?" Hunter let out a sigh. "That's just it. I'm not entirely sure. There was a dark ritual performed there—you were right about that." He gave me a quick glance. I knew my abilities as a beginning witch still surprised him. "But the traces I found of the ritual suggested to me that whoever performed it was someone who had to work quite hard to conjure power." "What kind of traces?" I was fascinated in spite of myself. "Blood, among other things," Hunter said, and I gasped. "One of the ways to summon a dark spirit is with a blood offering. But that isn't something Selene would need to do."
I shut my eyes. "Do you think it was Cal?" I asked in a low voice. "It could be. But why he'd do work like that without Selene ... well, it just doesn't add up."
I felt a tiny flicker of hope. Maybe Cal had left Selene. Maybe he was on his own because he'd come back to be with me. I doused that flame by reminding myself that it had been dark magick that I had felt, which would mean that Cal would still be incredibly dangerous. I shivered, and it wasn't with cold. "If it's not Cal and Selene, who could it be? Who would perform a dark magick ritual?" I asked. I glanced at the door to Practical Magick, wondering if the wayward witch was inside. Among us. And what he or she would do next.
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Hunter didn't respond. He looked straight ahead. "What?" I demanded, a prickle of foreboding making the hairs on my arms stand up. "What aren't you telling me?" I was so sick of secrets and lies that my voice was louder than I had planned.
Hunter's jaw tightened, then he turned to face me. "You won't like this. I don't, either. But hasn't it occurred to you that Practical Magick was saved just in the nick of time? Don't you find it convenient that Stuart Afton has forgiven this huge debt, out of the blue?" I stared at him. "Alyce said the guy had a windfall," I explained. "If I suddenly came into lots of money, I'd be generous, too." Hunter smirked at me. "You, clearly, are not a businessman." "It's not possible," I snapped. "Are you really suggesting that David and Alyce used some kind of dark magick to get Stuart Afton to cancel the debt?" "Not necessarily Alyce," Hunter said. "But David, yes—I think it's possible. Did you notice the bandage on his hand?" "What about it?" I asked, nonplussed.
"Remember the blood I found in the field?" "Huh?" At first I didn't understand what he was trying to say. But then I got it, and it was so absurd, I let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, please. Are you saying David hurt his hand making a blood offering to a dark spirit? Come on! There are a dozen other ways he could have hurt himself. Did you even ask him about it?"
"Not yet," Hunter admitted.
"I can't believe you're thinking this way," I said. "I mean, we know Cal and Selene use dark magick, and we know the magick was done in a place Cal used to go to. Why are you even bringing David into it? Why do you have to be suspicious about everything?" I was starting to get worked up again. "Why can't good news just be good news?"
Hunter was silent. The door to Practical Magick opened as a couple entered, and the singer's voice drifted into the night. She was singing a joyful song of coming spring, and I was suddenly impatient to share in that pleasure, not sit out here listening to Hunter's ridiculous theories. I flung open the car door and hurried back inside.
The Fianna played for almost an hour, and practically everyone in the room danced. Mary K. even tugged me out onto the floor for a song. I ignored Hunter as best I could and noticed he left early. After another hour or so, people began to filter out I Mary K. and I got our coats. As she went to say good night to the band, David joined me at the cider table.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.
I nodded and gave him a smile. "What happened to your • hand?" I asked. David shrugged. "My knife slipped as I was trimming pine boughs." Ha, I thought. Wait until I tell Hunter. So much for his suspicions. Mary K. returned, proudly displaying her autographed Fianna CD. "I can't wait until Jaycee gets a load of this," she declared as we headed for the car. "So now do you believe that all Wiccans aren't evil and weird?" I asked Mary K. "I'll say one thing for them," she answered. "They know how to throw a party. I still can't believe I met The Fianna!" She clutched the CD to her chest As I kicked Das Boot into gear, she went on. "It's just that . . . well, Wicca isn't my way. And the fact that the church is against it doesn't help," she added more quietly. Mary K. wasn't as religious as Mom or our aunt Maureen, but she did basically believe in what Catholicism taught. "I have to say I was never totally comfortable in there."
I nodded. I'd already pretty much known that my sister felt like this. But to hear it confirmed so baldly was painful. So that was it, | thought. The essence of my identity, the core of who | wass the very thing that created an unbridgeable gap between me and my family. We drove the rest of the way home in silence. Page
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11. Hunted
July, In Milan now. A close escape. It was my scrying. I think, that alerted the evil to our presence in Bordeaux.
First I sought our children and found then, as I had prayed they would be, safe with Beck. Then I asked my quartz to help me see our coven, and I saw. Oh, Goddess.
I saw the utter devastation of our town, the swathe of burnt houses, charred cars, blackened tree trunks whose branches seemed to claw at the sky in their agony... Nothing, it seemed, was spared.
Nothing except our house. It stood there, the mellow brick darkened by a pall of ask but otherwise untouched. Then, from our bedroom, I heard Fiona screaming. I ran in and found her sitting upright in bed, her eyes wild. “It's coming.” she cried. “It's found us. We have to go!”
She's calling me. More later.
-Maghach
My dad was in the kitchen when I came down the next morning, wearing his usual winter outfit of khakis, button-down shirt, and knit vest. He was peeling potatoes for dinner, then dropping them into a bowl of ice water. My dad has a thing about preparing far in advance.
"Your cat would like you to feed him," my dad greeted me. Sure enough, Dagda was sitting on the floor next to his bowl, looking up with a hopeful expression. He wound himself around my ankles, arching his little back against my hand. I bent and picked up the dish. "How was the party?" my dad asked as I spooned canned food into Dagda's bowl.
"Okay," I replied. Disturbing, I added silently. I went to the fridge and scanned for food.
"Morgan, don't just stand there with the door open," he admonished me. "Sorry,*' I said. I grabbed a box of waffles and shut the fridge. As I crossed to the toaster, I noticed the local newspaper on one of the kitchen chairs. It was open to the business section, which my father reads religiously. "Dad," I said, "have you ever heard of a guy named Stuart Afton?" "You mean the cement-and-gravel tycoon?" Dad asked. "He's a tycoon?" Dad paused. "Maybe not exactly. But he is a big player in the local building supplies industry. I've heard he's kind of ruthless, like a strong-arm guy."
"Hmmm." I had to admit that Afton didn't sound like the kind of person to forgive a debt. No, I told myself, rummaging for syrup, people can surprise you. Maybe Afton is tough on the outside but a softie on the inside. I pushed aside the thought that came after that: that David could also surprise me and that Hunter could be right.
Get your mind off it, I ordered myself. "Where are Mom and Mary K.?" I asked Dad.
"They went to church early to help with the Christmas clothing drive." He wiped his hand on a dish towel. "We're meeting them there for mass." I brought my waffle over to the table and fiddled with my fork. "Um, I have a lot of studying to do," I said at last. "Is it all right if I skip church?"Behind his tortoiseshell glasses, Dad's eyes were troubled, i suppose so," he said after a moment.
“Thanks." I put a big bite of waffle into my mouth so I didn't have to Page
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say anything else. Since discovering Wicca, my relationship to Catholicism was changing, like everything else in my life. Though I still found the services beautiful, they didn't speak to me in the way they once had. I was pleased, though, that my parents were at a point where they accepted my ambivalence, despite the worry it caused them.
I spent most of the rest of the day tucked away in my room, studying the books Hunter had lent me. I copied spells and lessons into my Book of Shadows and even, feeling a little silly, made myself a set of rune flash cards. I wasn't going to leave Hunter any room to reprimand me for being lax in my studies.As if he'd heard me thinking, Hunter called to suggest that I come over Tuesday afternoon for some more lessons. I couldn't think of a legitimate excuse, so I agreed.
That night I had trouble sleeping again. I was troubled by Hunter's suggestion that dark magick had anything to do with Stuart Alton's change of heart regarding Practical Magick. I couldn't believe that David would be involved in anything like that. How would I know for sure? it wasn't as if I could just go up to him and ask him.
I could scry, I realized. Maybe I'd find the proof I needed for Hunter to back off on this crazy idea. I hated that he could make me suspicious of my friends.I peered out into the hallway. The light in my parents' room was out and so was Mary K.'s. Quietly I took the candle from the altar in my closet, set it on my desk, and lit it
I stared into the flame, burning bright yellow with streaks of orange and blue. It seemed so insignificant One breath could annihilate it. When I'd scryed before, I'd done it with a full, blazing fire, but in theory there was no reason why a candle shouldn't work just as well. Fire was fire, wasn't it? And right now the thought of any fire greater than this one made me shudder. I closed my eyes and began to clear my mind. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out I was aware of my pulse slowing, my muscles relaxing, the tiny fibers smoothing themselves into shining ribbons. Fire, help me to see the truth. I am ready to see what you know, I thought and opened my eyes.
The small flame of the candle had blazed up into a molten, white-hot teardrop. From its brilliant center, a face gazed back at me: a familiar nose and mouth, smooth skin, dark, thick hair, and golden eyes. That isn't David, I thought stupidly.
I stared, frozen, as Cal's image floated before me. His lips moved, and then I heard his voice.
"Morgan, I'm sorry. I love you. I'll love you forever. We're soul mates." "No," I breathed, feeling my heart implode. It wasn't true. We weren't destined to be together. I knew that now. "Morgan, forgive me. I love you. Please, Morgan ..." The last word was a whisper, and I struck out blindly with my hand and brought it down on the candle flame. There was a hiss and a faint, charring smell. And I was alone in the darkness.
12. Ugly
July, I thought Fiona was delirious from the fever, but her terror was so Page
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intense that I ened up bundling her up and putting her into Leandre's car. I chose a direction at random: easst. We had driven for less than an hour when Fiona let out a cry. “Leandre!” She grasped my arm. “I can feel him dying.” I pulled up at the first little village bisto I could find and rushed in to phone Leandre, but I couldn't get though. Not until late that night did we find out that his farm had been consumed by a mysterious wildfire. He and all his family had been trapped in their house. “It was the dark wave.” Fiona whispered, shuddering. “It's hunting for us.”
Without discussing it, we got back into the car and continued east, fleeting across France. As I drove though the clear summer night, I kept remembering something Selene had said shortly before I left her the first time. She'd come back from a meeting with her Woodbane friends, the ones I feared, and once again she'd been in an oddly frenetic state, as if she had so much evergy within her that she must keep moving or catch fire. I asked her what they'd done. “Watched the wave,” she said with a strange, sharp laugh. Of course, I though she meant waves: we lived on the Pacific coast. But now, as I drove, I wondered if she'd meant something else altogether. Did Selene have something to do with sending the dark wave? Is she taking her revenge at last?
-Maghach
I don't know how long I sat there, shaking, too shocked even to cry. Goddess, help me, I thought desperately. Cal. Oh, Cal. Tears began to rain down my cheeks, scalding and salty. I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked back and forth, keening quietly, trying to smother the sound. My palm throbbed where I'd crushed the candle flame, and as I sat there, the pain seemed to spread until my whole body was one pulsing, raw wound.
After a while Dagda mewed and tapped me tentatively with one paw. I looked at him numbly.
At some point my brain began to work again. How had that happened? How had Cal gotten into my vision? Was it his dark magick? Or had I summoned him somehow—had my own subconscious betrayed me? He'd said he still loved me. He'd said he'd love me forever. Wasn't that truth I'd heard in his voice?
I gasped and squeezed my head between my hands. "Stop I it Stop it!" I muttered.
I sat there for another few minutes. Then I forced myself to climb into bed. Dagda sprang up and curled himself into a ball on my stomach. I lay there, staring blindly at the ceiling as tears ran down the sides of my face to soak my pillow.
I went through school the next day like an automaton. The burn on my palm had swelled into a shiny blister that burst halfway through the day. It hurt to write, so I just sat in class, not bothering to take notes. Not that my notes would have been much good, anyway. For all I got, my teachers might as well have been speaking Swahili. A
ll I could think was: Cal. He had spoken to me.
What did it mean? Did he still hope to convince me to join him and Selene? Or was this some cruel plan to make me go crazy? If that was it, it was working. I'd never experienced such a horrible mixture of longing and revulsion. I felt like I was going to split apart.
When I got home from school, I had a message from Bob Unser, saying that Das Boot's parts had come in and asking me to drop off the car tomorrow morning. I could pick it up again on Wednesday morning, he said. Perfect, I thought. I couldn't possibly go to Hunter's on Tuesday since I wouldn't have transportation. I knew I was being incredibly stupid, not telling him about seeing Cal, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't share it, especially with him. Not yet, anyway.
I shot off an e-mail to Hunter, saying I had to cancel tomorrow because I would be vehicularly challenged. I also told him what David had told me about how he hurt his hand.
Then I sat at the kitchen table, drumming my fingers on the Formica surface. I had to do something to distract myself. I knew Aunt Eileen and Paula were moving in all week; some manual labor would be just what the doctor ordered. So I set off for Taunton.
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Taunton was a smaller town than either Widow's Vale or Red Kill. Both Widow's Vale and Red Kill had had their town centers "revitalized," but Taunton was more mainstream America. There were the usual strip malls with the predictable fast-food joints, auto supply places, megastores, and video and drugstore chains.
Eileen and Paula's neighborhood was older. Although each house was different, they fit together harmoniously. Huge old trees shaded the lawns and arched out over the center of the street. The neighborhood had a nice, settled feel to it.
Paula and Eileen's house was at the very end of the street I wanted to surprise them, so I parked at the other end of the block. I started walking. As I got closer to the end of the block, I saw three teenage boys standing in front of one of the houses. Two of them wore parkas with shiny reflective tape on the seams. The third wore a loose camouflage jacket over camouflage pants. At first I thought they were having a snowball fight with some other kids I couldn't see; then I realized that they were throwing rocks at Paula and Eileen's house. My mouth dropped open, and I froze in my tracks. "Queer!" one of them shouted.
