by Cate Tiernan
I put my fingers to my left temple and rubbed it. “I’m sorry—” I began.
“Not good enough,” my mom snapped. “What is going on, Morgan?”
I didn’t know how to answer her. I just stood there, a lump in the living room.
My mom threw her hands up. “What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “What? You knew that family night was important to me—yet not only did you blow it off, you didn’t even phone to tell me you weren’t coming.” She pushed herself off the couch and faced me. “Tell me how to get through to you, Morgan,” she said. “What’s left?”
I didn’t know what to tell her. There was no way I could make her understand what had happened tonight, and I didn’t really even want her to know. The accident at the library, the reining of my powers—it was too scary for me to deal with, never mind my mom. “I don’t know,” I mumbled.
“Well, that makes two of us.” My mom sighed, then said, “I’m sorry, but I just can’t take much more of this. I’ve tried reaching out to you; now I’m going to try punishing you. You’re grounded.”
I opened my mouth to protest but thought better of it. She was right.
“Okay,” I said.
“I mean it, Morgan,” she went on. “No phone, no television, no going out—nothing but schoolwork for the next two weeks.”
I closed my eyes. I still felt thoroughly awful. “Okay.”
“Look at me,” my mom said, so I opened my eyes. “I love you,” she said. Her voice wasn’t sentimental—she was just stating a fact. “And I don’t understand what’s going on. But whatever it is, I’m not going to let it take my daughter away from me, is that clear?”
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. There was a beat of silence.
“I’m finished,” my mom said finally. “For now.”
I turned to go upstairs but stopped suddenly. “Mom?”
“Yes?” She sounded tired.
“I really am sorry,” I said. The words hung there a moment, but she didn’t reply. I trudged toward the stairs. Every muscle in my body—every fiber—ached. My head was pounding, and my heart was heavy. I pictured Hunter in my mind, tried to visualize the look he had given me just before I left. Only this time, instead of making me feel better, it made me feel worse. I wanted to call him. I needed to hear his voice. But now it was impossible—I was grounded.
I lay on my bed, and the pain in my head dulled a little. I wondered about the limits of my magick now that I was reined. Erin had said that I would still be able to do some small spells. Could I send him a witch message? I wondered. I decided to give it a try. Hunter, I thought, Hunter. I need you.
I felt echoing emptiness inside me and knew it wasn’t working. But I tried again, anyway. And again. And again. Even though there was no reply, I didn’t give up. I couldn’t.
I didn’t know what else to do.
9. Fear
I passed Bree in the hall today. I said hello, but she didn’t hear me.
At least, I think she didn’t hear me. She looked kind of preoccupied, but maybe that was just an act so that she could pretend not to notice me. I’m sure Morgan told her about my quitting Kithic.
I haven’t missed a circle yet, but already there are so many things I miss about the coven. I miss the energy I felt from being part of the circle. I miss the feeling when a circle goes well and you feel like there’s a greater power in the room with you. Like everyone’s energy has combined and formed this force that’s more powerful than the sum of its parts. I miss feeling like I have a family.
Well, whatever—who cares? I’m not in the coven anymore. What they do is their own problem. I’m not going to try to warn anyone about anything—I’m staying out of it. From now on, this is just a journal, not a Book of Shadows. And I’m just a high school sophomore, not a witch in training.
I would have made a terrible witch, anyway. I don’t have the stomach for it.
— Alisa
“Morgan, what is that?” Jenna asked, peering at the bowl of steaming hot something I’d gotten from the cafeteria. It was lunch period the next day, and I was sitting with Sharon, Raven, Jenna, Matt, Bree, Robbie, and Ethan. Lately I’d been spending almost all of my lunch periods in the library in a desperate attempt to pull my grades up, but today I simply felt too sick to concentrate on anything. I looked around at the familiar faces. If my grades didn’t improve, I might be eating lunch at an entirely different school soon.
“Chili,” I said. “I think.”
“Isn’t that the same stuff they served Monday?” Matt asked.
I gave him a wry half smile, but Bree let out a silky laugh. Matt grinned at her. Jenna glanced up and gave me a wary look across the table. What was Bree up to?
“You have to give the school credit on their food-recycling program,” Raven said. “No one can bear to eat it, but no one can bear to let it go to waste.”
Robbie was sitting next to me on one side of the table with Jenna. Sharon and Ethan were on the other, and Matt was at one of the short ends, sandwiched between Bree and Raven. He looked like he was in heaven. Bree and Robbie, on the other hand, hadn’t exchanged a single word during lunch, and now Robbie was staring down at his sandwich as if he thought he could make it disintegrate with the power of his mind.
“So is everybody going to make it this Saturday?” Sharon asked. Kithic was holding its circle at her house.
“I can’t go,” I said, feeling even gloomier. “I’m grounded.”
“Grounded? What did you do?” Ethan asked, pushing curly hair out of his eyes. “Anything good?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Morgan isn’t much good at being bad.” Bree gave Matt a flirtatious little smile. “Unlike some people.”
“Hmmm,” Raven said smoothly. “Tell us about that, Bree.”
Bree ignored her, still looking at Matt, who was grinning like an idiot. I narrowed my eyes at Bree. What did she think she was doing?
Robbie stood up. “I’ve gotta head to the library,” he said to nobody in particular. “See you guys later.” He grabbed his tray and walked off.
I caught Bree’s eye and frowned at her. She made a face at me. “I’ll be right back,” I said, pushing my chair away from the table.
Robbie was halfway down the hall by the time I caught up with him. “Robbie, wait,” I said, catching his arm. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes were filled with anger. “I guess I just didn’t feel like sitting around and watching Bree hit on someone else. Call me crazy.”
I folded my arms across my chest and cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you guys were broken up.”
Robbie looked shocked. I knew it, I thought.
“That’s what Bree told me, anyway,” I went on. “She said you dumped her.”
Robbie’s eyes were wide. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.
I shrugged. “Isn’t that what happened?”
“No,” he insisted. “No way!” He looked confused and worried. “I just told Bree that I thought we needed some space. We’ve been spending all our time together lately, and. . well. . I’ve gotten these weird vibes from Bree. Like she’s feeling kind of. .”
“Possessive?” I finished for him.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “So I tried to talk to her about it. I mean, look, personally I’d love to spend all my time with Bree. But it seemed sort of weird for her. Don’t forget that I’ve known Bree a long time.”
“As long as I have.”
“Exactly,” Robbie agreed. “And we both know she gets bored easily with guys, and then she moves on. Right?”
“Mmm.” Dead right.
“So I thought I’d be clever and suggest more space,” Robbie explained, “and she’s been avoiding me ever since. I thought she was just taking me up on my offer.” He bit his lip. “God, Morgan, have I totally screwed up?”
“I don’t think it’s your fault, but the situation is definitely screwed up,” I said. “You have to talk to her. Now.”
“What should I say?”
“Just tell her that this is all a big misunderstanding, which it is,” I said. “Look, Robbie, you and I both know that underneath it all, Bree is actually insecure in a weird way, right?”
“About some things,” he admitted.
“About this thing,” I said. “This has just gotten blown out of proportion because she actually cares about you. A lot. And she doesn’t know how to deal.”
Robbie looked dubious. “You think?”
“I know it,” I told him. I didn’t think it was betraying a confidence to say that much. “So you’ll talk to her?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. He started to turn back toward the lunch-room, but the bell rang. “Damn,” he said, checking his watch.
“Do it after school,” I said as people began trickling into the hall. “Don’t wait.”
“Thanks, Morgan.” Robbie reached out and drew me into a hug. I felt glad that I’d finally butted in. My head was still throbbing, but it was good to know that I’d done at least one thing right.
I was halfway through my first problem set when the doorbell rang. “Mary K., can you get that?” I shouted. My head was still splitting, even after I’d taken four Advil. Mary K. didn’t reply. Not surprising. She was playing the radio at top volume in her room. I had expected her to be at cheerleading practice, but it had been canceled at the last minute. Now she was upstairs “studying” with her new best friend, Alisa. They were in the same French class.
With a sigh, I hauled myself up from the dining room table and trudged to the door, figuring it was probably someone from Greenpeace or another member of the Mary K. fan club. The latter was more likely.
I looked through the peephole and sucked in my breath. Erin! I’d completely forgotten we were supposed to meet to go over what I’d read about witch history. Crap. And now I had to answer the door. She was a witch, after all—she knew I was here.
“Hello, Morgan,” she said. Her dark red hair was pulled into a braid, and she was carrying a backpack. In blue jeans and a peacoat, she looked more like a Vassar student than a forty-seven-year-old witch.
“Hi,” I said, looking nervously behind her. My mom and dad weren’t due home for a couple of hours, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I wasn’t supposed to have any visitors, and I knew that if they caught me with Erin, I was toast.
Erin cocked an eyebrow. “May I come in?” she asked.
“Actually. . ” I said, pulling the door closed behind me. “I’ve sort of been grounded. For coming home late. I’m not supposed to have any visitors. I’m just supposed to go to school and come home—no TV, no phone, nothing.”
“I see.” Erin’s face was a neutral blank. “And how long is this going to last?”
I grimaced. “Two weeks.”
“I see,” Erin said again. We stood there, staring at each other for a few moments. She made no move to leave.
I cleared my throat. “So you see, I’m not supposed to have any visitors,” I began again. “Um, my parents are actually thinking about sending me to a Catholic school. So I’m trying to pull my grades up. They might change their minds.”
“Yes, I can appreciate that,” Erin replied. “But the fact is, Morgan, that I’m only going to be here for a short time. Do you take my meaning?”
I wavered. Erin was right. I was having a rough time family-wise, but she’d come all the way from Scotland and so far hadn’t had much of a chance to teach me anything. Something always seemed to get in the way. If I didn’t let her in today, her entire trip would be pretty much of a wash.
“I brought you some more books,” Erin said, pulling off her backpack. “A few from my own collection on Irish witches in the medieval period.”
“Well,” I said slowly, “I am writing a paper on the persecution of witches.”
“Then it’s a school project, isn’t it?” Erin blinked at me innocently.
That did it. “Come in,” I said quickly, leading her into the front hall. “But my sister is home, so we’ll have to be careful.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I won’t make a peep,” Erin promised. Then she cast a quick see-me-not spell so that Mary K. wouldn’t see or hear her as she slipped up the stairs. Not that there was much danger of that, considering the volume of the music pulsing from Mary K.’s room.
“Sorry it’s such a mess,” I said as I brushed a pile of clothes from my bed to the floor. Dagda, my gray kitten, had been sleeping at the foot of the bed. He stretched and mewed a mild complaint. Erin walked over to him and scratched him under the chin.
“He’s a cute one,” she said as Dagda stretched his neck and purred contentedly.
I smiled. Dagda had grown quite a bit since I’d first gotten him. Now he was looking like a lanky teenager of a cat, with gangly legs and paws that seemed enormous in proportion to the rest of him. Lately he spent all of his time either sleeping or dashing around the house madly—usually in the middle of the night.
Erin dropped her backpack and turned to look at me. “Have you finished Legacies of the Great Clans?” she asked.
I groaned. “Not even half of it,” I admitted.
Erin studied my face a moment. “How are you feeling?”
“Like crap,” I said bluntly. “I’ve got a headache that I can’t get rid of.” I ran my thumb along the ridge of my right eye.
“A stabbing pain?” she asked. “Like a knife to the skull?”
That was exactly what it felt like. “Pretty much,” I agreed.
“And your breathing is a little tight? Your chest is heavy?” Erin suggested.
I nodded. “Is that normal?” I asked.
“Unfortunately.” Erin took my wrist and felt for my pulse. She seemed to think for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry, Morgan. I know this isn’t easy for you.”
It was strange. I had gotten so used to magick flowing through me that right now I was feeling like a clogged drain—something less than useless. I remembered when I had first met Cal and my magick had begun to reveal itself. I’d felt frightened and off-kilter. Now I just felt. . hollow.
“Before we begin, I think we should do a little meditation, ” Erin went on. “It should clear your head and make the pain recede.”
I went and dug my altar out of my closet. Erin lit the candle and the incense, and I drew a circle on the floor and turned out the overhead light. It was gray and cloudy outside, so the room was fairly dark. Dagda stalked over to the altar to investigate, sniffed everything, then dashed away at top speed. I opened the door and let him out, then sat on the floor, facing Erin, my back to the bathroom that connected my room with Mary K.’s.
Erin reached out and took my hands in hers. Her fingers were cool and smooth, and the minute we touched, I felt strength and comfort flowing from her. We didn’t speak, but soon I felt magick pulsing through the room.
Clear your mind. I heard the words although Erin hadn’t spoken. I closed my eyes and tried to reach out. An image flashed in my brain—Erin standing before me in a yellow field, wearing a brilliant blue dress made of a delicate fabric, embroidered with symbols older than any I knew. Let go of the pain. Erin reached out to me, and the fabric of her ancient dress rustled in the breeze.
At her touch, the stabbing pain in my forehead dulled a bit. My head was still throbbing, but it was a muted ache. My chest lifted, and I took a deep breath of clean air. I felt infinitely better.
I smiled at her, and she smiled back.
Just then I felt something slam me in the back. I let out a startled cry and heard someone shriek behind me. I opened my eyes to see Erin falling away from me. Everything, the floor, the altar, everything was falling away. Erin’s grip tightened on my hands, and my arm muscles tensed as I tried desperately not to let go. For a dizzy moment I expected Erin to shout at me not to let her drop.
“Oh my God!” the person behind me screamed. I turned and saw it was Alisa. Her face was white and covered in a light film of sweat. She looked confused, like she wa
sn’t quite sure where she was. But something about her orientation was wrong. She was standing, supporting herself against the door frame to the bathroom. And I was sitting, yet my face was almost level with hers.
“Oh my God!” she screamed again, her eyes wide with horror. That was when I understood what was happening. I was levitating.
My heart clenched in a cold fist of fear. I was going to fall! I flailed with my legs but only succeeded in kicking the bathroom door shut. My hair fell forward over my shoulders. “Don’t let go!” I screamed to Erin. “Don’t let go of me!” In my panic I pictured myself flattened against the ceiling of my room, crushed by the weight of reverse gravity.
Erin closed her eyes and made a low humming noise at the back of her throat. I felt myself sinking slowly, an inch, then another, toward the floor.
Alisa’s face was greenish white. She backed away from me, then ran toward the door that led into the hall. I heard her footsteps thudding on the stairs and saw a gray streak as Dagda dashed after her.
“What’s going on?” I heard Mary K. shout. Somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that her music wasn’t playing anymore.
I got lower, and lower. . Finally I was only a few inches off the floor. All at once I dropped onto my jute rug in a sprawling heap.
I looked up at Erin. “That wasn’t me,” I said.
“I know,” she said. I looked at her closely and realized that she was afraid.
I heard Mary K.’s footsteps on the stairs, then the front door slamming. All at once there was a squeal of tires and a piercing scream.
Mary K.! I scrambled to my feet and nearly flew down the stairs, Erin right behind me. I dashed out onto the muddy front lawn and came to a stop by Mary K., who was standing perfectly still in the middle of the front walk, her hand covering her mouth. Alisa’s dark form was retreating down the street—she was running home, I guessed. But that wasn’t what Mary K. was looking at. I followed her gaze and saw that she was staring at a car that had stopped in front of our house. The door opened, and a heavyset woman rushed out and peered at something next to her front fender.
