by Isobel Bird
“What’s her name?” Cooper asked impatiently.
“Siobhan,” answered Jane.
“Oh, an Irish girl,” said Cooper. “Sounds cute. Is she?”
Jane blushed even more. “I guess,” she said.
“Are you going to make me pull every single detail out of you?” Cooper demanded. “Fine. We’ll start with her hair. What color is it?”
“Red,” Jane said, then said, “brown. Well, reddish brown.”
“Long or short? Her hair, I mean.”
“Short.”
“Eyes?”
“Greenish.”
“Height?”
“A little shorter than me.”
“Piercings?”
“Just ears.”
“Tattoos?”
“No.”
“Favorite band?”
“Eve 6.”
“Good kisser?”
“Ye— Hey!”
“Got you!” Cooper howled in triumph. “So you’ve kissed her. Way to go.”
Jane covered her face with her hands. “It was just once!” she wailed as Cooper hooted with laughter. “Okay, twice.”
“Jane has a girlfriend,” Cooper said in a singsong voice.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” said Jane emphatically. “We’re just hanging out.”
“Well, when are you going to bring her around to hang out with the rest of us?” asked Cooper.
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Jane doubtfully. “I don’t know if she’s ready for that.”
“She’s not out?” asked Cooper, sounding sympathetic.
“Oh, she’s out,” Jane said. “I just don’t know if I want to expose her to the evil influence of you and the rest of the gang.”
“Ha ha,” Cooper said. “Seriously, are we going to meet her?”
“Maybe,” said Jane. “I’m thinking of asking her to come hear us play on Friday. But you guys have to promise to behave yourselves.”
“Us?” Cooper said, sounding shocked. “What would we do?”
“Who knows?” answered Jane. “Pretty much anything.”
Cooper held her hand over her heart. “I swear, we’ll be perfect angels,” she said. Then she grinned. “Well, mostly.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the other side of mostly that I’m worried about,” Jane said. “I told my parents about her,” she added more seriously.
“Get out,” exclaimed Cooper. “And?”
“And not much,” said Jane. “They just sort of nodded and smiled. I think we’ve entered the ‘If we don’t say too much maybe she’ll forget she’s gay’ phase of their acceptance. They did the same thing when I told them I wanted a pony.”
“Well, I’m really proud of you for telling them,” said Cooper.
“Thanks, Mom,” Jane said.
“Seriously,” Cooper told her. “It’s a big deal. Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about not communicating with parents, you did good.”
“I know,” Jane said. “And it does feel good. I feel like for the first time in my life I’m really expressing who I am. It’s so nice not to feel trapped anymore.” She paused. “Siobhan comes from such a different situation,” she said. “Her dad is gay, so she had someone to talk to about it. Not that her mom was exactly wild about the idea, but at least she’d been through it all before with Siobhan’s dad. Now she calls him her dress rehearsal.”
“I don’t think anyone really gets an easy deal,” Cooper told her. “It’s just that some people’s lives look easier from the outside. We all have our own stuff to deal with.”
“Speaking of dealing with stuff, how are you about the whole initiation thing these days?” Jane asked her.
“I think I feel about that the way your parents felt about the pony,” Cooper answered. “The less I talk about it, the more I can pretend it’s not there.”
“Sorry,” said Jane. “I didn’t mean to remind you. It’s just that I sort of had an idea about it.”
Cooper hesitated. She really didn’t want to talk about the initiation nightmare anymore. But Jane had been very open with her about Siobhan, and Cooper felt like she was letting her friend down by not being as willing to discuss her own feelings. After all, she told herself, her situation is a lot harder to deal with than mine is.
“What kind of idea?” she said finally.
Jane put down her guitar and went to her bookshelf. She came back carrying a small book, which she handed to Cooper. It was called Witch Alone: A Handbook for Solitaries. “I picked this up at the used book store downtown,” she said. “It looked interesting.”
Cooper opened the book and thumbed through it. It appeared to be a guide for people interested in Wicca who either couldn’t find a coven or preferred not to work with one. There were chapters on creating rituals, celebrating the sabbats, and other topics familiar to Cooper from her studies.
“I know you already know most of the stuff in there,” said Jane. “That’s not why I got it for you. The part I thought you might find interesting is the chapter on self-initiation.”
“Self-initiation?” said Cooper.
Jane nodded. “The author doesn’t believe that witches have to be initiated by other witches,” she explained. “After all, that would mean that someone somewhere was the first witch and started the whole thing, and anyone who couldn’t trace her lineage back to that person must not be a real witch, and that’s just stupid.”
“We talked about that in class,” Cooper said. “There are people who claim to be able to trace the history of their covens back hundreds of years, but none of them can actually prove it.”
“Right,” Jane said. “Well, that’s pretty much what this guy says. He says that nobody has to tell you you’re a witch for you to be one. It’s not like getting a license or something.”
Cooper laughed. “I’d like to see the test for that,” she joked.
“He’s right, though,” Jane continued. “I mean, who’s to say whether you’re really a witch or not? If you accept the basic beliefs of Wicca, and if you’re dedicated to living your life based on those principles, doesn’t that make you a witch?”
Cooper thought about that for a minute as she flipped through the book some more. That hadn’t occurred to her. She’d been so focused on the concept of initiation, and on what that meant, that she hadn’t stopped to think that maybe it didn’t really mean anything at all, at least not when it came to what she believed and how she lived her life.
“I guess the whole initiation thing is just a ceremony, really,” she said.
“Then is there any reason why you can’t do it for yourself?” asked Jane.
Cooper looked at her. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“He gives some ideas for self-dedication rituals in there,” Jane told her. “I don’t know, maybe it’s something to think about.”
Cooper looked at the book in her hands. Part of her was grateful to Jane for thinking of her. But another part—the larger and noisier part—was ashamed that she was even having to consider the idea of self-initiation. She didn’t know why, really, but it made her feel like she was taking the easier road or buying a knockoff of something because she couldn’t get the real thing. Still, she didn’t want to make Jane feel bad for bringing it up.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll look at this later.” She put the book into her backpack. “But right now we have got to get working on these songs,” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “We’ve got to have them down by Friday night.”
They returned to their music, concentrating on polishing the material they’d been working on. After an hour or so Cooper looked at Jane. “I think we’re ready,” she said. “How about one more practice later this week?”
“Sounds good to me,” Jane replied. “Do you think Betty Bangs will love us?”
Cooper waved her hand at Jane. “Love us?” she said. “She’s going to beg us to let her sing with us.”
Jane looked thoughtful. “That gives me an idea,” she said
. “What if we throw a Scrapple song into the set?”
“Trying to get on the judge’s good side,” Cooper said. “I like that. Which one did you have in mind?”
“What about ‘Angry on the Outside’?” Jane suggested.
Cooper shook her head. “Not one of my favorites,” she said. “How about ‘What You Said’?”
Jane considered it for a moment. “Not enough harmony parts,” she said. “We need something we can both really wail on.”
The two of them thought silently for a minute. Then Cooper looked at Jane. “ ‘Song for a Tired Girl,’ ” they said in unison.
“That’s perfect,” Jane said. “It’s got a great guitar part, the lyrics are fantastic, and we can both sing on it.”
“Betty will love it,” agreed Cooper.
“We’ll practice it next time,” Jane said. “We should do this plugged in instead of acoustic, though. Can we do it at your place? My mother’s convinced we’ll set off my grandfather’s pacemaker or something if we play electric here.”
“No problem,” Cooper answered. “I’ll call you later about a time, okay?”
She picked up her stuff and Jane walked her to the door. A few minutes later she was heading home. The car stereo was turned up and she was singing along to the music. But singing wasn’t what was really on her mind. Her thoughts kept returning to the book Jane had given her.
Is that what you are now? she asked herself. A witch alone? Once that prospect might have appealed to her. It did have a sort of rebel quality to it, conjuring up images of some wild woman living in her little house in the forest, going out to gather the ingredients for her spells and keeping curiosity seekers away with the stories of her powers. But that was the kind of witch who inhabited fairy tales, not the kind of witch Cooper knew was the reality of being a Wiccan. Real witches were concerned with creating change, not scaring people off. They used magic to learn about the world and to make it a better place. Sure, she could do that on her own if she had to.
And it does look like you’ll have to, she thought unhappily. If she wasn’t going to be part of any of the local covens, she would have to go it alone. Because she wasn’t giving up witchcraft. That much she was sure of. It was too much a part of her, too much in her blood. Her grandmother had been a witch, and even if Cooper’s mother had rejected her powers, Cooper had embraced hers. She knew that she had a strong connection to the Goddess and to magic. And whether anyone else thinks I am or not, I am a witch, she told herself.
Thinking about her grandmother put another thought in her head. Who had initiated her? Had she been part of a coven? Cooper had never really thought about that before. She knew that her grandmother had tried to teach her magic when she was a little girl, and that her mother had asked her not to, but other than that she knew very little about her grandmother’s life as a witch, if she had even considered herself a witch at all.
But she must have learned from someone, she told herself. Her grandmother had come from Scotland, and Cooper had always assumed that she had learned what she knew of magic from someone there. But who was it? Was it from her own mother or grandmother? Or was it from someone else? It had never really been important to Cooper to know before, but now it was.
Cooper knew from her reading that Scotland had a rich tradition of folk magic, much of which had remained alive even after the dawn of Christianity. Perhaps her grandmother had simply been following the old traditions practiced by many of the people in the Scottish countryside. But maybe it had been more than that. Cooper suspected it was. Something about the way her grandmother had taught her the simple spells she had passed along had seemed more than just the casual passing along of traditions. It was as if she had wanted Cooper to have the knowledge, wanted to awaken something in her.
For the first time since she had been contacted by the ghost of Elizabeth Sanger, Cooper wished she could speak with the dead at will. She would love to talk to her grandmother and hear her story. There were so many questions filling her mind, so much she wanted to know. It would be so easy if she could just call up her grandmother’s spirit and get the story from her.
But she couldn’t do that. Although she knew that it was possible to receive messages from the dead, and although she had on occasion reached the spirits of those who had moved beyond the veil, she knew it wasn’t something as easy as picking up the telephone and dialing a number. She could certainly open herself to hearing from her grandmother, but she couldn’t be certain that she would be able to reach her.
There was, however, someone she could reach. She could talk to her mother. The few times they had discussed Cooper’s grandmother, Mrs. Rivers had been either angry or defensive. But that was quite a while ago, Cooper reminded herself. That was when you had so much trouble because of the newspaper articles—the articles written by Amanda Barclay. Thinking about the newspaper stories that had earned her so much unwanted attention, and that had raised the issues Cooper’s mother had with witchcraft, Cooper was reminded once more of Amanda Barclay. She always seems to be causing me trouble, she thought, reminded of her father and feeling a stab of pain.
Then she brushed her worries about her father and Amanda Barclay aside. That wasn’t her primary concern right now. And her mother didn’t know about Cooper’s father and Amanda Barclay. Perhaps, Cooper thought, she had forgotten about all of that. After all, they had grown closer in recent months, maybe close enough that Cooper could risk asking some questions about her grandmother.
You have nothing to lose, Cooper told herself as she pulled up outside her house and turned off the car. She looked at the house. The lights were on in the living room. Her mother was home. She could just walk right in and talk to her. But would her mother really know anything? Mrs. Rivers had been so opposed to her mother’s magical abilities as a young girl that she had completely shut herself off from ever using her own powers. If she’d been so determined to distance herself from witchcraft, maybe she really didn’t know anything about her mother’s past.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Cooper said out loud as she opened her car door and got out.
CHAPTER 8
“I have to go,” Annie said. “I’m going to be late.”
“Okay,” replied Juliet. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“I can’t wait!” Annie told her.
She hung up the phone and grabbed her coat, heading downstairs as quickly as she could. Her aunt was in the kitchen, looking dazed.
“Are you all right?” Annie asked her.
“Flowers,” her aunt answered dully. “Appetizers.” She looked at Annie with a shell-shocked expression. “Music.”
Annie went and put her arm around her aunt. “It’s all going to be fine,” she told her. “Everything is under control. We’re all going to help. All you have to do is look pretty.”
“Dress,” Aunt Sarah said.
“It’s all being taken care of,” Annie said. “I just got off the phone with Juliet. She’s coming on Saturday. She’ll be here all week. The costumes are coming along fine. Don’t worry.”
Her aunt sank wearily into a chair and rested her head in her hands. “I had no idea getting married was so exhausting. No wonder your parents eloped.”
“They did?” said Annie, surprised. “I guess that’s why I never saw any wedding photos, then.”
Aunt Sarah nodded. “They were going to have a real wedding,” she said. “But your grandmothers were making them crazy. Your mother’s mother wanted a big wedding, and my mother wanted it to be small. They fought like cats and dogs about it. Finally, Peter and Chloe went away for a weekend and when they came back they were married. Now I know why. Your grandmothers were furious, but there was nothing they could do about it.”
Annie laughed. “Well, don’t get any ideas about running off with Grayson,” she told her aunt firmly. “We’ll track you down.”
She left her aunt in the kitchen with a cup of tea and went out of the house, walking to the bus stop. When she arri
ved she found Kate waiting.
“Sorry I’m a little late,” Annie apologized. “First I was talking to Juliet and then I had to talk Aunt Sarah down. She’s freaking.”
“I’m not surprised,” Kate remarked. “After all, she is getting married soon. It’s the first time, right?”
Annie nodded.
“I’d be freaked, too,” Kate said thoughtfully. “She’s been single her whole life.”
Annie thought about Kate’s remark. Strange as it seemed to her now, she had never really thought of her aunt as being a single woman. But it was true. In all the years that Annie and Meg had lived with her, Aunt Sarah had rarely dated. There had been a handful of men in her life, but none stayed around very long. Annie had never considered the reasons for that, probably because until recently she herself hadn’t been particularly interested in guys and romance.
“I guess things really are going to change for her,” Annie said to Kate.
“Totally,” Kate said. “She’s going to be sharing everything from now on. Her closet space. Her bathroom. Her time. She’s not a single woman anymore.”
“You make it sound so awful,” said Annie, suddenly feeling bad for her aunt.
“Personally, I think it sort of would be awful,” Kate answered. “Even dating gets kind of claustrophobic, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Annie said. “The only boyfriend I had didn’t stick around very long, remember?”
“Sorry,” said Kate. “I forgot about that.”
“So did I, mostly,” Annie said. “I don’t really remember what it’s like to have a boyfriend.”
“Don’t pay any attention to me,” Kate told her friend. “I’m feeling particularly anti-guy right now.”
“Any special reason?” inquired Annie.
“Not really,” said Kate as the bus appeared and pulled to a stop in front of them. When the doors opened two guys their age got off. As they passed the girls they looked at them approvingly.
“Hey,” one of them said, smiling.
Kate sighed and rolled her eyes. “That’s why,” she told Annie as the two of them got on the bus.
