by Cate Tiernan
"I raided your fridge," he said cheerfully. Slowly we ate and drank, and afterward we all felt better. I fetched a wet washcloth for Patrice's forehead, and she seemed glad to have it.
"Do I look different?" she joked weakly, and I shook my head.
"No. I don't even know if you'll feel different or how the spell will take effect," I said. "You were the guinea pig. But if it works, it could save a great many witches from having their powers stripped in the future."
"Then it will be worth it," Patrice said. "Now I need to go tend to my son."
I went to Morgan's house after that. Mrs. Rowlands let me in, smiling pleasantly, even though I knew she wasn't thrilled with the idea of Morgan dating a witch.
"Hello, Mrs. Rowlands," I said. "I was wondering if I could see Morgan."
"I'll call her down," Mrs. Rowlands said. "You aren't going to believe what she looks like. Apparently she and Bree were trampolining in Bree's backyard this morning, and Morgan managed to bounce off and crash right through a lilac hedge. She's a mess." Tsking and shaking her head, she went to the stairs, where Morgan was already on her way down, having sensed me come in.
I looked at her solemnly. She did look like a wreck, but there was a relief in her eyes, a lack of fear, of tension, that hadn't been there in ages. For that I was glad.
"I told you that trampoline should have a safety net around it," I said.
"Hunter Niall: Wiccan smart-ass," Morgan said in disgust a few minutes later. "That will be the title of your biography." We were out on the double glider that had recently made its spring appearance on the Rowlandses' front porch. We had some iced jasmine tea, and Morgan had also managed to supply some zucchini bread.
I gave her a little smile and put my arm across the back of the glider, resting against her shoulders. We would have to go over the events of yesterday in depth, but not tonight. "Good story, by the way." I paused. "When I was in the house, I felt Alisa upstairs."
Morgan nodded. "They're going to the nine o'clock movie downtown. Dad's taking them. I think Alisa might be sleeping over."
"Good." I hesitated before I brought up the next subject. It was an idea I'd had a couple of days before, but it had seemed impossible then. It might not be impossible now. "How strong are you feeling?" I asked.
Morgan looked up at me with curiosity and shrugged. "You mean, after yesterday?" I nodded. "Actually, though physically I feel like crap, magickally I feel pretty strong. It's like every time I go through something that should have killed me, when I come through, I just feel stronger."
I smiled. "There's something I'd like to ask you to do for me," I said. "Not tonight But tomorrow. It involves your magick."
15. Morgan
"How's my little acrobat?" Hunter asked, kissing me and hugging me to him as we walked to his car.
"Ouch. Don't squeeze too hard."
We got into his car, and he looked at me as he started the engine. "Are your parents thinking of suing Mr. Warren?" he asked seriously, and I whacked him on the leg, remembering too late that virtually every part of my body was sore. "Ow!" I laughed, cradling my hand.
He and I hadn't talked much about what had happened with Selene and my shape-shifting. It was as if we were both too freaked out about it and needed time to process it individually before we delved into it together. For right now I wanted to pretend it had never happened.
We headed out of town. It was a beautiful Sunday. My parents, Mary K., and Alisa had gone to visit a garden. I'd wanted to go, but Hunter was more important. Dagda and I had slept in, and I was actually feeling a tiny bit better. "So what are we doing?" I asked, watching the late April sun sparkle on the new green leaves of the trees.
"I wanted you to meet Patrice, the witch I've been working with in Thornton," Hunter said. "And her son."
I gave him a questioning look. He had given me only the vaguest information about the case he was working on with his father. He'd told me the day before that they'd reached some kind of resolution, which I guess made it okay to tell me her name and where she lived, but he didn't seem inclined to say more than that, like why he wanted her to meet me and why she would want to see him again. I just tried to relax and enjoyed the ride. I had never been to Thornton but saw that it was cute and old-fashioned looking in kind of the same way Red Kill is. Hunter drove through the town and into a residential section. He stopped in front of a large, beautiful Victorian home.
"Whoa," I said. "I love this house."
The door opened as we approached the porch. I hadn't really formed much of a mental picture of Patrice Pearson, but she was more normal looking than I had imagined. She didn't look all that witchy, and she didn't look one bit evil. She smiled, seeming a little shy or embarrassed, so I tried to act like I knew nothing of what had been going on. I picked up weird vibes from her, though, as if part of her aura was under a sheet.
"Hello, Morgan," she murmured, holding out a strong, dry hand. "I feel like I've heard your name mentioned before."
"Hi," I said, shaking her hand and still wondering what I was doing here.
"Hunter said you'd like to meet my son," Patrice said, increasing my curiosity. "He's down this way." She gestured down a hall that led toward the back of the house. I looked behind me and shot Hunter a what's-going-on look, but he only raised his eyebrows at me.
We went through a large, homey kitchen that looked fresh and pristine but like it hadn't been updated in sixty years. Old-fashioned sink, antique stove. Patrice opened a small door off the kitchen, and I stopped in my tracks.
My senses picked up on illness and pain, fatigue and hopelessness. Hunter had mentioned Patrice had a son but hadn't said any more than that.
I followed Patrice into the room, Hunter behind me. The room was small and looked like it might have been a sunroom at one time. Cheerful posters hung on the walls, and the bed linens were printed with race cars in primary colors. There was a large TV and a DVD player and a stack of videos nearby. But everything else about the room screamed hospital-the hospital bed, the IV stand next to the table, the cabinet covered with more medicines than I could count. And of course, the little boy, thin and listless, with a tube running under his sheet. He didn't even look up when we entered the room. The TV was turned to some kind of nature show featuring alligators and getting right up close to them. His eyes watched the picture, but they were dull, lifeless. He wasn't really seeing anything. His body looked emaciated beneath the sheet, but his face was round and swollen looking.
Patrice seemed unbearably tense in here and with good reason. "Joshua, this is Hunter Niall and Morgan Rowlands," she said, unnaturally cheerfully. "Morgan wanted to meet you. She heard how brave you've been." She looked at me, and I saw that she wasn't entirely sure why I was here, either. But now I was beginning to understand. I smiled at Joshua and then turned to Hunter.
His gaze was measured, questioning.
I hesitated, then gave a tiny shrug and nodded.
"Oh, Patrice," he said now, turning to her. "Would you mind showing me that book on New York gardening I saw in your living room?"
They left me alone in the room with Joshua.
Now he looked at me with suspicion. "Are you a doctor?"
"No, no," I assured him. "I go to high school. I thought I'd just hang out for a while, that's all. So, you've got a lot of equipment here. What's this thing for?" I touched the IV stand. Over the next ten minutes Joshua and I talked about his leukemia, his graft-versus-host disease, how his mom took care of him, and how tired he was. It was all I could do not to just hang my head and burst into tears. But I didn't.
Instead, as Joshua talked, I very gently put my hand on his arm, picking up on his vibrations, his aura, his life essence. I felt his bony little shoulder through the sheet, and it reminded me of my own injured shoulder, which still throbbed painfully. I gently traced the side of his head, grinned and tapped his chin, and then pretended to tickle the bottoms of his feet. He gave a halfhearted grin.
I sat down in my chai
r again. "Joshua, is it okay if I just put my hands here for a few minutes?" I asked, putting one hand on his upper leg and one on his chest. He nodded warily.
"Gosh, what is that crazy guy doing with that alligator?" I said, and he turned his gaze back to the TV.
I closed my eyes and relaxed everything, letting go of my tension, my distaste for the smells of disinfectant and illness, the scent of plastic and medicine and clean sheets. The faint noise of the TV faded. I sank into a midlevel meditation, where I consciously dissolved any barriers I felt between the outside world and me. After several minutes I felt that I was one with everything in the universe and it was one with me. There were no beginnings, no endings, only a calm, joyful communion among all things. And between Joshua and me. I let myself sink into him, into his tortured and weakened body. I let myself flow over him and inside him and through him. I felt his pain, artificially dulled by strong drugs; I felt his system being weakened yet also helped by other powerful and toxic medicines. I saw the normal white blood cells in his bloodstream but also cells swollen with fluid, about to burst; I saw Joshua's body being attacked from inside by his new marrow's immune system. His feelings became mine, and I swallowed down the nausea, the pain, the feelings of despair and hopelessness, the guilt he felt for upsetting his mother, the anger he felt, but didn't show, that this was happening to him.
I saw and felt it all, as if it was a Chinese puzzle knot, made up of countless ribbons twisted and knotted together in an incomprehensible way. I let myself sink deeper. The battle with Selene, and the resulting physical and emotional toll it had taken on me, had left me not at full power. But I thought I had enough to do something.
I felt like a universal solvent, able to go anywhere, see everything, unravel anything. One by one I teased out ribbons and followed them. I traced them back to his bone marrow. I traced ribbons back to each of his drugs. There was a ribbon for pain, a ribbon for anger, a ribbon for his original leukemia.
I have no idea how long I sat there. I was dimly aware of my hands growing warm, but Joshua didn't seem to notice or care. I thought at one point Hunter came back to check on me, but I didn't look up, and he didn't say anything. A tiny bit at a time I unraveled the puzzle knot. I eased his new marrow into working harmoniously with his body. I eased his body into a joyful balance within itself. I soothed blood vessels, irritated tissue, muscles taut with pain. I brought Joshua more into balance with the Goddess, with nature, with life. As things became more normal, more recognizable, I felt a general lightening, as if Joshua and I were free, soaring in the air, nothing weighing us down, no cares. As usual it was beautiful, mesmerizing, and everything in me wanted to stay in that magickal place forever.
But of course I couldn't.
When at last I raised my head and blinked, I saw that Joshua was deeply asleep in front of me. I shook my head as if trying to wake up and looked around to see Hunter and Patrice both sitting on chairs, watching me with solemn eyes. I looked back at Joshua. He looked different. His skin tone seemed more natural to me, his eyes less sunken. His sleep was restful and calm, his face unlined and free of pain. I quickly cast my senses and picked up on a balance, for lack of a better word. He felt more balanced.
I, however, felt like I was made out of Silly Putty. I didn't know if I could stand.
"Uh," I said, looking at Hunter. He immediately came over to help me stand up. My legs felt wobbly, rubbery. I felt hungry and tired. Patrice was watching me with a mix of emotions on her face. I straightened up with difficulty, then forced back my shoulders and took a deep breath. I gave Patrice what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
She looked from me to Joshua, then stepped past me to her son. She took one of his hands and held it against her cheek. He moved a little in his sleep, but to me it seemed like his puffy face was looking more normal, his limbs less stiff, his movements freer. I smiled at him.
Hunter put his arm around my waist, and I looked up to see a world of love and trust and awe in his green eyes.
Patrice turned back to me, looking grateful and scared and amazed all at the same time. She could tell he was better-anyone could. I didn't know how much I had done, but I knew I had helped somehow, to some degree.
"Who are you?" she breathed.
I thought of who I was, of everything that had gone into making me what I was, the long line of witches and women who had lent me their strength-it was mine to use, in this lifetime.
I smiled at her. "I'm Morgan," I said. "Daughter of Maeve of Belwicket."
"Morgan, you look incredibly beautiful," Hunter said for the fifth time.
I looked up at him, flushed with pleasure. This was pretty much the most effort I had ever made with my appearance, and by all accounts it was paying off. I was wearing a clingy top of a soft sage green. It had a deeply scooped square neck and three-quarter sleeves. I wore a silver chain with a piece of amber on it around my neck.
The skirt I had ordered from a costume shop. It was made of layers of tulle, different shades of green, a layer of maroon, a layer of pink-seven layers in all, all sewn to a tight-fitting waistband. The bad thing about being built like a boy was that I usually looked like a boy. The good thing, if there was one, was that my waist actually looked small and kind of girlie if I wore a big, poufy skirt like this.
On my feet I had dark green ballet slippers, real ballet slippers, which were like wearing nothing. I had bought white ones and dyed them three times.
I had given Mary K. free rein with my makeup, and I had to admit that she had a promising future as a makeup artist. My eyes had never looked so big or luminous, my mouth looked lush and feminine, and my skin looked dewy and fresh. Not only that, but I had actually submitted to having my long hair turned into soft, fat ringlets that hung past my shoulders. I had been afraid of looking like Little Orphan Annie, but instead my hair just looked kind of wild and natural and sexy.
This was one of the very few times in my life when I felt actually feminine and strong and beautiful. And the effect it had on Hunter had cheered me up to no end. His eyes had been on me ever since he picked me up. Now he was looking deeply into my eyes over the top of his sparkling cider, and I was feeling incredibly attractive and womanly, as if I had bewitched him. It was a great feeling.
"Morgan! Fabulous!" said Bethany, sweeping past. I called hi after her, but she was already whirling away.
"How many people are here?" I asked, edging closer to a table.
Hunter glanced around. "Close to eighty, I would guess. I think all of us ended up asking everybody we knew."
It was twilight on Beltane Eve, and we were in the same woods close to the spot where Hunter and I had had our picnics with Bree and Robbie. Tonight it looked enchanted — tiny glass lanterns with votive lights were everywhere, and there were tables covered with all sorts of food and drink. Sky and Raven, the organizing committee, had outdone themselves. Garlands of fresh flowers swooped from tree to tree. A tall, beautiful maypole stood in the center of the clearing, and it was hung with long, silken ribbons in rainbow colors. Sky had recruited musicians from various covens, and the haunting, lilting strains of magickal Irish music were weaving their own spell over everyone.
"Where did Sky get the maypole?" I asked.
Hunter grinned, moving closer to put his arm around my waist. "It's a mast, from a boat shop. She and Raven picked it up and had to transport it here, sticking out of Raven's back window."
I laughed, picturing it. My eyes automatically sought out Sky, and, sure enough, she and Raven were together by a food table, their heads bent together, talking earnestly. Hunter and I glanced at each other. They did care about each other, I knew. I hoped their relationship would work itself out.
"They did a great job," I said. I picked up some slices of fruit, admiring the platters of oatcakes, bowls of honey, herbed tea with flowers floating in it, cakes decorated with edible flowers-pansies, Johnny-jump-ups, marigolds, nasturtiums.
"Sister! Hello!" I smiled and groaned at the same time, turnin
g to see Killian coming toward me, a glass of wine in his hand. As usual he looked cheerful and irreverent, his longish hair streaked with shades of auburn and caramel. "Hi, Killian," I said, and Hunter greeted him, too, as civilly as he could manage.
"Niall," Killian said, then turned back to me. "Super party! Great eats, music-you went all out. What hand did you play in this?"
"I showed up."
"Sky and Raven organized everything," Hunter said evenly, and I made an effort not to grin.
"Ah." Killian gave a quick glance around, and of course, there were Sky and Raven, about twenty feet away, shooting looks at him that, if they didn't kill him, might certainly maim him. But it took more than that to upset my half brother. He smiled at them hugely, raised his wineglass in a toast, and then prudently headed in another direction.
"Ciao!" he called back to me, and I waved.
"Maypole! Maypole!" someone cried, and the musicians came closer. Sky organized volunteers, male-female, male- female, and handed them each a ribbon. Then, as the music started, the dancers began to move in opposite circles, weaving in and under, over and under each other, and as we watched, the colorful ribbons were woven around the maypole in an even pattern of diamonds. It was beautiful, and I was glad we were continuing this old tradition.
Without speaking, Hunter and I linked hands, keeping one hand each free so we could eat and drink. When night fell, a huge bonfire was lit, and Hunter took me around, introducing me to people I didn't know. Everyone seemed to have a distinct reaction on hearing my name. I was about to ask Hunter about it, but then he pointed out where the star cluster Pleiades would rise, right before dawn the next day. At Samhain, six months from now, Pleiades would rise right at sunset. Beltane and Samhain marked the two halves of the year.
Hunter and I wandered away from the light and noise and music, talking about everything, huge, tiny, sad, funny. I had seen Patrice earlier for just a minute, and she had told me that Joshua no longer needed a feeding tube. His doctors were mystified, but he seemed to be shedding his illnesses like a snake's skin. She held my hand tightly and thanked me several times with an intensity that brought tears to my eyes.
