Book of Shadows s-1

by Cate Tiernan

  Book of Shadows

  ( Sweep - 1 )

  Cate Tiernan

  Morgan and her best friend, Bree, are introduced to Wicca when a gorgeous senior named Cal invites them to join his new coven. Morgan falls for Cal immediately-and discovers that she has strong, inexplicable powers.

  BOOK OF SHADOWS

  Sweep Series, Book 1

  Cate Tiernan

  CHAPTER 1 Cal Blaire

  "Beware the mage, and bid him well, for he has power beyond your ken."

  — Witches, Warlocks, and Mages,

  Altus Polydarmus, 1618

  Years from now I'll look back and remember today as the day I met him. I'll look back and remember the exact moment my life began to include him.. I will remember it forever.

  I wore a green tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans. My best friend, Bree Warren, arrived in a peasant shirt and a long black skirt down to her violet toenails, and of course she looked beautiful and sophisticated.

  "Hey, junior," she greeted me with a hug, even though I'd seen her the day before.

  "See you in AP calc," I told Janice Yutoh, and met Bree halfway down the front steps. "Hey," I said back. "It's hot. It's supposed to be crisp on the first day of school." It wasn't even eight-thirty, but the early September sun was burning whitely, and the air felt muggy and still. Despite the weather I felt excited, expectant: A whole new year was starting, and we were finally upperclassmen.

  "Maybe in the Yukon territory," Bree suggested. "You look great."

  "Thanks," I said, appreciating her diplomacy. "You too."

  Bree looks like a model. She's tall, five-nine, and has a figure most girls would starve themselves for, except Bree eats everything and think dieting is for lemmings. She has milky dark hair that she usually gets styled in Manhattan, so it falls in perfectly tousled waves to the base of her neck. Wherever we go, people turn their heads to look at her.

  The thing about Bree is that she knows she's gorgeous, and she enjoys it. She doesn't shrug off compliments, or complain about her looks, or pretend she doesn't know what people are talking about. But she isn't exactly conceited, either. She just accepts what she looks like and thinks it's cool.

  Bree glanced over my shoulder at Widow's Vale High. Its redbrick walls and tall Palladian windows betrayed its former incarnation as our town courthouse. "They didn't paint the woodwork," she said. "Again."

  "Nope. Oh my God, look at Raven Meltzer," I said. "She got a tattoo."

  Raven's a senior and the wildest girl in our school. She has dyed black hair, seven body piercings (that I can see, anyways), and now a circle of flames tattooed around her belly button. She's amazing to look at, at least for me—Ordinary Girl, with long, all-one-length, medium brown hair. I have dark eyes and a nose that could be described as "strong." Last year I grew four inches, so I'm five-six now. I have broad shoulders and no hips and am still waiting for the breast fairy to show up.

  Raven headed to the side of the cafeteria building where the stoners hung out.

  "Her mom must be so proud," I said cattily, but inside I admired her daring. What would it be like to care so little about what other people thought of you?

  "I wonder what happens to her nose stud when she sneezes?" asked Bree, and I giggled.

  Raven nodded to Ethan Sharp, who already looked wasted at eight-thirty in the morning. Chip Newton, who's absolutely brilliant in math, way better than me, and our school's most reliable dealer, gave Raven a soul handshake. Robbie Gurevitch, my best friend after Bree, looked up and smiled at her.

  "God, it's so weird to see Mary K. here," said Bree, glancing around and running her fingers though her wind-tossed hair.

  "Yeah. She'll fit right in," I said. My younger sister Mary Kathleen, was headed toward the main building, laughing with a couple of her friends. Next to most of the freshmen, Mary K. looked mature and together, with grown-up curves. Stuff just comes easily to Mary K.-her hip but not too hip clothes, her naturally pretty face, her good but not perfect grades, her wide circle of friends. She's a genuinely nice person, and everyone adores her, even me. You can't help it with Mary K.

  "Hey, baby," said Chris Holly loudly, coming up to Bree. "Hey, Morgan," he said to me. Chris leaned down and gave Bree a quick kiss, which she caught on her lips.

  "Hey, Chris," I said. "Ready for school?"

  "Now I am," he said, giving Bree a lustful smile.

  "Bree! Chris!" Sharon Goodfine waved, gold bangles clinking on her wrist.

  Chris grabbed Bree's hand and pulled her toward Sharon and the other usuals: Jenna Ruiz, Matt Adler, Justin Bartlett.

  "Coming?" Bree asked, falling behind.

  I made a wary face. "No, thank you."

  "Morgan, they like you fine," Bree said under her breath, reading my mind as she often did. She'd dropped Chris's hand, waiting for me while he went on ahead.

  "It's okay. I need to talk to Tamara, anyway." Bree knew I didn't feel comfortable with her clique.

  She paused another moment. "Okay, see you in homeroom."

  "See ya."

  Bree began to turn away but stopped, her mouth dropping open like someone in Acting 101 doing "dumbstruck." I turned and followed her gaze and saw a boy coming up the steps to our school.

  It was like in a movie when everything goes to soft focus, everyone becomes silent, and time slows down while you figure out what you're looking at. It was just like that, watching Cal Blaire come up the board, worn front steps of Widow's Vale High.

  I didn't know then that he was Cal Blaire, of course.

  Bree turned back toward me, her eyes wide. "Who is that?" she mouthed.

  I shook my head. Without thinking, I put my palm to my chest to slow my heartbeat.

  The guy walked up to us with a calm confidence I envied. I was aware of heads turning. He smiled at us. It was like the sun coming out of the clouds. "Is this the way to the vice principal's office?" he asked.

  I've seen good-looking guys before. Bree's boyfriend, Chris, in fact, is really good-looking. But this guy was… breathtaking. Raggedy, black-brown hair looked as if he hacked at it himself. He had a perfect nose, beautiful olive skin, and riveting, ageless, gold-colored eyes. It took me a second to realize he was speaking to us.

  I gazed at him stupidly, but Bree sparkled. "Right through there and to the left," she said, pointing to the nearest door. "It's unusual to transfer as a senior, isn't it?" she asked, studying the piece of paper he held out to her.

  "Yeah," the guy said. He gave a half smile. "I'm Cal. Cal Blaire. My mom and I just moved here."

  "I'm Bree Warren." Bree gestured to me. "And this is Morgan Rowlands."

  I didn't move. I blinked a couple of times and tried to smile. "Hi," I finally said in a near whisper, feeling like a five-year-old. I'm never good at talking to guys, and this time I felt so overwhelmed and shy that I couldn't function at all. I felt like I was trying to stand up in a gale.

  "Are you seniors?" Cal asked.

  "Juniors," Bree said apologetically.

  "Too bad," Cal said. "We won't have classes together."

  "Actually, you might have some with Morgan," Bree said, with a cute, self-deprecating laugh. "She's taking senior math and science."

  "Cool," Cal said, smiling at me. "I better check in. Nice meeting you. Thanks for your help." He turned and strode to the door.

  "Bye!" Bree said brightly.

  As soon as Cal passed though the wooden doors onto the school building Bree grabbed my arm. "Morgan, that guy is a god!" she squealed. "He's going to school here! He'll be here all year!"

  The next moment found us surrounded by Brea's friends.

  "Who is he?" Sharon asked eagerly, her dark hair brushing her shoulders. Suzanne Herbert jostled her, trying to get closer
to Bree.

  "Is he going to school here?" Nell Norton asked.

  "Is he straight?" Justin Bartlett wondered aloud. Justin's been out of the closet since seventh grade.

  I glanced at Chris. He was frowning. As Bree's friends reviewed the meager info, I stepped back, out of the crowd. I drifted to the entrance and put my hand on the heavy brass handle, swearing I could still feel the warmth from Cal's touch.

  A week passed. As usual, I felt a tingle in my chest as I walked into physics class and saw Cal there. He still looked like a miracle sitting in a dinged-up wooden desk. A god on a mortal place. Today he was focusing his beam on Alessandra Spotford. "It's like a harvest festival? Up in Kinderhook?" I heard him asking her.

  Alessandra smiled and looked flustered. "It's not till October," she explained. "We get our pumpkins there every year." She tucked a curl behind her ear.

  I sat down and opened my notebook. In one week Cal had become the most popular guy at my school. Forget popular; he was a celebrity. Even a lot of the boys at my school liked him. Not Chris Holly or any guy whose girlfriend was salivating over Cal, but most of the others.

  "What about you, Morgan?" Cal asked, turning to me. "Have you been to the harvest festival?"

  Casually I flipped to the current chapter in our textbook and nodded, feeling a rush of giddiness at hearing him say my name. "Pretty much everyone goes. There's not a lot else to do around here unless you go down to New York City, and that's two hours away."

  Cal had spoken to me several times over the past week, and each time it had gotten a little easier for me to reply to him. We had physics and calculus together everyday.

  He turned in his desk to face me fully, and I permitted myself a quick glance at him. I don't always trust myself to do this. Not if I want me vocal cords to work. My throat tightened right on schedule.

  What was it about Cal that made me feel like this? Well, he was gorgeous, for one obvious thing. But it was more than that. He was different than the other guys I knew. When he looked at me, he really looked at me. He wasn't glancing around the room, checking for his buds or trolling for prettier girls or sneaking quick looks at my breasts—not that I have any. He wasn't self-conscious at all, and he wasn't keeping score socially the way everybody else does. He seemed to look at me or Tamara, who was in advanced classes, too, with the same frank intensity and interest that he looked at Alessandra or Bree or one of the other local goddesses.

  "So what do you do for fun the rest of the time?" he asked me.

  I looked back down at my textbook. I wasn't used to this. Good-looking guys usually only talked to me when they wanted a homework assignment.

  "I don't know," I said mildly. "Hang out. Talk to friends. Go to movies."

  "What kind of movies do you like?" He leaned forward as if I were the most interesting person in the world and there was no one he would rather be talking to. His eyes never left my face.

  I hesitated, feeling awkward and tongue-tied. "Anything. I really like all kinds of movies."

  "Really? Me too. You'll have to tell me which theaters to go to. I'm still learning my way around."

  Before I could agree or disagree, he smiled at me and turned to face the front of the room as Dr. Gonzalez walked in, thumped his heavy briefcase on his desk, and began to call roll.

  I wasn't the only person Cal was charming. He seemed to like everybody. He talked to everyone, say by different people, didn't show favorites. I knew that at least four of Bree's friends were dying to go out with him, but I hadn't heard of any successes so far. I did know that Justin Bartlett had struck out.

  CHAPTER 2 I Wish

  "Beware the witch, for she will bind you with black magick, making you forget your home, your loved ones, yea, even your own face.

  — Words of Prudence, Terrance Hope, 1723

  "You have to admit he's good-looking," Bree pressed, leaning against my kitchen counter.

  "Of course I admit it. I'm not blind," I said, busily opening cans. It was my night to make dinner. The washed, cut-up chicken was sitting naked in a large Pyrex dish. I dumped out a can of cream of artichoke soup, a can of cream of celery soup, and a jar of marinated artichoke hearts. Voila: dinner.

  "But he seems like kind of a player," I continued mildly. "I mean, how many people has he gone out with in the last two weeks?"

  "Three," said Tamara Pritchett, unfolding her long, skinny frame onto the bench in out breakfast nook. It was Monday after noon, the beginning of the third week of school. I could safely say the Cal Blaire's arrival in the sleepy town of Widow's Vale was the most exciting thing that had happened since the Millhouse Theater burned to the ground two years ago. "Morgan, what is that?"

  "Chicken Morgan," I said. "Delicious and nutritious." I reached into the fridge for a Diet Coke and popped the top. Ahhh.

  "Toss me one of those," Robbie said, and I got him one. "How come when a guy dates a lot, he's a player, but if a girl does, she's just picky?"

  "That is so not true," Bree protested.

  "Hello, girls and Robbie," my dad said, wandering into the kitchen, his brown eyes somewhat vague behind his glasses. He was wearing his usual uniform: khaki pants; a button-down shirt. Short sleeved because of the weather; and a white T-shirt underneath it. In the winter he wears the same thing except with a long-sleeved shirt and a knit sweater vest over it all.

  "Hey, Mr. R," Robbie said.

  "Hi, Mr. Rowlands," Tamara said, and Bree waved.

  Dad glanced around distractedly, as if to make sure that this was really his kitchen. With a smile at us he wandered out again. Bree and I shared a grim. We knew that soon he'd remember what he had come in to get, and he'd return for it. He works in research and development at IBM, and they think he's a genius. Around our house, he's more like a slow kindergartner. He can't keep his shoes tied, and he has no concept of time.

  I stirred the mixture in the glass pan and covered it with foil. The I grabbed four potatoes and scrubbed them in the sink.

  "I'm glad my mom cooks," Tamara said. "Anyways, Cal has gone out with Suzanne Herbert, Raven Meltzer, and Janice." She ticked off the names on her fingers.

  "Janice Yutoh?" I squealed, putting the dish in the oven. "She didn't even tell me about it!" I frowned and added the potatoes. "God, he sure doesn't have a type, does he? It's like one from column A, one from column B, one from column C."

  "That dog," said Robbie, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

  Robbie was such a close friend, I hardly noticed it anymore, but he had terrible acne. He had been supercute until seventh grade, which made it all the harder on him.

  Bree wrinkled her forehead. "The Janice Yutoh thing I can't figure out. Unless she was helping him with homework."

  "Janice is actually really pretty," I said. "She's just so shy, you don't notice it. I can't figure out Suzanne Herbert."

  Bree almost choked. "Suzanne is gorgeous! She modeled for Hawaiian Tropic last year!"

  I smiled at Bree. "She looks like Malibu Barbie, and she's got the brain to match." I ducked as Bree tossed a grape at me.

  "Not everyone can be a National Merit Scholar," she said snippily. She paused and then said, "I guess none of us are wondering about Raven. She goes through guys like Kleenex."

  "Oh, and you don't," I teased her, and was rewarded by another grape bouncing off my arm.

  "Hey, Chris and I have been together for almost three months now," Bree said.

  "And?" Robbie prompted her.

  Self-righteousness mixed with rueful embarrassment crossed Bree's face. "He's bugging me a little," she admitted.

  Tam and I laughed, and Robbie snorted.

  "I guess you're just picky," Robbie said.

  My dad wandered into the kitchen again, got a pen from the pen jar, and headed out again.

  "Okay," Bree said, opening the back door. "I better get home before Chris freaks out." She made a face. "Where have you been?" she said in a deep-voiced imitation. She rolled her eyes and left, and moments later we heard her
temperamental BMW, Breezy, take off and chug down the street.

  "Poor Chris," Tamara said. Her curly brown hair was escaping from her headband, and she expertly twisted in back underneath.

  "I think his days are numbered," Robbie said, taking a sip of soda.

  I pulled out a bag of salad and ripped it open with my teeth. "Well, he lasted longer than usual."

  Tam nodded. "It might be a new record."

  The back door flew open and my mom staggered in, her arms full of files, flyers, and real estate signs. Her jacket was wrinkled, and it had a coffee stain on one pocket. I grabbed the stuff from her hands and set it on the kitchen table.

  "Mary, mother of God," my mom muttered. "What a day. Hi, Tamara, honey. Hey, Robbie. How have you two been? How's school so far?"

  "Fine, thanks, Mrs. Rowlands," Robbie said.

  "How about you?" Tamara asked. "You looked like you've been working hard."

  "You could say that," my mom said with a sigh. She hung her jacket on a hook by the door and headed to the cabinet to fix herself a whiskey sour from a mix.

  "Well, we better head out," Tamara announced, picking up her backpack. She kicked Robbie's sneaker gently. "Come on, I'll give you a ride. Nice seeing you, Mrs. Rowlands."

  "See you later," Robbie said.

  "Bye, guys," my mom said, and the back door closed behind them. "Gosh Robbie's getting tall. He's really growing into himself." She came over to give me a hug. "Hi, sweetheart. It smells great in here. Is it chicken Morgan?"

  "Yep. With baked potatoes and frozen peas."

  "Sounds perfect." She drank from her glass, which smelled sweet and citrusy.

  "Tiny sip?" I asked.

  "No, ma'am!" Mom replied, as she always did. "Let me change, and I'll set the table. Is Mary K. here?"

  I nodded. "Upstairs with some of the Mary K. fan club."

  Mom frowned. "Boy or girls?"

  "I think both."

  Mom nodded and headed upstairs, and I knew that the boys, at least, were going to get the boot.