Black Magick s-4

by Cate Tiernan

  And now I knew that Cal was Woodbane. So Hunter had been speaking the truth when he told me that. I understood why Cal and Selene would want to hide it—as Selene said, Woodbanes have a bad reputation in the Wiccan community. But it bothered me that Cal had lied to me. And I couldn't help remembering how he had said that he and Selene were «traditional» Woodbanes. What exactly did that mean?

  Sighing, I made a conscious effort to set aside thoughts about my day and immerse myself in Maeve's BOS. Almost every entry in this section was overwritten with an encoded one, and painstakingly I made my way through several days' worth. I already knew that my birth mother had met a witch from Scotland named Ciaran and had fallen in love with him. It was horrible to read about, knowing the whole story of her and Angus. So far it didn't seem like she had slept with Ciaran—but still, the feelings she had for him must have broken Angus's heart. Yet Maeve and Angus had ended up together. And they had me. At last I hid the book and the athame under my mattress. It was the night before Thanksgiving. Hunter's face rose once more before my eyes, and I shuddered. It would be hard, this year, to give thanks.

  Downstairs the next morning the kitchen was a crazed flurry: a turkey on the counter, boiling cranberries spitting deep pink flecks of lavalike sauce, Dad—entrusted with only the simplest tasks—busily polishing silver at the kitchen table. Mary K. was wiping the good china, my mother was bustling about, flinging salad, hunting for the packages of rolls, and wondering out loud where she had put her mother's best tablecloth. It was like every other Thanksgiving, comforting and familiar, yet this year I felt something lacking.

  I managed to slip outside without anyone noticing. The backyard was serene, a glittering world of icicles and snow, every surface blanketed, every color muted and bleached. What an odd, cold autumn it had been. Kneeling beneath the black oak, I made my own Thanksgiving offering, which I had planned almost a week ago, before the nightmarish events of the weekend. First I sprinkled birdseed on the snow, seeing how the smaller seeds pelted their way through the snow's crust but the large sunflower nuts rested on top. I hung a pinecone smeared with peanut butter from a branch. Then I put an acorn squash, a handful of oats, and a small group of pinecones at the base of the tree.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated. Then I quietly recited the Wiccan Rede, which I had learned by heart. I was about to go inside to tell Mom that for some reason, she had left the bags of rolls in the hall closet, when my senses prickled. My eyes popped open, and I looked around.

  Our yard is bordered on two sides with woods, a small parklike area that hadn't been developed yet I saw nothing, but my senses told me someone was near, someone was watching. Using my magesight, I peered into the woods, trying to see beyond the trees.

  I feel you. You are there, I thought with certainty, and then I blinked as a flash of darkness and pale, sun-colored hair whirled and disappeared from sight

  Hunter! Adrenaline flowed into my veins and I stood, taking a step toward the woods. Then I realized with a sick pang that it couldn't be him. He was dead, and Cal and I had killed him. It must have been Sky, with that hair. It was Sky, hiding in the woods outside my house, spying on me.

  Walking backward, scanning the area around me intently, I moved toward the house and stumbled up the back steps. Sky thought I had killed her cousin. Sky thought Cal was evil and so was I. Sky was planning to hurt me. I slipped into the steamy, fragrant kitchen, soundlessly muttering a spell of protection.

  "Morgan!" my mom exclaimed, making me jump. "There you are! I thought you were still in the shower. Have you seen the rolls?"

  "Uh—they're in the hall closet," I mumbled, then I picked up a silver-polishing cloth, sat down next to my dad, and I went to work.

  Thanksgiving was the usual: dry turkey, excellent cranberry sauce, salty stuffing, a pumpkin pie that was an odd, pale shade but tasted great, soft, store-bought rolls, every-f one talking over each other.

  Aunt Eileen brought Paula. Aunt Margaret, Mom and Eileen's older sister, had finally broken down and started speaking to Aunt Eileen again, so she and her family joined us. She spent most of the evening silently but obviously stewing over the fact that her baby sister was going to roast in hell because she was gay. Uncle Michael, Margaret's husband, was jovial and good-natured with everyone; my four little cousins were bored and only wanted to watch TV; and Mary K. kept making faces at me behind our cousins' backs and giggling.

  All par for the course, I guessed.

  By nine o'clock people started trickling homeward. Sighing, Mary K. plunked down in front of the TV with a slice of pie. I went upstairs to my room, and I heard Mom and Dad turn in early and then the click of the TV turning on in their room.

  I turned off my bedroom light, then crept to the window and looked out. Was Sky still out there, haunting me? I tried to cast out my senses, but all I got was my own family, their peaceful patterns in the house. Using my magesight, I looked deeply past the first line of trees and saw nothing unusual. Unless Sky had shape-shifted into that small owl on the third pine from the left, everything was normal.

  Why had she been there? What was she planning? My heart felt heavy with dread, thinking about it. I turned my light back on, pulled down my shades, and twitched my curtains into place.

  I hadn't talked to Cal all day, and I both wanted to and didn't want to. I longed for him, yet whenever I thought of his secret room, I felt unsettled.

  I climbed into bed and took out one of my Wiccan books. I was working my way through about five Wiccan-related books at one time, reading a bit each day. This one was an English history of Wicca, and it was dry going sometimes. It was amazing that this writer had managed to suck the excitement out of the subject, but often he had, and only a determination to learn everything about everything Wiccan kept me going.

  I made myself read the history for half an hour, then spent another hour memorizing the correspondences and values of crystals and stones. It was something I could spend years doing, but at least I was making a start.

  Finally, my eyes heavy, I had earned the reward of reading Maeve's BOS.

  The first section I read described a fight she'd had with her mother. It sounded awful, and it reminded me of the fights I'd had with my parents after I'd found out I was adopted.

  Then I found another hidden passage. "September 1981. Oh, Goddess," I read. "Why have you done this? By meeting Ciaran, I have broken a heart that's true. And now my own heart is broken, too. "Ciaran and I joined our hearts and souls the other night on the headland under the moonlight. He told me about the depth of his love for me… and then I found out about the depth of his deception, too. Goddess, it's true he loves me more than anything, and I feel in my heart he's my soul mate, my one life love, my second half. We bound ourselves to each other.

  "Then he told me another truth. He is already wed, to a girl back in Liathach, and has got two children with her." Oh, no, I thought, reading it. Oh, Maeve, Maeve.

  "Married! I couldn't believe it. He's twenty-two and has been married four years already. They have a four-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl. He told me he'd been forced to marry the girl to unite their two covens, which had been at war. He says he cares for her, but not the way he loves me, and should I give him the word, he would leave her tomorrow, break up his marriage, to be with me.

  "But he will never be mine. I would never ask a man to desert his woman and children for me! Nor can I believe that he would even offer. Thank the Goddess, I kept a few of my wits and did not do anything that might see me with my own child by him!

  "For this I broke Angus's heart, went against my ma and da, and almost changed the course of my life."

  I rested the BOS on my comforter. Maeve's anguished words glowed beneath the blade of the athame, and I felt her pain almost as keenly as if it were my own. It was my own, in a way. It was part of my history; it had changed my future and my life.

  I turned the page. "I have sent him away," I read. "He will go back to Liathach, to his wife, who is the dau
ghter of their high priestess. Goddess, he was sickened with pain when I sent him away. If I willed it, he would stay. But after a night of talk we saw no clear path: this is the only way. And despite my fury at his betrayal, my heart tonight is weeping blood. I will never love another the way I love Ciaran. With him I could have drunk the world; without him I will be dosing runny-nosed children and curing sheep my whole life. If it were not a sin, I would wish I were dead."

  Oh, God, I thought. I pictured Cal and me being split apart and missed him with a sudden urgency. I looked at the clock. Too late to call. It would have to wait till morning.

  I hid the athame and the Book of Shadows, which lately was seeming like a Book of Sorrows, turned out the light, and went to sleep.

  My last thought before drifting off was something about Sky, but in the morning I couldn't remember what it was.

  On Friday morning I was blessedly alone in the house. I showered and dressed, then ate leftover stuffing for breakfast My parents had gone to see some old friends of my moms who were in town for the weekend. Bakker had already picked up Mary K. He had looked less than enthusiastic about Mary K.'s plan to hit the mall for some early Christmas shopping.

  After they left, I made an effort to sort through my troubled thoughts. Okay, number one: Hunter. Number two: Cal's secret room. Number three: The fact that Cal lied to me about his Woodbane heritage. Number four. Selene being upset that Cal had told me about their being Woodbane. Number five: Everything Maeve had gone through with Ciaran and my father. Number six: Sky spying on my house yesterday.

  When the phone rang, I knew it was Cal.

  "Hi," I said.

  "Hi." His voice was like a balm, and I wondered why I hadn't wanted to talk to him earlier. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

  "Pretty standard," I said. "Except I made an offering to the Goddess."

  "We did, too," he said. "We had a circle with about fifteen people, and we did Thanksgiving-type stuff, witch style."

  "That sounds nice. Was this your mom's coven?"

  "No," said Cal, and I picked up an odd new tone in his voice. "These are some of the same people who have been coming and going for the last couple of weeks. People from all over. They're Woodbane, too."

  "Wow, they're all over the place," I exclaimed, and he laughed. "You can't shake a stick around here without hitting a Woodbane," I added, enjoying his amusement.

  "Not in my house, at least," Cal agreed. "Which is why I'm calling, actually. Besides just wanting to hear your voice. There are people here who really want to meet you."

  "What?"

  "These Woodbanes. Kidding aside, pure Woodbanes are few and far between," said Cal. "Often when they find out about others, they look them up, get together with them, exchange stories and spells and recipes and clan lore. Stuff like that."

  I realized I was hesitating. "So they want to meet me because I'm Woodbane?"

  "Yes. Because you're a very, very powerful pureblood Woodbane," Cal coaxed. "They're dying to meet the untrained, uninitiated Woodbane who can light candles with her eyes and help ease asthma and throw witch fire at people. And who has the Belwicket tools, besides."

  Run, witch, run.

  "What?" asked Cal. "Did you say something?"

  "No," I murmured. My heart kicked up a beat, and I started breathing as if I had just run up a flight of stairs. What was wrong? Glancing around the kitchen, everything looked fine, the same. But a huge, crashing wave of fear had slammed into me and was now engulfing me and making me shake.

  "I feel odd," I said faintly, looking around the room.

  "What?" said Cal.

  "I feel odd," I said, more strongly. Actually, I felt like I was losing my mind.

  "Morgan?" Cal sounded concerned. "Are you all right? Is someone there? Should I come over?"

  Yes. No. I don't know. "I think I just need to, um, splash water on my face. Listen, can I call you back later?"

  "Morgan, these people really want to meet you," he said urgently.

  As he spoke, I was sucked under the swell of fear, so that I wanted to crawl under the kitchen table and curl into a ball. Ask him for help, a voice said. Ask Cal to come over. And another voice said, No, don't. That would be a mistake. Hang up the phone. And run.

  Cal, I need you, I need you, don't listen to me.

  Now I was under the kitchen table. "I have to go," I forced out. "I'll call you later." I was shaking, cold, flooded with so much adrenaline that I could hardly think.

  "Morgan! Wait!" said Cal. "These people—"

  "Love you," I whispered. "Bye." My trembling thumb clicked the off button, and the phone disconnected. I waited a second and hit talk, then put the phone on the floor. If anyone tried to call now, they'd get a busy signal.

  "Oh my God," I muttered, huddled under the table. "What's wrong with me?" I crouched there for a moment, feeling like a freak. Trying to concentrate, I slowly took several deep breaths. For a minute I stayed there, just breathing.

  Slowly I began to feel better. I crawled out from under the table, my knees covered with crumbs. Dagda gazed owlishly down at me from his perch on the counter.

  "Please do not tell anyone about this," I said to him, standing up. By now I felt almost back to normal physically, though still panicky. Once more I glanced around, saw nothing different, wondered if Sky was putting a spell on me, if someone was doing something.

  "Dagda," I said shakily, stroking his ears, "your mother is losing her mind." The next thing I knew, I was putting on my coat, grabbing my car keys, and heading outside. I ran.

  CHAPTER 11

  Link

  I've been studying formally since I was four. I was initiated at fourteen. I've taken part in some of the most powerful, dangerous, ancient rites there are. Yet it's very difficult for me to kindle fire with my mind. But Morgan…

  Mom wants her desperately. (So do I, but for slightly different reasons.) We're ready for her. Our people have been gathering for weeks now. Edwitha of Cair Dal is staying nearby. Thomas from Belting. Alicia Woodwind from Tarth Benga. It's a Woodbane convention, and the house is so full of vibrations and rivulets of magick that it's hard to sleep at night. I've never felt anything like this before. It's incredible.

  The war machine is starting to churn. And my Morgan will be the flamethrower.

  — Sgath

  Outside of Practical Magick, I parked Das Boot and climbed out, not seeing the Closed sign until I was pushing on the door. Closed! Of course—it was the day after Thanksgiving. Lots of I stores were closed. Hot tears sprang to my eyes, and I furiously I blinked them back. In childish anger I kicked the front door. "Ow!" I gasped as pain shot through my toes.

  Dammit. Where could I go? I felt weird; I needed to be around people. For a moment I considered going to Cal's, but another strange rush of fear and nausea swept over me, and gasping, I leaned my head against Practical Magick's door.

  A muffled sound from within made me peer inside the store. It was dark, but I saw a dim light on in the back, and then the shadow moving toward me metamorphosed into David, jingling his keys. I almost cried with relief.

  David opened the front door and let me in. He locked the door behind me, and we stood for a moment, looking at each other in the dimness.

  "I feel odd," I whispered earnestly, as if this would explain my presence.

  David regarded me intently, then began to lead me to the small room behind the orange curtain. "I'm glad to see you," he said. "Let me get you a cup of tea."

  Tea sounded fabulous, and I was so, so glad I was there. I felt safe, secure.

  David pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the back room. I followed him, saying, "Thanks for let —"

  Hunter Niall was sitting there, at the small round table.

  I screamed and clapped my hands over my mouth, feeling like my eyes were going to pop out of my head.

  He looked startled to see me, too, and we both whirled to stare at David, who was watching us with a glint of amusement in his hooded eyes. "Morgan,
you've met Hunter, haven't you? Hunter Niall, this is Morgan Rowlands. Maybe you two should shake hands."

  "You're not dead," I gasped unnecessarily, and then my knees felt weak, just like in mystery novels, and I pulled out a battered metal chair and sank onto it. I couldn't take my eyes off Hunter. He wasn't dead! He was very much alive, though even paler than usual and still bearing scrapes and bruises on his hands and face. I couldn't help looking at his neck, and seeing me, he hooked a finger in his wool scarf and pulled it down enough for me to see the ugly, unhealed wound that I had made by throwing the athame at him.

  David was pouring me a steaming mug of tea. "I don't understand," I moaned.

  "You understand parts of it," David corrected me. He pulled up another chair and sat down, the three of us clustered around a small, rickety table with a round plywood top. "But you haven't quite got the big picture."

  It was all I could do not to groan. I had been hearing about the big picture since I'd first discovered Wicca. I felt I would never be clued in.

  I felt a prickle of fear. I disliked and distrusted Hunter. I'd grown to trust David, but now I thought of how he used to disturb me. Could I trust anyone? Was anyone on my side? I looked from one to the other: David, with his fine, short, silver hair and measuring brown eyes; Hunter, his golden hair so like Sky's but with green eyes where hers were black.

  "You're wondering what's going on," said David. It was a massive understatement.

  "I'm afraid," I said in a shaking voice. "I don't know what to believe."

  As soon as I started speaking, it was as if a sand-bagged levee had finally collapsed. My words poured out in a torrent "I thought Hunter was dead. And… I thought I could trust you. Everything is upsetting me. I don't know who I am or what I'm doing." Do not cry, I told myself fiercely. Don't you dare cry.

  "I'm sorry, Morgan," said David. "I know this is very hard for you. I wish it could be easier, but this is the path you're on, and you have to walk it. My path was much easier."