The Coven

by Cate Tiernan

  I said I was investigating a story for my hometown newspaper

  about small Irish towns. For the travel section."

  I stared at my dad, unable to picture him blithely lying to

  strangers, going on this quest to find out my heritage. He'd

  known all of this, both of them had, almost all of my life. And

  they'd never breathed a word to me.

  "To make a long story short" Dad went on, "it finally came

  out that until four years earlier, Ballynigel hod been a small,

  prosperous town. But in 1982 it had suddenly been destroyed.

  Destroyed by evil, they said."

  I could hardly breathe. This was similar to what Alyce had

  said. My mom was chewing her bottom lip nervously, not

  looking at me.

  "They said that Ballynigel had been a town of witches,

  with most of the people there being descendants of witches for

  thousands of years. They called them the old clans. They said

  evil had risen up and destroyed the witches, and they didn't

  know why, but they knew you should never take a chance with

  a witch." Dad coughed and cleared his throat "I laughed and

  said I didn't believe in witches. And they said, 'More fool you.'

  They said that witches were real and there had been a powerful

  coven at Ballynigel until the night they had been destroyed,

  and the whole town with them. Then I had an idea, and I

  asked. Did anyone escape? They said a few humans. Humans,

  they called them, as if there was a difference. I said, What

  about witches? And they shook their heads and said if any

  witches had escaped, they would never be safe, no matter

  where they went That they would be hunted down and killed, if

  not sooner, then later."

  But two witches had escaped and had come to America.

  Where they were killed three years later.

  Mom had quit sniffling and now watched my dad as if she

  hadn't heard this story for many years.

  "I came home and told your mom about it and to tell you

  the truth, we were both pretty frightened. We thought about

  how your birth parents had been killed. Frankly, it scared us.

  We thought there was a psycho out there, hunting these people

  down, and if he knew about you, you wouldn't be safe. So we

  decided to go on with our business, and we never spoke of your

  past again."

  I sat there, interlacing this story with the one Alyce had

  told me. For the first time I could almost understand why my

  parents had kept all this to themselves. They had been trying

  to protect me. Protect me from what had killed my birth

  parents.

  "We wanted to change your first name," Mom said. "But

  you were legally Morgan. So we gave you a nickname."

  "Molly," I said, light dawning. I had been Molly until

  fourth grade, when I decided I hated it and wanted to be called

  Morgan.

  "Yes. And by then, when you wanted to be Morgan again,

  well, we felt safe," Mom said. "So much had changed. We'd

  never heard anything more about Meshomah Falls or Ballynigel

  or witches. We thought all of that was behind us."

  "Then we found your Wicca books," said Dad. "And it

  brought everything back, all the memories, the awful stories,

  the fear. I thought someone had found you, had given you

  those books for a reason."

  I shook my head. "I bought them myself."

  "Maybe we've been unreasonable," Mom said slowly. "But

  you don't know what it's like to worry that your child might be

  taken from you or might be harmed. Maybe what you're doing

  is innocent and the people you're doing it with don't mean any

  harm."

  "Of course they don't," I said, thinking of Cal, and

  his mother, and my friends.

  "But we can't help feeling afraid," said my dad. "I saw a whole

  town that had been wiped out I read about the burned barn. I

  talked to those men in Ireland. If that's what witchcraft entails,

  we don't want you to have any part of It"

  We sat there in silence for a few minutes while I tried to

  absorb this story. I felt overwhelmed with emotion, but most of

  my anger toward them had melted away.

  "I don't know what to say." I took a deep breath. "I'm

  glad you told me all this. And maybe I wouldn't have

  understood it when I was younger. But I still think you should

  have told me about the adoption part earlier. I should have

  known." My parents nodded, and my mom sighed heavily. "But

  I can't help feeling that Wicca is not connected to that—

  disaster in Ireland. It's just—a weird coincidence. I mean,

  Wicca is a part of me. And I know I'm a witch. But the kind of

  stuff we do couldn't cause anything like what you described."

  Mom looked like she wanted to ask more but didn't want

  to hear the answers. She kept silent

  "How come you were able to have Mary K.?" I asked.

  "I don't know," Mom said in a low voice. "It just

  happened. And after Mary K., I've never gotten pregnant again.

  God wanted me to have two daughters, and you've both

  brought untold joy into our lives. I care about you both so

  much that I can't stand to think of any danger coming to you.

  Which is why I want you to leave witchcraft alone. I'm begging

  you to leave witchcraft alone."

  She started crying, so of course I did, too. It was all too

  much to take in.

  "But I can't!" I wailed, blowing my nose. "It's a part of

  me. It's natural. It's like having brown hair or big feet It's

  just—me."

  "You don't have big feet" my dad objected.

  I couldn't help laughing through my tears.

  "I know you love me and want what's best for me," I said,

  wiping my eyes. "And I love you and don't want to hurt you or

  disappoint you. But it's like you're asking me not to be Morgan

  anymore." I looked up.

  "We want you to be safe!" my mom said strongly, meet*

  ing my eyes. "We want you to be happy."

  "I'm happy," I said. "And I try to be safe all the time." The

  music went off across the hall, and we heard Mary K. enter the

  bathroom that connected her room to mine. The water ran, and

  we heard her brushing her teeth. Then the door shut again and

  it was quiet.

  I looked at my parents. "Thank you for telling me," I said.

  "I know it was hard, but I'm glad that you did. I needed to

  know. And I'll think about what you said, I promise."

  Mom sighed, and she and my dad looked at each other.

  They stood, and we all hugged each other for the first time in a

  week.

  "We love you," said Mom into my hair.

  "I love you, too," I said.

  16. Hostile

  December 15, 1982

  We're getting ready to celebrate Christmas for the first

  time ever. We're going to the Catholic church in town. The

  people are very nice. It's funny, all the Christmas stuff—it's so

  close to Yule. The Yule log, the colors red and green, the

  mistletoe. Those things have always been a part of my life. It

  feels strange to be practicing Catholics instead of what we

  were.

  This town is nice, much greener than Ne
w York City. I can

  see nature here; I can smell rain. It's not a bunch of ugly gray

  boxes full of unhappy people racing around.

  Over and over I find myself wanting to say a little spell for

  this or that—to get rid of slugs in the garden, to bring more

  sunshine, to help bread rise. But I don't. My whole life is in

  black and white, and that's the way is has to be now. No spells,

  no magick, no rituals, no rhymes. Not here. Not ever.

  Anyways, I love our wee house. It's lovely and easy for

  me to keep clean. We're saving up to buy our own washing

  machine. Imagine! Everyone in America has their own.

  I can't forget the horror this year. It is seared on my soul

  forever. But I am glad to be in the place, safe, with Angus. --

  M.R. "Are you going to the game on Friday?" Tamara asked me.

  I kicked off my clogs and stowed them in the bottom of

  my gym locker. As usual, the air in the girls' locker room

  smelted like a mixture of sweat, baby powder, and shampoo.

  Tamara pulled on her gym shorts and sat down to put on her

  socks.

  "I don't know," I answered, pulling my shirt over my

  head. Quickly I wriggled into my gym clothes and saw Tamara's

  eyes glance at the small silver pentacle around my neck. She

  looked away, and I wasn't sure if she got the significance: that

  it was a symbol of my commitment to Wicca and to Cal. I bent

  down to tie my sneakers and didn't say anything about it

  Across the room Bree stood next to her own locker,

  changing. Since Raven was a senior, she was in a different

  class. It was unusual to see Bree alone.

  Bree's eyes met mine for a moment and their coldness

  shocked me. It was hard to believe that I hadn't been able to

  share my huge news with her: finding out I was adopted, the

  story of my birth parents. We had always promised to tell each

  other everything, and until this school year we had. She'd told

  me about when she'd lost her virginity and tried pot for the

  first time and how she'd found out about her mom's affair. My

  own confidences had been much more banal.

  "Guess who asked me out," said Tamara, pulling her tight

  curls into a puffy ponytail.

  "Who?" I asked, quickly braiding my hair in two long

  braids so I looked like an Irish Pocahontas.

  Tamara lowered her voice. "Chris Holly."

  My eyes got wide. "Get out! What did you soy?" I

  whispered.

  "I said no! Number one, I'm sure he only asked because

  he's flunking trig and needs help, and number two, I saw what

  a jerk he was with Bree." Her dark brown eyes looked at me.

  "Are you two talking yet?"

  I shook my head.

  So did Tamara. I shoved my feet into my sneakers and

  tied them.

  "So did you go after Cal?" she asked. "No," I said

  honestly. "I mean, I was crazy about him, but I knew Bree

  liked him. I just assumed they'd end up together. But then ...

  he picked me." Shrugging, I stuck my braids down the back of

  my T-shirt so they wouldn't whip anyone in the face. Then Ms.

  Lew, our PE teacher, blew her whistle. Ms. Lew loved that

  whistle.

  "It's raining out, girls!" she called in her clear voice. "So

  give me five laps around the gym!"

  We all groaned, as expected, then started to jog out of the

  locker room. Tamara and I quickly passed Bree, who was going

  as slowly as she possibly could.

  "Witch," I heard Bree mutter as I jogged past My cheeks

  burned, and I pretended not to hear her.

  "She called you a bitch," Tamara whispered angrily,

  jogging next to me. "I can't believe she's being such a bad

  sport about this. I mean, they didn't even go out. Besides, she

  can get any other guy she wants. Does she really have to have

  them all?"

  Hooting and whistling assaulted our ears as all the junior

  boys ran out of their locker room and started jogging in the

  opposite direction. I could hear the rain as it hit the small

  windows set high in the gym walls.

  "Hey, baby!"

  "Looking good!"

  I rolled my eyes as the boys jogged past Robbie made a

  face at me as he passed, and I laughed.

  "Bree says they did go out once," I said, starting to pant.

  Actually, she had said that she and Cal had sex. It wasn't

  exactly the same thing.

  Tamara shrugged. "Maybe they did, but I never heard

  about it It couldn't have meant much, anyway. Oh, guess who

  asked Janice out? You've been out of the whole gossip loop."

  "Who?"

  "Ben Reggio," announced Tamara. "They've had two study

  dates."

  "Oh, that's great" I said. "They seem like they'd be

  perfect together. I hope it works out"

  I felt so normal, talking about regular high school stuff

  with Tamara. As exciting and fantastic and empowering as my

  Wicca experiences were, they made me feel kind of isolated.

  They were also exhausting. It was nice, not having to think

  about anything deep or life changing for a few minutes.

  After our laps we split into teams for volleyball. The girls

  were on one side of the gym with Ms. Lew, and the boys were

  on the other with Coach.

  Bree and I ended up on opposite teams.

  "God, look at Robbie," a girl whispered behind me. I

  turned around and saw Bettina Kretts talking to Paula Arroyo.

  "He is so hot."

  I looked at Robbie. With great skin and no glasses, he was

  moving around the volleyball court with new confidence.

  "I heard that senior, Anu Radtha, asked when he had

  transferred here," Paula said in a low voice.

  I raised an eyebrow. Anu was the older sister of one of Bree's

  old boyfriends, Ranjit So Anu actually thought Robbie was a

  new student and one worthy of a senior's attention.

  "Is he going out with anyone?" Bettina asked.

  "Don't think so," Paula answered. Their conversation was

  interrupted when the ball came into our quarter for a minute.

  We bounced it around, and I knocked it across the net, anxious

  to hear the rest of what they were saying.

  "He hangs out with the witches," Bettina shocked me by

  saying. She was several people away and speaking in a low

  tone. Only by concentrating could I hear what she was saying.

  I'd had no idea that people around school thought of our group

  as "the witches."

  "Yeah, I've seen him with Cal and the rest of them," said

  Paula. "Hey, if he isn't going out with anyone, why don't you

  ask him to the game?"

  Bettina giggled. "Maybe I will."

  Well, well, well, I thought, popping the ball over to Sarah

  Fields. She hit it over the net to Janice, and Janice returned

  with a quick, neat pop that went right between Bettina and

  Alessandra Spotford, costing us a point and giving our

  opponents the serve.

  Bree was in the server's position on the other team, and

  while she was holding the ball, someone gave a wolf whistle

  from the other side of the gym. She looked up, her eyes flitting

  from boy to boy until she found Seth Moore giving her a b
ig,

  lecherous grin. Seth was good-looking in a punky kind of way.

  His hair was cut in a buzzed flattop, he wore two silver earrings

  in his left ear, and he had pretty hazel eyes.

  Bree grinned back and wiggled her shoulders at him.

  Automatically I looked for Chris Holly, Bree's most recent

  ex. He was watching it all with a kind of frozen animosity, but

  he said nothing and made no move.

  "Come on, Miss Warren," ordered Ms. Lew.

  "You and me, baby!" Seth shouted.

  Bree laughed, and then our glances met She gave me this

  snarky, superior smile, as if to say, See? Boys would never do

  that for you. I tried to look bored, but of course it was true. Cal

  was the only guy who had ever paid me any attention. Bree's

  showing off hurt me, as she intended.

  "Anytime!" Bree called to Seth, getting ready to serve.

  Several of his teammates made a big show of holding him back.

  Everyone was laughing now, everyone but me, Chris Holly—and

  one other person. When I saw the look on Robbie's face, my

  jaw almost dropped open. Good old Robbie, my pal Robbie, was

  watching Bree and Seth with a barely concealed jealousy. His

  hands were clenching at his sides, and his whole body was

  tense.Huh, I thought in wonder. He had never said a word about

  liking Bree.

  Then I felt a stab of guilt. Of course, I hadn't asked.

  "Come on, Bree," said Ms. Lew, sounding irritated.

  Bree gave me another superior smile, as if this whole

  show was for my benefit, to show me how hot she was and

  how nothing I was. A spark of anger ignited in me. Looking at

  her, I impulsively hooked my finger in the neck of my T-shirt

  and tugged it down, revealing the silver pentacle that Cal had

  once worn and that was now mine.

  Bree paled visibly and drew in a quick breath. Then she

  pulled back her arm, made a fist and smashed the volleyball

  right at me with all her strength. Automatically I threw my

  hand in front of my face a split second before the powerful

  serve came right at me. It knocked me down, and the entire

  junior class saw me whack my head on the wooden floor. A

  tangy, coppery smell alerted me one second before my nose

  and mouth filled with blood. Putting my hands over my face, I

  tried to sit up before I drowned, and my blood ran out through

  my fingers and down my shirt.

  Everyone was gasping, talking fast and Ms. Lew's voice,

  urgent and in control, said, "Let me see, honey." Her hands