by Cate Tiernan
"You know, a dark spirit," Hunter said. "An evil force. I'm guessing the dark wave is either an incredibly powerful force like that or a group of many of them, banded together."
This was too much for me to take in. "You mean, like a dead person?" My voice squeaked. "A ghost?"
"No. Something that's never been alive." I shivered again and wrapped my arms around myself. Before I knew it, Hunter was rubbing my back and arms, trying to warm me up. I glanced up at his face in the moonlight, at his carved cheekbones, the green glitter of his eyes. He was beautiful, as beautiful as Cal in his own way. This is who hurt Cal, I reminded myself. He put a braigh on Cal and hurt him.
I stepped away, no longer wanting to ask him inside. "What will you do with this dark force when you find it?" I asked. "I won't be able to do anything to it," he said. "What I hope to do is to stop the people who keep calling it into existence." I stared at him. He held my gaze; I saw him glance at my mouth. "And then," he said quietly, "maybe then people who have been hurt by this, like you, like me . . . will be able to get on with their lives." His words fell like quiet leaves onto the snow as I stood, trapped by his eyes. My chest hurt, as if I had too much emotion inside, and to let it all out was unthinkable: I wouldn't know where to begin. Frozen, I watched Hunter lean closer to me, and then his hand was on my chin, and it was cold, like ice, and he tilted up my face. Oh, Goddess, I thought. He's going to kiss me. Our eyes were locked on each other, and again I felt that connection with him, with his mind, his soul. A small spot of heat at my throat reminded me that I wore Cal's silver pentacle on a cord around my neck. I blinked and heard a car drive up and realized what we were doing, and I stepped back and pushed against him with my hands. "Stop that!" I said, and
he looked at me with an unfathomable expression. "I didn't mean to," he said.
A car door opened, then slammed shut, then opened, and Mary K.'s voice said, "Bakker!" Her tone was shrill, alarmed. Before the door slammed shut again, I was running across the yard to find Mary K., with Hunter right behind me. Bakker had parked in front of our house. Inside the dark car I caught glimpses of arms and legs and the auburn flash of my sister's hair. I yanked the car door open, spilling Mary K. on her back into the snow, her legs up on the car seat.
Hunter reached down to help Mary K. up. Tear tracks were already frosting on my sister's face, and one of her jacket's buttons had been ripped. She was starting to cry and hiccup at the same time. "M-M-Morgan," she stammered. I leaned into the car to glare at Bakker. "You stupid bastard," I said in a low, mean voice. I felt cold with rage. If I'd had an athame right then, I would have stabbed him.
"Stay out of it," he said, sounding upset. He had scratch marks on one cheek. "Mary K.!" he called, shifting in his seat as if he would get out. "Come back—we need to talk."
"If you ever look at, touch, talk to, or stand next to my sister again," I said very softly, "I'll make you sorry you were ever born." I didn't feel at all afraid or panicky: I wanted him to get out of the car and come after me so I could rip him apart
His face turned red with anger. "You don't scare me with all that witch crap," he spat.
An evil smile snaked across my face. "Oh, but I should," | whispered, Page
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and watched the color drain from his cheeks. I narrowed my eyes at him for a second, then drew out of the car and slammed the door shut. Hunter was watching us from a few feet away. Mary K. was holding his arm, and now she blinked up at him, saying, "I know you." "I'm Hunter," he said as Bakker peeled away, burning rubber. "Come on, Mary K.," I said, taking her arm and leading her toward the house. I didn't want to look at Hunter—I was still trying to process that almost kiss.
"Are you okay?" I asked, hugging Mary K. to my side as we went up the steps.
"Yes," she said shakily. "Just get me upstairs." "Will do."
"I'll see you later, Morgan," said Hunter. I didn't reply. 13. The Circle
Giomanach is alive. Back from the dead. Dammit! Having the council's dog breathing down our necks could ruin everything. I need to take care of him. It's my responsibility.
I'll but the braigh on him, around his neck, and he can see how it feels.
-Sgath
The next day Mary K. came into the family room as I was researching correspondences on the computer. There were dozens of Wiccan sites on-line, and I loved cruising from one to another.
"Morgan?"
"Yeah? Hey." I turned to look at her. Head hanging down, she looked uncharacteristically drawn and defenseless. I stopped what I was doing and pulled her into a tight hug.
"Why did he do it?" she whispered, her tears making my cheeks wet. "He says he loves me. Why does he try to hurt me?" A rage began to boil in me. Was there some kind of spell I could do to Bakker that would teach him a lesson?
"I don't know," I told her. "He can't take no for an answer. Somehow he doesn't mind hurting you."
"He does mind," Mary K. cried. "He doesn't want to hurt me. But he always does."
"If he can't control himself, he needs help," I said slowly and carefully. "He needs to be in therapy. He's going to end up killing someone someday, a girlfriend or a wife." I pulled away and looked my sister in the eyes. "And Mary K.? That person will not be you. Understand?" She looked at me helplessly, her eyes awash with tears. I shook her shoulders gently, once, twice, until she nodded. "It won't be me," she said.
"It's over this time," I said. "Right?"
"Right," she said, but her eyes slid away, and I swore to myself. "Do you want to tell Mom and Dad about him, or should I?" I said briskly.
"Oh, uh ..."
"I'll tell them," I said, setting off to find them. In my opinion, Page
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keeping this a secret only made it more likely it would happen again. If my folks knew, Mary K. would have a harder time forgiving Bakker and going back to him again.
My parents did not take it well. They were angry with me for not telling them sooner, furious with Mary K. for continuing to see Bakker after the first time, and almost murderous in their rage toward Bakker, which cheered me up. In the end there was a big group hug, complete with tears and sobbing. Half an hour later I paced off a small plot in the backyard, where my parents had agreed I could have a garden. The ground was too hard to dig, but I hammered in stakes and string to show where next spring's herbs would be. Then I sat on the snowy ground and tried to meditate for a while, clearing my mind and sending good thoughts into the earth below me, thanking it for being receptive to my garden. Feeling refreshed, I went back inside to look for a spell to put on Bakker.
Technically, of course, I wasn't supposed to do spells. I wasn't initiated, and I'd been a student for barely a couple of months. So I wasn't committed to spelling Bakker. But if the necessity arose ... Once more we had turkey sandwiches for dinner. I was approaching my saturation point with turkey and was glad to see the carcass was almost bare. "Any plans for tonight?" my mom asked me. "Cal's going to pick me up," I said. "Then we're going to Ethan's." Mom nodded, and I could almost see her weighing my boyfriend against Mary K.'s. On the one hand, Cal was Wiccan. On the other hand, he had never hurt me. By the time Cal rang our doorbell, I had dressed in faded gray cords and the purple batik blouse he had given me for my birthday. I'd French braided my hair to the nape of my neck, then let the rest hang down. In the mirror I looked excited, pink cheeked, almost pretty: a vastly different creature than the Morgan I had been two months ago and a different Morgan than just two days ago. Now I knew I wasn't a murderer. I knew I wasn't guilty. I could breathe again, and enjoy life, without Hunter's death hanging over me. "Hi!" I greeted Cal, shuffling into my coat. I said goodbye to my parents, and we walked down the salt-strewn pathway to the Explorer. In the dark car he leaned over and kissed me, and I welcomed his familiar touch, the faint scent of incense that clung to his jacket, the warmth of his skin. "How's Mary K.?"
"So-so." I rocked my hand back and forth. I'd told him the
gist of what had happened last night, omitting the Hunter part "I've decided to fix it so that every time Bakker speaks, a toad or snake will slither from his mouth." Cal laughed and turned onto the main street that would take us to Ethan's. "You are one bloodthirsty woman," he said. Then he flicked me a serious glance. "No spells, okay? Or at least please talk to me about them first." “I'll try," I said with exaggerated virtue, and he laughed again. He parked in back of Robbie's red Beetle outside Ethan's house and turned to me again. "I haven't seen you in days, it feels like." He looped his hand around my neck and pulled me closer for a breathless kiss. "Just one day," I answered, kissing him back. "I wanted to ask you—what did you think about my Seomar?" "What's a shomar?"
"Seomar," Cal corrected my pronunciation. "It's a private place, usually used by one witch alone, to work magick Different from a place where you meet with others."
"Does every witch have one?" I asked.
"No. Quit evading the question. What did you think of mine?” "Well, I found it sort of disturbing," I said. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I couldn't lie, either. "After a while I wanted to get out of there."
He nodded, then opened the car door and got out. We walked up the pavement to Ethan's small, split-level brick rambler. "That's natural," he said, not sounding offended. "I'm the only one who's worked there, and I've done some intense stuff. I'm not surprised it seemed a little uncomfortable." He sounded relieved. "You'll get used to it pretty fast." He rang the doorbell while I wondered if I even wanted to get used to it.
"Hey, man," said Ethan. "Come on in."
This was the first time I'd been to Ethan's house: before we were coven mates, we'd never socialized in or out of school. Now I saw that his house was modest but tidy, the furniture worn but cared for. Suddenly two small apricot bundles skittered around the corner from the hall, barking wildly, and I backed Page
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up a little.
Jenna laughed from the couch. "Here, pup dogs," she called. The two doglets ran toward her, panting happily, and Jenna gave them each a tortilla chip. She'd obviously been here before and knew Ethan's dogs. Another surprise. "I never figured you for Pomeranians," Cal told Ethan with a straight face.
"They're my mom's," Ethan said, scooping one under each arm and carrying them back down the hall.
Robbie came out of the kitchen, munching a chip. Matt arrived last, and we went downstairs to the basement, which had been finished to be a large family room.
"Is Sharon still out of town?" I asked, helping Ethan push back furniture.
"Yeah. In Philly," he said. He pushed one of his straggly ringlets out of his eyes.
Once the furniture was out of the way, Cal started unpacking his leather satchel, taking out his Wiccan tools.
"Hey, Jenna," Matt said, since she had ignored him upstairs. His usual pressed appearance had taken a downslide in the last few days: his hair was no longer brushed smooth, his clothes looked less carefully chosen. Jenna met his gaze squarely, then turned away from him with no expression on her face. Matt flinched. I'd always thought of Jenna as being kind of needy and dependent on Matt, but now I was beginning to suspect that she'd always been the stronger one.
"Last Wednesday, I asked you to choose your correspondences," Cal said as we settled on the floor around him. "Did anyone have any success?" Jenna nodded. "I think I did," she said, her voice firm. "Let us have it," said Cal.
"My metal is silver," she said, showing us a silver bracelet on her wrist "My stone is rose quartz. My season is spring. My sign is Pisces. My rune is Neid." She lifted her hand and drew Neid in the air. "That's all I have." "That's plenty," said Cal. "Good work. Your rune, standing for delay and the need for patience, is very apt."
He fished in his satchel and took out a squarish chunk of rose quartz the size of an egg. It was pale pink, mostly clear, not milky, and inside were cracks and flaws that looked like broken windowpanes, trapped inside. I thought it looked like pink champagne, frozen In time. Cal handed it to Jenna. "This is for you. You'll use it in your spells."
"Thanks," Jenna said, looking deeply into it, pleased. "Your rune, Neid, will also become important For one thing, you can use it as a signature, either on your spells or even in notes and letters." Jenna nodded. I sat forward, excited. This was cool stuff—this was what I really loved about Wicca. In my Wicca books the use of quartz in various spells had come up again and again. It had been used religiously for thousands of years. In particular, pink or rose quartz was used to promote love, peace, and healing. Jenna could use all three.
"Robbie?" Cal asked.
"Yeah," he said. "Well, I'm a Taurus, my rune is Eoh, the horse, which also symbolizes travel or change of some kind. My metal is copper. My herb is mugwort My stone is emerald."
"Interesting." Cal grinned at us. "This is really interesting. You guys are doing a great job of feeling your way to your essences. Robbie, I didn't even associate emerald with you, but as soon as you said it, I thought, yeah, of course." He reached into his bag, rejecting several stones, then brought one out "This is a rough emerald," he said, holding it toward Robbie. It was about the size of a pat of butter, a dark, greenish lump in his hand. Robbie took it. "Don't get excited—it's not gem quality. No jeweler would buy it from you. Use it in good health," said Cal, and I was oddly reminded of taking communion at church. Cal went on, "Emerald is good for attracting love and prosperity, to strengthen the memory, to protect its user, and also to improve the eyesight."
Robbie turned and wiggled his eyebrows at me. Until I about a month ago, he'd worn thick glasses. My healing potion had had the unexpected side benefit of perfecting his vision.
"So do you just have every stone possible in that bag?" Ethan asked. Cal grinned. "Not every one. But I have one or two of the most typical." I had been wondering the same thing myself. "Okay, Matt?" Cal prompted Matt swallowed. "I'm a Gemini," he said. "My rune is Jera. My stone is Page
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tourmaline."
"Jera, for karma, a cyclical nature, the seasons," said Cal. "Tourmaline."
"The kind with two colors," Matt said.
"They call that watermelon tourmaline," said Cal, and took one out. It looked like a hexagonal piece of quartz, about an inch and a half long and as thick as a pencil. It was green on one end, clear in the middle, and pink on the other end. Cal handed it to Matt, saying, "Wearing this balances the user. Use it in good health."
Matt nodded and turned the stone over in his hand. "I can go next," said Ethan. "I know what Sharon's are— should I tell them to you?" Cal shook his head. "She can tell us at the next circle or at school." "Okay, then, mine," said Ethan. "I'm a Virgo. My season is summer. My stone is brown jasper. I don't have a plant or anything. My favorite jellybean flavor is sour apple."
"Okay," said Cal, smiling. "Good. I think I have a piece of brown jasper . . . hang on." He looked at the stones in his bag and pulled out one that looked like solidified root beer. "Here you go. Brown jasper is especially good for helping you keep your feet on the ground." Ethan nodded, looking at his stone.
"I think for your rune, you should use . . ." Cal considered Ethan thoughtfully while we all waited. "Beorc. For new beginnings, a rebirth. Sound okay?" "Yeah," Ethan said. "Beorc. Cool." Cal turned to me with a special look."Last but not least?" "I'm on the Scorpio-Sagittarius cusp," I said. "Mostly Sagittarius. My herb is thyme. My rune is Othel, which stands for an ancestral home, a birthright. My stone is bloodstone."
I might have been the only one to see Cal's pupils dilate and then contract in an instant. Was my choice wrong? Maybe I should have run my ideas by him first, I thought uncertainly. But I had been so sure. Cal let a stone drop unseen into his bag; I heard it click faintly. "Bloodstone," he said, trying it out. I met his gaze as he looked at me. "Bloodstone," he repeated.
"What are its properties?" Jenna asked. "It's very old," said Cal. "It's been used in magick for thousands of years to give strength to warriors
in battle, to help women through childbirth. They say it can be used to break ties, open doors, even knock down barriers." He paused, then reached into his bag again, rummaged around, and pulled out a large, dark green stone, smooth and polished. When he tilted it this way and that, I could see the dark, blood-colored flecks of red within its darkness. "Bloodstone," repeated Cal, examining it. "Its ruling planet is Mars, which lends it qualities of strength, healing, protection, sexual energy, and magick involving men."
Jenna grinned at me, and I felt my cheeks flush. "It's a fire stone," Cal went on, "and its associated color is red. In spells you could use it to increase courage, magickal power, wealth, and strength." His eyes caught mine. "Very interesting." He tossed me the stone, and I caught it It felt smooth and warm in my hand. I had come across another bloodstone among the things in Maeve's toolbox. Now I had two. "Okay, now let's make a circle," said Cal, standing. He quickly drew a circle, and we all helped cast it: purifying it invoking the four elements and the Goddess and God, linking hands within it. Without Sharon there were only six of us. I looked around and realized that I was starting to feel like these people were my second family.
Each of us held our stones in our right palm, sandwiched with the left palm of the person next to us. We moved in our circle, chanting. Looking forward to the rush of ecstatic energy I always got in a circle, I moved around and around, watching everyone's faces. They were intent, focused, perhaps more so than during other circles: their stones must be at work. Jenna looked lovely, ethereal as delight crossed her features. Wonderingly she glanced at me, and I smiled at her, waiting for my own magick to take me away. It didn't. It was a while before I realized I was deliberately holding it down, not letting it go, not letting myself give in to the magick. It occurred to me: I didn't feel safe. There was no reason I could think of not to, but I simply didn't. My own magick stayed dampened, not the enormous outpouring of power that it usually was. I let out a deep breath and put my trust in the Goddess. If there was danger here that I couldn't see, I hoped she would take Page