by Lenore Wolfe
TEN
CLAIRE
Claire contemplated her reflection in the mirror. She’d been sitting there in front of her grandmother’s dressing table, staring, yet not seeing her reflection, for the past twenty minutes.
She still couldn’t decide what to do.
Gazing into the glassy, metallic surface, she couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed, wishing she could see her Grams there, wishing she could hear her guidance. Thinking that if she looked hard enough—listened carefully enough—she’d give her a clue. Needing her grandmother to tell her what she thought—something—anything. She needed her advice right now.
She needed her comfort.
She shook her head. She wanted to scream.
As the only other one who knew about the circle, besides Tara, she knew the time would come to reveal the news about the Daughters, and the attic, to the rest of her friends—and to her sister—once she knew for sure that Morgan remembered more from their childhood.
She closed her eyes. She needed to check with Morgan first, find out how much she remembered, first.
Opening them, Claire sighed at her reflection in the mirror. She knew—had known for years—what she must do. That the time her grandmother carefully planned for was now—was at hand now.
After their aunt had stopped dragging Claire all over the country, nearly three years after Morgan’s disappearance, she’d sent Claire back to Ravenwood for this. When their grandmother started training her the following year, before Claire again went off to join her aunt, she made sure she knew what she needed to know to carry out her instructions about the circle.
Even while she taught her nothing on how to defeat their most dreaded enemy. Even while she taught her nothing on how to defeat the one enemy she needed to know how to defeat—the powerful freaking warlock who now haunted them.
When her Grams charged Claire to teach Morgan all she’d learned—when the day finally came that their aunt should find her and bring her back to Ravenwood—she still left out that they were using a nearly brand new Book of Shadows.
Or that the old one—the one she really needed—was hidden away, wrapped in leather.
Claire stared at the mirror through vacant eyes. She couldn’t quite grasp the enormity of their situation. She couldn’t believe her grandmother was so adamant on gathering the Daughters—and so careless on keeping them alive so that she could do so.
She shook her head, nearly laughing out loud in hysteria at what her reaction had been—when she’d first seen the real Book of Shadow. She couldn’t help it. It was sad—but comical too. The kind of thing one knew they shouldn’t laugh at, given the seriousness of the situation. The sort of thing one couldn’t help but laugh at—given the irony and near hilarious reaction she’d had to it all. She wanted to laugh even now—remembering.
She’d been crouched down in front of the trunk and fallen back, her butt hitting the floor when she realized what she was holding. She couldn’t believe it. Not even when she lifted it out of the protective casing—and read the words Book of Shadows, nor even when she realized why her grandmother had given her the key—she kept on a chain around her neck….
She’d taken it, shaking, and unlocked the clasp of the brackets, protecting the book, opened it and began to read the dates written there.
How could her grandmother have done such a thing?
She glanced down at her watch. That had been a mere thirty minutes, ago.
She’d found it. Picked it up, read those dates, then set it back down. Refusing to open it again. Afraid to open it again.
When she’d found it, she’d been looking around in some of the trunks, further in the back against the south window of the attic, hoping to find something more to help them. Completely unprepared for what she was about to find….
Now, she almost wished she hadn’t looked. Now, she felt confused—betrayed—and even bit abandoned. She didn’t know what to think about it all. It seemed like every puzzle she solved only turned out to be part of a much larger puzzle—and she was tired of thinking….
Their Grams never doubted her other daughter, their aunt, would bring Morgan home. She’d been careful to prepare Claire. And Claire had learned all her Grams’ could teach her, not unlike a good granddaughter—but also because she loved magick—craved to know everything she could know about magick—even though she never believed they’d ever form such a circle.
They couldn’t—not without Morgan.
Yet, now—Morgan had returned to Ravenwood. And—the time was now—had come—to gather the daughters.
This was happening….
Besides telling Tara, no one else knew they were to gather the Daughters of the Circle. Worse, Morgan spent too much time oblivious to her powers—to their powers. When she finally learned the whole truth—life, as she knew it, would never be the same. Claire almost wished she could spare her that.
But—now—they not only had powers they didn’t know how to use—they were to use a Book of Shadows they knew nothing about….
Claire stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She didn’t get it. She couldn’t grasp it. Why hadn’t their parents taught them about the one warlock with which they needed to know everything?
When her Grams figured out the kids uncovered the truth about their powers, that day when they’d been children, why did she teach her about the Daughters of the Circle—yet fail to teach her about the one dangerous warlock who would do everything in his power to prevent her from doing just that?
And why had she hidden the one book they’d need?
The true book behind their power.
Feeling defeated, Claire got up from her seat and put on a sweater before heading downstairs. Since the sun had gone to bed, the group gathered around the fireplace, where a fire burned brightly to ward off the chill of the early fall evening.
In a couple of days, Halloween would be here. In a few weeks, Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Claire sniffed, then smiled. The twins had made a warm eggnog brew that smelled delicious. Jake handed her a hot mug, and she put it under her nose and sniffed, then grinned. Well, it helped that it held spiced rum.
Claire sat down on the polished, flat stone in front of the fireplace, letting the fire warm her back, sipping on the hot brew. Morgan came over and sat beside her, and Tara sat down on the large, round, throw rug, in front, which sat across the beautiful, cherry, hardwood floor.
Sophia got up with a sleeping Kira and went to put her in bed. Sighing, Claire studied Morgan, for the first time realizing she seemed quiet. She twisted her lip, looking toward the stairs, waiting for Sophia to come back down. She didn’t want to have to repeat what she wanted to say to the group.
When Sophia didn’t show up ten minutes, or so, later, Claire realized this might be a good time to broach another subject with Morgan. She glanced at her sister, trying to gauge her mood. “Hey, Sis,” she finally said.
Morgan gazed up at her. Her own lined with fatigue.
Claire eyed her in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were that tired,” she said, concern edging her voice.
Her sister only smiled at her. “It’s not all due to the shadows playing around in the night,” Morgan hedged, finding Alex across the room where he stood.
He seemed to feel her gaze upon him and looked over at her, from where he chatted with the twins. Claire saw his dark eyes soften, as he gave her a warm smile.
Claire chuckled and nudged her sister. “I see,” she teased, then sobered. “But it’s not all due to Alex, either, is it?”
Morgan shook her head. “Nope. I seem to be getting regular visits from the shadow—followed by that winged thing, who chases him off.”
Claire’s brow shot up. “Like—how many regular visits?”
Morgan folded her arms around her knees. “Well, let’s see. I’ve been here fifteen nights, or it will be fifteen, tonight. So—fourteen.”
“What?” Tara said in surprise.
Claire caught Tara’s gaze. She’d known the
y’d been regular, but even she hadn’t been aware that it happened every night.
“Well,” Morgan said, “I should say, it’s actually more than that, since at least three or four of those nights, it showed up more than once.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Morgan shrugged. “We seem to have our own version of a pitbull chasing him off, so I guess I didn’t want to worry you.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “There’s way too much of that going on around here,” she said with more than a little sternness in her voice. “That’s got to stop.”
Claire’s scrutinized her. She didn’t want her saying too much yet. She’d been thinking of taking Morgan to the attic and filling her in on the rest of the story—but she wanted to get a sense of how much of her memory had returned, first. She still hadn’t had a chance to explore that yet.
She tried to warn Tara off with a slight shake of her head.
Tara raised her brows at her, like asking her when, then?
Claire made a face at her, refrained from sticking out her tongue, aware that Morgan still watched. She eyed Morgan. “Ah, Morgan. I’ve meant to ask you if you remember any more of your life here?”
Morgan’s brows shot up. She rocked back with her arms still encircling her legs. “Well—yeah, I guess. It seems like I remember pretty much everything—since I quit feeling traumatized by the creature who showed up that night. Why?”
Claire smiled. “It’s nothing. I have something I want to show you one of these days.”
Morgan sat forward. “Really? Does it have anything to do with the shadow?”
Claire nodded. “Yes. It seems it has everything to do with that warlock.”
Morgan seemed almost—excited. “What’s wrong with now?”
Claire grinned. “Not quite yet,” she said.
Morgan actually looked disappointed. So, did Tara. Claire resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at her, again. Tara seemed to know it—because she laughed.
A loud shouting came from upstairs. Claire’s head snapped around. She frowned, gazing up at the Twins, but they had turned toward the hallway that led out to the stairs. Claire jumped up, the rest of the group following her, running toward the stairway that would lead to where Sophia continued to shout at someone. As they got closer, a distinctly male voice more growled than said something indistinguishable to her.
“I won’t be going anywhere near there?” Sophia yelled. “Now you can take that straight back to my mother.”
Claire came to the door to glance into the room, but both the twins came right around her, Tara right behind them, entering the room. Neither of them, or Tara, hesitated or even gave Sophia any notice before doing so, and Claire winced. As she peeked in, she was just in time to see the curtains move as something disappeared out the window. Claire stepped more fully into the room, giving Sophia a questioning look, but Sophia only turned away from them to lay her daughter down in her crib. She seemed visibly upset, and Claire saw her hands shake as she laid a blanket over her.
Turning, Sophia motioned for them all to leave the room so Kira could sleep, and they all silently made the trip back to the living room. Reaching it, Sophia spun around to face the group. She seemed agitated, but she still didn’t say a word.
“Who were you yelling at?” Claire finally asked her.
Sophia shook her head. “I’m not ready to tell you that,” she said, pleading with her eyes for Claire’s understanding.
Claire flinched, looking at the Twins, but both were busy staring at the floor. If they saw who it was Sophia had been yelling at—they weren’t saying.
Morgan and Alex had been behind her—so they didn’t see any more than she did. That left Tara. She’d been right behind the Twins. Claire turned her questioning eyes on her now.
Tara gave her a funny look, one that Claire couldn’t begin to interpret, but Tara merely shrugged, although, with another apologetic shrug, she smiled at Claire.
Claire gazed at Sophia. “Okay, then,” she said, then winced at the frustration in her tone. She couldn’t help it. Her friends were all busy keeping secrets—at a time when they couldn’t afford any. She walked over and sat back down at the fireplace, picking up her mug, now cold. Morgan sat down and wound her left arm through Claire’s, and Claire tried for a smile.
“It would seem they’ve learned something about keeping secrets from our parents,” Morgan whispered in a teasing tone, smiling at Alex who watched them from across the room.
Claire didn’t find what she said funny. “Yes,” she agreed, but deep inside she knew the time for secrets had passed. And the time for bringing all things out into the light—out into the open—well that had just begun….
That night, Claire stood in the attic, still ignoring the trunk that held the old—the real—Book of Shadows. She stood, instead, at the round table, making a potion. All around her, jars of herbs and spices lined the shelves—along with the other things she needed. The cauldron bubbled in front of her. The smell, not always that appetizing.
She’d been practicing a lot lately. She’d been learning the different potions her Grams kept in various books around the attic.
Today, even this didn’t help to take her mind off her troubles.
She’d gone to her grandmother’s coven the day before, taking Tara’s Grams with her, so they could begin preparing for calling the Daughters of the Circle. She’d set an actual celebration—a circle—up for spring. Now, they had a lot of work to do if they were to be ready for what would take place on Beltane.
Claire put the potion bottles on the table next to the cauldron. She moved the mortar and pestle nearby and put the herbs and spices she’d need to make her potions close by the bubbling cauldron. She should have felt relieved, but she didn’t. She should have told Morgan about this tonight, but she hadn’t.
She should have looked at that old Book of Shadows—but she couldn’t.
Claire fought to keep her eyes going to the trunk. A silent tear slipped down her cheek.
Something bothered her—but she wasn’t completely sure which one bothered her more. There were too many to choose from. She sensed the danger around them, more each day. She knew the others did too, and that didn’t do anything to relieve her misgivings. So, she’d started this super witch kick, learning all she could about magicks and potions from the Book of Shadows—working on some others she’d come up with on her own.
She studied at all hours of the day, hardly taking the time to get to know the little sister who’d only just returned. She stayed busy, trying to make sure Morgan stayed that way—and wasn’t stolen from her, again. She couldn’t lose her—not again. She almost didn’t survive the first time.
Claire even began taking self-defense classes in town, and now she’d gotten Morgan, Tara, and Sophia involved. Plus, today she’d talked the twins and Alex into joining them. Though, by the looks on the guy’s faces, they thought it a bit like overkill. The twins were probably complaining because they’d already started taking a drumming circle class—though Claire had no idea why.
She still couldn’t get past the feeling she’d missed something—and had an inkling whatever it was could be the key to saving their lives. Claire tossed a few leaves of basil into the pot, then tossed a touch of salt into the mix in the cauldron, staring down at the grimy, stinking mess.
She knew it, could feel it. Something important wouldn’t leave her alone. She knew it held that—key. She trusted this so-called key held some important answers. In a sense, it was like a giant jigsaw puzzle—like she just needed to figure out the hidden picture behind the veil hiding those’ answers from her. From all of them.
But first, she needed to figure it out—before they ran out of time.