by Cate Tiernan
A minute later I slid into the passenger's seat of Hunter's old Honda and stared into my lap. Seeing that I wasn't in the mood to talk much, he turned on the radio, but it didn't work very well. All he could get was a static-ridden country station. After a few minutes of trying to get something else, he grimaced and switched it off.
"Unbelievable," he commented, shaking his head. "We witches can tap into the power of the universe. We can rip holes between life and death. But we still can't get an old radio with a bent aerial to pick up anything besides crackly country and western."
I couldn't help but smile at that.
As we pulled up in front of my house, Hunter turned to look at me.
"I'll try and have some answers by the morning," he said. "For now, just get some rest."
"Okay," I said, reaching up for the door release. As I was getting out, he reached up for my arm. I turned around to see him stretching over the passenger's seat to look at me.
"Ring me if you have any more problems tonight," he said. "I don't care what time it is."
He waited until I was inside before pulling away. I could hear my dad and Hilary in the kitchen, talking about their plans for converting my room into the Hilspawn habitat. I took from what they were saying that they had just gone out to order a crib and a dresser. Now they were making a list of objects to put on the gift registry—the monitor, a sliding rocker, a Diaper Genie…
In their excitement they didn't even notice that I had come home, which was fine with me. I headed off to my room. I wanted to enjoy it while it was still mine.
5. Explosion
October 29, 1948
A strange thing happened today. I was down in the library looking through some old books on the elder futhark alphabet. These particular books are rarely used, so they're kept well in the back. As I pulled the book from the shelf, I noticed another book wedged behind it.
To my amazement, it turned out to be a Book of Shadows that belonged to my great-great-grandmother, Màirin Quinn. How it had gotten lost like that for so many years is beyond me. Our family has always taken great care with its books, especially the Book of Shadows. Stranger still, some of the pagers have been violently torn out. It's not like a Rowanwand to mar a book in any way. I wonder what happened. I'm going to read the book tonight, then I'll make sure its filed away in the proper place.
— Aoibheann
Even before I turned on the light in my room, I knew that something was wrong, Things were different. There should have been shoes by the door for me to trip over. Somebody had changed things in here. Had my attack done something to my room as well? I flicked on the light and discovered the worst.
My belongings were in boxes. Clothes. Shoes. Posters and pictures from my walls. One box was full of books, including my mother's Book of Shadows and mine. It took me a frantic minute to even find Sam's letters—they were packed in with a bunch of old papers from the floor. There were bundled together and retied in ribbon. I felt my stomach clench.
This had to be the work of Hilary. For her to have gone through my stuff was bad enough, but she had been handling my mother's personal property. Had she read the letters? My book?
My brain couldn't even put those thoughts together. Insane, raging, I blew open the door and tore through the house. This was it—I couldn't hold it back any longer. I found them still sitting in the kitchen, giggling over something.
"What's the matter, honey?" my dad asked.
I must have looked like something out of an alien movie. I felt my eyes bulging and my heart racing. My hands were clenching and unclenching.
"What did you do?" I hissed.
"Oh," Hilary said, as if just remembering, "I did some cleaning in your room."
"Cleaning?" I spat. "You didn't clean—you went through everything I own, everything personal… You went through my mother's things…"
They fell silent and looked at each other.
"I didn't go through them, sweetie," she said. "I just put them in boxes."
"First of all," I said, my energy on the rise, "I'm not your sweetie. My name is Alisa. And I'm sorry I've been inconveniencing you with my presence, but I live here, too. You can't just wish me away. I know you are in a big rush to move me down to the storage spot at the end of the hall, but that gives you—"
"Alisa!" my father yelled. "Watch your mouth! I know you're upset, but Hilary is pregnant. Think of what she's going through."
"What Hilary's going through?" I yelled in disbelief. "What about me? You let Hilary come in here, take over the house, order me around. You barely even know I'm alive. I have to eat her horrible food, and move all my things, and listen to her puke."
"How dare you talk about her that way!" My father said, barely able to control himself. "This is the woman who is going to be your stepmother. You have to show her respect!"
"Please!" I groaned. "She's practically my age. What, couldn't you find anyone younger? Why didn't you just ask me? I could have introduced you to some freshmen at my school."
I knew I had entered uncharted, dangerous territory, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. It was like my jaw had become unhinged or something, and every terrible thought I ever had was spilling out. I wondered if the spell was still affecting me, allowing me to let fly with all my thoughts and emotions. I knew I was digging myself into a very deep whole.
"You're just marrying her because you got her pregnant," I hissed, all control gone. "Because you were stupid. You were both stupid. And I've got to suffer because the two of you don't know how to control yourselves."
Hilary began to cry, and my father's face turned purple. He turned to me with more rage than I have ever seen him show anyone. All at once it hit me what I'd done. I'd told them everything I'd been thinking—everything. I hadn't wanted to say. On top of it all, the spice rack fell of the wall.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Before he could even retort, I decided to get the hell out of there. I didn't even want to know what he was going to say to that. I ran back to my room and slammed and locked the door. This was bad. This was very bad. My life was about to take an abrupt turn for the worse, if such things was possible.
A thought suddenly flashed into my mind. Gloucester. I would go to Gloucester. Now.
It was an insane idea, but not much more insane that the thought of going back into the kitchen after that conversation. Really, there was no better time to go. Besides, didn't my mothers family have a right to have me if my own father couldn't be bothered? Something had been telling me to go there. Now I would listen to it.
Impulsively I grabbed my duffel bag. I put in my mother's Book of Shadows, the printout of Sam's e-mail, some random clothes and things from my dresser. What else would I need? I looked around and took my warmest sweater, a hairbrush, and my own Book of Shadows and stuffed my purse right on top. That was it. The bag was full, and I felt that I needed to move quickly before my father recovered enough to come after me.
I peeked out into the hall. No one was there. I could hear fevered talking in the kitchen. As silently as possible, I crept down the stairs. Fortunately you can't see our front door from the kitchen, so I was able to slip out. I ran, as quickly as I could, across our neighbors' yard and down the street. I knew it wouldn't be long before my dad figured out that I had given them the slip, and then he would be out on the street, looking for me.
Once I was away from the house, I realized that I didn't have a second move planned out. When I slowed down to a walk, I saw that I had been going in the direction of the Rowlandses' house. I checked my watch. It was probably right around Morgan's curfew. She would have to pass the local playground on her way home from Hunter's. I headed for it and tucked myself in behind the spiral slide so that I wouldn't be easily seen but I would still be able to scan the road. About ten minutes later the distinctive shape of Morgan's car made its way around the corner. I came out from where I had been hiding and waved her over. She slowed, looked out the window in surprise, then came to a st
op.
"Alisa," she said, "What are you doing?"
"I need help," I said, not quite sure how to explain myself. That statement seemed to cover a wide range of options. She looked at me, with new tear trails running down my face and an overnight bag in my grip.
"Get in," she said, reaching over and unlocking the door.
I got into the passenger's side. She pointed at the bag.
"What's going on? Did you just run away?"
"Something like that," I said, slouching low in the seat in case my dad passed by. "Would you mind driving around a little?" I asked sheepishly. She started down the street, torn between looking at the road and looking at me.
"Alisa," she said, her voice serious, "nothing that happened tonight was that big of a deal. You know we've been through a lot worse. And Hunter will have some information in the morning to help you."
"This isn't about what happened at the circle tonight," I said. "Not entirely."
"Fight with your parents?"
"Uh-huh."
"Was it about magick? Did you have another problem with telekinesis?"
"No," I answered, shaking my head. "It's a lot more complicated than that."
"Do they know you're gone?"
"I don't know," I said, playing with the zipper on my bag. "Maybe. If not now, soon."
She glanced at me. I felt my body tingle, and I guess she was looking me over in some magickal way, trying to figure out what I was thinking. She'd seen me flood a house and then sob on her boyfriend's shoulder for half an hour. Now she'd just found me hiding by a swing set at midnight with clothes in a bad. The evidence would suggest that I wasn't entirely stable.
"Come on," she said. "I'm taking you back to Hunter's." She started heading for Valley Road, which led to Hunter's house. I was surprised she didn't speed me to the closest mental hospital. "I'd take you to my house," she continued, "but between my parents and Mary K., that would just cause you a whole new set of problems. You can stay with Hunter for a few hours, and then he can take you home."
"No," I said, clutching my overnight bag to my stomach. "Please. No."
She pulled over to the side of the road and put the car into park.
"Why not?" she asked.
I shook my head, willing back the new storm of tears that was welling up inside.
"Look," she said gently, "you don't have to be embarrassed because he saw you so upset. Hunter can handle that. Trust me, I've turned to him enough times."
"I know what I have to do," I said, my voice wobbling.
"What's that?"
"I need to go to the bus station," I said. "I have to go somewhere."
"No way," Morgan replied, reaching for the shift. "It's Hunter's house or it's home. Which will it be?"
"I have to go see my mother's family, Morgan."
That stopped her for a moment, so I jumped right in.
"It was instinct that made me take my mother's Book of Shadows from your house," I said, the words coming quickly now. "Then my telekinesis made my jewelry box fall over and break—that's how I found my uncle's letters. And I've been having these dreams, visions of my mother's hometown. I've been in touch with my uncle. He told me I can come anytime I want."
Morgan stared out in front of her and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, deep in thought. Along with her witch skills, Morgan had a powerful big-sister vibe. Right now I could see the two were in conflict.
"Come on," I said, "how am I going to explain this to my father? How am I going to tell him that my mother was a witch, that she stripped herself of her powers, and that I've been having visions and problems with telekinesis? When you and I say that our parents don't understand us, we're not just angsting."
She couldn't deny anything I said.
"I still think we should go to Hunter's first," she said slowly. "You can talk it over with him."
"It's not that I don't want to talk to Hunter," I said, "but I need to get out of here. If I wait until morning, my dad will have the police after me."
Absolute silence for about two minutes.
"Tell me where you're going," she said finally.
"Gloucester, Massachusetts. To my uncle Sam Curtis's house."
"Do you have enough money?"
I reached into my purse and fished out my wallet. "I have my bank card and six dollars in cash."
"How much do you have in your account?"
"Just over three hundred," I said, "from baby-sitting."
Without another word, she put the car back in drive and turned it around, back towards the bus station. I could tell the internal battle was still raging on, though.
"I don't like it," she said, breaking the long silence, "but I guess I understand."
There were no cars in the bus station parking lot, and I saw no one through the glass windows. It was empty, except for the plastic seats and a few ticket machines. Morgan hunched down to look at the place through my window, then she groaned loudly.
"I can't believe I'm letting you do this," she said, her voice low. She lifted herself from her seat, pressed her hand into the pocket of her jeans, and produced a few crumpled notes.
"Here," she said, pressing them into my hand, "take this, too. It's, um…" She smoothed out the bills and counted them. "Twelve bucks."
"Thanks," I said as she pressed the wrinkled money into my hand. "I'll pay you back."
Strangely in response she reached over, pulled back my collar, and started tickling my neck. At least, that is what she appeared to be doing.
"Is this what they mean when they talk to kids about 'bad touching'?" I asked.
"Call either me or Hunter," she warned, drawing back her hand. "I'm serious. If we haven't heard from you within twenty-four hours, we're coming after you. I just put a watch sigil on you, so we'll be able to find you anywhere."
"Thanks," I repeated, somewhat uncertainly. I didn't actually know what it meant to have a watch sigil burned into your flesh. It sounded kind of ominous.
"Guess that's all I can really do." She sighed.
"You've done a lot," I said, stepping out and leaning in through the window. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
"I have to get home," she said, obviously annoyed by the limitations of her curfew. "Be careful. And remember, call within twenty-four hours."
With that, she slowly pulled away. I watched Das Boot vanish into the night, and then stepped inside the dingy, fluorescent glow of the bus station.
6. The Runaway
October 30, 1948
Máirin's book has opened up a whole new world to me. Goddess, how was it that I never knew this horrific story?
Máirin's mother was named Oona Doyle. She and her husband came over from Ireland in 1865 with a small group of other witches. They built this house and started Ròiseal that year.
According to Máirin, a hideous influenza outbreak spread through Gloucester in 1886. The whole coven worked as hard as they could to combat the sickness. Young Máirin describes long nights of visiting sickbeds and working on spells. In their attempts to cure others, some of the members of the coven were infected and weakened. The sickness claimed the lives of Máirin's father and two younger brothers, leaving the two women alone. Máirin was, of course, devastated—but her mother's reaction was even worse. She lost control of her mind, for two years Oona lived in this condition, and Máirin watched over her at all times.
Máirin descirbes a horrible night during which her mother ran skyclad through the house, casting hexing spells in her own blood. Two days later Oona's body washed up on the shore. Oona, unable to overcome her sadness must have wandered out to the ocean and just kept going, allowing the waves to overtake her. Máirin then describes the beginning of a long series of hauntings that went on for years. She made several attempts to control the phenomena.
The last few pages of the book are missing. What Rowanwand destroys a book—much less a Book of Shadows? What was written in there? I need to study this book more closely. I've told mother what I fou
nd, and she seemed very interested. Could it be that we have some kind of an answer to our haunting problem at last?
— Aoibheann
When I told Morgan that I knew what I was doing, I'd probably been overstating my case just a little bit. I knew that I was running away, that I was going to Gloucester, and that I was going immediately. The details—well, I hadn't quite worked them out.
I was the only person waiting at the bus station for the midnight ride to New York. I used my bank card to buy a ticket and sat down to wait. I felt like I was in a cheesy movie of the week—teen leaves home, gets on bus to the big city. Things like this weren't supposed to happen to me. But it was real, and I was alone, seething, and nearly numb with anticipation. Fortunately I'd timed it well, and I only had to wait a few more minutes before the bus arrived.
About three hours later I saw the lights of New York in the distance. Though I love the big city, the Port Authority Bus Terminal, where we eventually stopped, is probably the last place I'd normally want to be at 3 a.m. on a Sunday. Though it was less crowded than usual, there were still a lot of people wandering around. Many of these people had hollow gazes; several mumbled to themselves. Everyone seemed to be eyeing me—this squeaky clean teen with her fat duffel bag.
According to the monitor, the next bus for Boston left at 4 a.m., so I had an hour to kill. I used my bank card again to buy my ticket, taking care to have it out of my bag for the least amount of time possible. I also really needed to go to the bathroom, but there was no way I was venturing into one of those desolate ladies' rooms.
My adrenaline rush was fading. I was shivering. I passed a phone, and I thought about picking it up. I wasn't quite ready to call my father. Morgan? Mary K.? Too late. Their parents would freak. I could call Hunter. His dad wouldn't mind that I called so late (an advantage to letting your father live in your house and not vice versa). But I figured Hunter probably wouldn't be to happy about me running away, and I didn't really want to get a lecture.