by Cate Tiernan
“I just can’t believe it,” Sky repeated. She paused. “How about I catch a flight back and go with you?”
I smiled with gratitude. “Thanks, Sky, but I’m all right going solo. Besides, you’ve done enough—I’d have never found them without you. You’re on holiday.”
I paused, and changed the subject. “How’s the mighty Cara?” Sky’s sister Cara was living in Paris.
Sky gave an uncharacteristic giggle. “She’s pretty much the same: beautiful, successful, extremely popular, blokes panting at the door, constant promotions at work, the usual.”
“Gross,” I said. “And of course she’s still sweet and kind and impossible to hate?”
Sky sighed. “Yes, damn her. She’s been great. I’m glad I’m here. I still feel so—drained. Tired. Achy. I keep expecting to get the flu, but it hasn’t come yet.”
I waited, wondering if she would ask for news of Raven, but she didn’t. “Listen,” I said, “I’ll call you from there and let you know what’s happening. Who knows what I’ll find? Anyway—I’ll keep in touch.”
“Do,” she said. “I might be back in England, or maybe even America, by the time you get home. I don’t know how much more fabulousness I can stand.”
“Paris or Cara?”
“Both.”
We rang off, and I sat for a moment, hoping that being away was doing her good. I frowned, thinking about how she was still feeling run-down. Was it just a simple mental thing, caused by stress or unhappiness, or was she really sick?
I knew Morgan’s number by heart and braced myself to talk to one of her parents if they answered the phone. But it was Morgan who said, “Hello, Hunter.”
Morgan’s slightly husky voice sent shivers down my spine, and I realized I was gripping the phone a little tighter. You are pathetic, Niall, I told myself. “Hi,” I said. “How are you?”
“Okay. Have you been getting ready for your trip?”
“Yes. I’ve lined up a replacement circle leader. Her name is Bethany Malone. Alyce recommended her, and I went to see her tonight. She seems terrific—I hope you’ll like her. I think she’ll be really good.”
“Hmmm. I guess I just like it best when you lead the circles.”
Morgan wasn’t being coy or trying to inflate my ego. She was naturally shy, and it took her a while to be comfortable with new people. Making magick with people is an intimate thing: it’s very hard to hold on to your barriers and defenses when you’re connected by the energy. And Morgan wrote the book on defenses and barriers.
“I know,” I said. “But Bethany is very learned, and it’s a good opportunity for you to work with someone new. You know I’m not the best teacher for you.” Because I want to ravish you.
She remained quiet, and I sensed that she was feeling conflicted about things.
“Hunter—I know you have to go,” she said finally. “It’s incredible that your folks are alive. You have to go see them. I know that. It’s just—I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”
“Love,” I said. “I’m going to miss you, too. I wish I knew when I’ll be back. I mean, I might be back in three days, or it might take a week. . or longer.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, sounding down.
“I’ll be thinking of you the whole time,” I said. “I’ll try to call as often as I can. And I’ll be so glad when I’m back.” Part of me felt almost guilty saying that. The truth was, I really had no idea what would happen. What if my parents no longer had to live in hiding? What if they could live openly and we could be a real family? Maybe they were planning to move back to England, to be near Beck and Shelagh. We would have actual family holiday celebrations, like for Ostara, coming up. Maybe next year’s Yule would be truly joyous, with all of us together at last.
And if they did return to England, where would that leave me? I can easily work in England—plenty of witches are there. And I knew the council would be eager to send me out on another job soon. Nothing was holding me in Widow’s Vale except Morgan. What if I had to choose between being with my parents or being with Morgan? If I could be near my parents, see them, make magick with them, learn from them. . that would carry a lot of weight. And Morgan wouldn’t be able to join me in England, not for at least a year and a half.
A lot can happen in a year and a half. A lot can happen in three months.
“I’ll be glad when you get back, too,” Morgan said. I sensed her taking charge of herself, deliberately deciding to be stronger. “But I know it’ll be wonderful for you to go.” Her voice sounded much more brisk and matter-of-fact.
“Thanks,” I said softly, feeling the warmth of my love for her.
“I can’t believe I can’t go with you,” she said. “But anyway—I was thinking, if you’re leaving early Saturday, maybe we could have dinner together tomorrow night, just the two of us. Unless you think you’re going to be really busy getting ready.”
Terrific idea. “No, I’ll make sure to get everything done before then. Dinner alone tomorrow sounds wonderful. Let’s do it at my house—I’ll try to put something special together.”
“Great,” she said, and I picked up on her waves of relief and anticipation.
“I’ll look forward to seeing you, love,” I said.
“Me too,” she said, and we rang off.
3. Good-bye
I can’t believe Hunter is leaving tomorrow. I feel a sense of dread when I think about his being gone. I tried to scry last night but really didn’t pick up anything except images of woods. Frustrating.
Now, on the main thing. I’ve read in Maeve’s Book of Shadows that blood witches can do spells to either get pregnant or not get pregnant. I went yesterday to Practical Magick and tried to find a spell, but I couldn’t and was too embarrassed to ask Alyce. So this afternoon after school, I drove over to Norton, to the Planned Parenthood office there, and got a three-month supply of the Pill and a prescription to fill if I need to.
I parked down the street (so original) and crept up the block to the building, which of course had humongous letters on the side screaming Planned Parenthood! Catholic teenagers having premarital sex against their parents’ wishes, step right up! Goddess, by the time I got inside the building, I was shaking with mortification. If only I were Bree! Bree has her own gynecologist and suavely went on the Pill when she was fifteen. The whole thing only underlines how immature I am. Yet I do absolutely feel ready to go to bed with Hunter. I’ mean, I’m dying to. I’ve been wanting to, but things just haven’t worked out. But tonight is going to be the night—I feel it. I came hoe and took the first pill as instructed. We’ll need to use a condom, too, because the Pill doesn’t kick in for a month and even though I trust Hunter, I’d rather be safe that sorry.
I can’t believe I thought about doing it with Cal. I still feel incredibly sad when I think about him—sad that he’s dead, that Selene destroyed his life, that I had anything to do with it. What I feel for Hunter is so different than what I felt for Cal. I love Hunter truly and deeply, I trust ad admire and respect him. I feel sure that he loves me, that he will take care of me and doesn’t just want to remake me into what he thinks would be a perfect girlfriend. I feel comfortable with him. I feel safe. I trust him.
And physically, oh, Goddess, he makes me crazy. So tonight’s the night. Tonight I’m going to quit being a kid, a little girl. By tomorrow morning, I’ll be a woman.
— Morgan
By Friday evening I was tightly wound. Everything was weighing on my mind: Should I stop the mail or ask a neighbor to gather it? Would my car make it to Canada? Did I have enough money? Thoughts consumed me as I surveyed the table I had set. I looked at it suspiciously, certain I’d forgotten something. Something for the trip, something for dinner? I couldn’t think. Shaking my head, I tugged at the tablecloth and leaned over to light the candles. Dinner was basically done and waiting in the kitchen. I like to cook. I frowned: had I ever seen Morgan be picky about food? I couldn’t remember—my brain was fried. In general, she has an appalling d
iet. For example, she considers Diet Coke to be an appropriate breakfast food. And she eats these thin, horrible pastries with a teaspoon of jam in the middle and frosting on top. Pop-Tarts. Goddess, it makes me ill just to think about it.
The doorbell rang, and I jumped about a foot in the air— I hadn’t felt her coming up the walk. Automatically I pushed my hand through my hair, then remembered too late that always makes it stand up in a stupid way. Goddess, help me.
I opened the door, my heart already thudding. It was dark out, of course, and Morgan stood framed in our weak porch light, her brown eyes huge.
“Hi,” I said, feeling awash in love for her. “Come on in.”
She came in wordlessly and took off her coat. Hmmm— she was wearing some long skirtlike thing that swept the top of her clogs. Usually she wears jeans, so she had made a special effort for tonight, and I felt oddly pleased in an old-fashioned, male-chauvinist-pig kind of way. Her clingy brown sweater showed off her broad shoulders and her arms, which I knew were strong and toned. Once again the knowledge that she never wears a bra popped into my fevered brain, and I felt my knees start to go wonky. Her skin, and the curve of her waist, and the way she responded when I—“Hunter?” she said, watching my face.
“Ah, yes,” I said, snapping my mind out of the gutter. “Right. Hi, love.” I put my hand on her back and leaned down to kiss her. She kissed me back, her lips gentle on mine, and I was struck by how alive she felt, how vibrant.
“Are you hungry?” I asked when we pulled apart.
She smiled, her eyes lighting up, and I laughed. “What am I saying? You’re always hungry.”
Half an hour later I was pleased by the fact that Morgan wasn’t picky about food. While I wasn’t sure if she knew the difference between bad food (instant tarts and diet soda) and good food (the linguine I had made for dinner), still, the fact that she ate everything and seemed to enjoy it was heartening.
“How did you learn to cook?” she asked, taking another thin slice of bruschetta.
“Self-defense. My aunt Shelagh was pretty uninspired. I couldn’t blame her—she had years of cooking for twelve people at every meal before she caught on and started making the oldest kids help out.”
Morgan laughed, and I felt the same kind of inner glow that came over me when I had worked a particularly nice bit of magick. I loved her. I didn’t want to leave her. I wanted her to be packed, to be ready to get in my car tomorrow morning and drive off with me. Like her, I was frustrated by the fact that she was only seventeen.
“I brought dessert,” she said, going into the parlor. She returned with a white pastry box and opened it at the table.
“Voilà. Two éclairs.”
“Brilliant,” I said, reaching for one. Witches and sweets seem to go together. I know that after spell-working, I tend to fall upon whatever sweet carbohydrate there is. Even Aunt Shelagh, during her macrobiotic period, had been observed wolfing down a brownie after a Lammastide rite.
As I fixed a pot of tea, I began to realize that Morgan was coiled almost as tightly as I was. I knew she was upset about my leaving tomorrow. I was both upset and incredibly excited. Part of me was aching to go jump in the car right now and set off, every minute bringing me closer to my long-lost parents. I tried as unobtrusively as possible to feel her aura. Regular people can’t feel someone do this; even a lot of witches would be pretty unaware of it. I’d had a lot of training in feeling auras as a Seeker. It was literally my job to know people, to be able to detect nuances about their behavior, their energy.
“What are you doing?” Morgan asked.
I sighed. Served me right for trying to scan someone as strong as she was.
“Feeling your aura,” I said, turning on the hot water in the sink. “You seem kind of. . tense. Are you okay?”
She nodded, not looking at me, and drank the last of her tea. “Um, could you leave that till later?” she asked, gesturing toward the kitchen mess. “I just—want to be with you now. It’s our last night, and I want us to spend time together, just us.”
“Sure, of course,” I said, turning off the water. I put my arm around her shoulders and led her from the kitchen.
She leaned against me. “Let’s go up to your room.”
All my senses jumped to full alert. “All right,” I said, feeling my throat contract. Our chances to be alone and physical were few and far between, and I had been hoping we could take advantage of the opportunity tonight.
We walked upstairs, where Sky had one bedroom and I have the other. As we walked in, I could see all at once how impersonal the room seemed. Even after being in Widow’s Vale for months, I hadn’t spent much time settling in. The room contained my bed, my almost bare desk, and three boxes of books, which remained unpacked. There were no curtains, no rugs, no photographs or knickknacks. It was almost like walking into an abandoned dormitory. I felt a sudden embarrassment at the complete lack of mood.
Morgan left me and walked to the bed, which was still, after months of my living here, just a box spring and a mattress on the floor. She kicked off her clogs, sat down, and leaned back against the pillows. Then she looked at me and smiled. I smiled back.
My nerves jolted awake as desire flared to life. For once we didn’t have to worry about Sky coming home; it was a weekend night, so Morgan wouldn’t have to leave by nine; we had the rest of the evening together and an empty house with no disruptions. Then we were lying next to each other, and I was kicking off my boots and my hands were reaching around her sides, feeling her curves. The idea that Morgan was lying on my bed went right to my head, and then all thoughts fled as we kissed deeply, our mouths joined, our bodies pressed together. Goddess, she felt good. I have always found her intensely attractive, everything about her: her body, her face, her scent, how she moved against me, the sounds she made as we kissed, tiny whimpers of pleasure. I leaned into her, deepening our kiss.
“Hunter, Hunter,” she said, pulling her mouth away from mine.
“Mmm.” I followed her mouth, but her hands pressed against my chest and pushed. I swam toward coherence and looked into her eyes to see her gazing at me seriously. “What, love, too much?” Please don’t say it was too much. “What?” I asked again.
“Hunter, I want us to make love,” she whispered, her eyes glancing at my mouth. “I love you. I’m ready.”
My brain struggled to process the words. Had I really heard that, or was this some cruel fantasy? I looked down at her face, her incredible, sculptured face. Was she serious?
I swallowed hard. “You want to—”
“I’m ready, Hunter,” she said, her voice soft but sounding confident. “I want to make love with you.”
It was as if the entire universe had just dropped literally into my lap. We had come close several times, and I had been keen to since practically the first moment I saw her, but it had never quite worked out.
“Are you sure?” I felt compelled to ask. Please, please, please.
She nodded, and my heart began to pound. “I started taking the Pill.”
My eyebrows rose. She was serious; she had thought it out; she was ready. I sent out a huge, silent thank-you to the universe and pressed against her, holding her close.
“I really want that, too,” I murmured against her hair. “I’ve been wanting to.” I tried to quell the urgent impulse to simply leap on her—don’t scare her off—and instead kissed her gently down the side of her face and neck. She wriggled to give me better access and made little sounds in her throat.
“Do you know about conception spells?” I asked, stroking her hair away from her face.
“Yes—but I couldn’t find any, and I couldn’t ask Alyce.”
“When did you start taking the Pill?”
“This afternoon. I brought condoms, too.”
I grinned at her, and after a moment she grinned back. “Right. We better do a barrier spell just to be safe,” I said, and she nodded, her cheeks flushing a beautiful rose color. Pathetically, it had been a long time
since I had needed one, and I had to look it up. In the interests of continuing her education, I explained the basics to Morgan and saw her eyes widen as she grasped the basic image. “Let me go do this, and I’ll be right back,” I said, running the tip of my tongue along the curve of her ear.
“Hurry,” she said, looking extremely witchy, and I almost raced out of the room and stumbled down the hall to Sky’s.
When I came back a few minutes later, Morgan was under the covers up to her shoulders. I took in the sight of her skirt, jumper, camisole, and her socks on the floor. Oh, yeah, I thought, yanking my shirt over my head and unsnapping my jeans.
“Come here, come here,” she said, smiling and holding out her hands, and I almost tripped getting out of my pants. Then I was sliding under the covers, feeling her skin against mine, her knickers against me, and I practically lost my mind. At last, at last, at last. I held her head in my hands and kissed her deeply, again and again until we were both breathing fast and Morgan’s eyes were glittering, her pupils wide and dark.
This was something I had been dreaming about for months. Her arms were clasped around my back, holding me close, pressing her small, beautifully shaped breasts to my chest. Our legs were tangled together, hers long and smooth.
“I love you so much,” I whispered, stroking her, caressing her, watching her eyes unfocus as she moved under my hands. I knew she hadn’t done this before, and I wanted to make sure this was fabulous for her, that she was comfortable and happy.
“I love you, too,” she said, her voice sounding tight. She moved against me restlessly, twining closer to me as if she had been doing this all her life. Her hands moved over my skin, over my chest, around my back, stroking my face. . I held my breath as her hand tentatively touched me, and I leaned closer to touch her in the same way. Morgan gave a little gasp and stilled, her eyes locked on mine. I could hardly breathe—it was incredibly exciting, incredibly sexy, like falling off a cliff, falling down endlessly and being able to see only Morgan’s eyes, her soft mouth.