by Cate Tiernan
At first I thought that she had hit a piece of wood or some garbage in the road. Then I saw the thing move. One gray paw twitched feebly.
Dagda.
My heart clutched. The woman looked up and saw us. “Help!” she cried. Tears began to rain down her cheeks. “Oh God, I’m so sorry! I love cats.” She looked at me helplessly. “He just came out of nowhere.”
I couldn’t speak. I bent mutely over Dagda.
The woman began crying even harder. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.
Dagda’s eyes opened, then closed again. He was alive! But though there wasn’t any blood on him, I could see at a glance that he was badly hurt. I tried to cast my senses, but it was no use. My magick was still reined.
My vision blurred with helpless tears. I turned around and saw Erin behind me. She bent and studied my kitten for a moment. “The injuries are internal,” she said. Her voice was low, but I could tell from her expression that Dagda was dying.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to move him for fear of causing him more pain. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked at him, his fur matted and soaked with gray leftover snow.
I couldn’t just let him lie there, die there, in the street. I picked him up, cradling him in my arms.
Mary K. was still frozen to her spot on the front walk. “Morgan,” Erin said. She leaned toward Dagda, and I wanted to scream at her to get away from him, to leave him alone, but I couldn’t. Her hand hovered hesitantly over Dagda, her face questioning.
Then I remembered. Erin is a healer, I thought. I could feel the movement of Dagda’s tiny lungs as he labored to breathe. I started to sob wrenchingly. Could she heal him? Surely he was too far gone, even for a witch’s power.
Erin squeezed my shoulder. Once again strength seemed to flow from her into me. “Quiet yourself,” she said gently. “Don’t let your emotions control you.”
I took a deep breath. Then another. Erin’s strength flowed through my body. I said nothing as she lowered her hand and touched Dadga’s head. She stroked him tenderly, with the force of a butterfly’s wings. Closing her eyes, she stood without moving. Time seemed to stand still, and I held my breath. I don’t know how long we stood there like that—it might have been five minutes or five hours.
Dagda let out a small mew.
“Oh thank God,” the heavyset woman said. “Oh, thank you, Lord! I thought I’d killed him!”
Erin’s face was serious. “He’s badly hurt,” she said, then turned to me. “You should get him to a veterinarian as soon as possible.”
“I know a good one,” I said, thinking of my aunt’s girlfriend, Paula Steen. Her clinic was the closest one I knew of—only about fifteen minutes away. “Thank you,” I said, and Erin nodded.
I don’t know why, but I turned to the heavyset woman and said, “He’s going to be fine.”
“Bless you,” she replied, which struck me as odd, but sort of sweet and strangely appropriate.
Still cradling Dagda with one arm, I pulled my keys out of my pocket and turned toward my car. Then I heard a voice call, “Morgan?”
It was Mary K. She looked lost. “Can I come with you?” she asked.
I didn’t even have to think. “Let’s go,” I said.
10. Confrontation
October 10, 1971
I finally worked up the nerve to warn my mother bout the book, but she hardly seemd interested. I told her that the powers of Wicca were starting to seem uncontrollable to me—and frightening in a way that they never had before.
Mother didn’t like this. She laid down her knife and told me that I was being “ignorant”. She made it sound like she thought I was a hysteric—like those people during the witch trials. Another Harris Stonghton.
I told her that I had some good reasons to be freaked out, but she just that she didn’t want to hear it. She said that we were responsible witches and that we had a right to our beliefs.
Just at that very moment—I mean exactly as she said that—the silverware drawer flew out. It just flew right out of the cabinet and landed on the floor with a clatter. Then an icy wind blew through the room and the cabinet doors burst open.
“Get down!” Mother yelled as the plates flew out and hurtled the wall—crash crash crash!
I screamed and screamed until the cupboard was empty. I screamed until my mother picked herself off the floor and took me by the shoulder. She shook me, but my scream went on and on until I couldn’t scream anymore.
Then Mother held me and told me that everything would be all right. But I don’t believe her.
There is dark magick in this house. For a while I thought it was the book itself that was responsible, but I know it’s impossible. It’s just a book. It may be full of evil, but it can’t actually make things happen.
I can hardly bear to think it, but I have to. Could Sam be behind it?
— Sarah Curtis
“May I help you?” the woman behind the desk asked as I rushed into the veterinary clinic. She was middle-aged with dyed blond hair and looked bored.
“I’m here to see Paula,” I said in a rush. “Dr. Steen.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked.
“No, I—” Just then Mary K. walked in with Dagda in her arms. The woman took one look at Dagda and said, “Come with me.”
We followed her down a long white hallway and into a small room. “Just a minute.” The woman hurried out of the room. Barely a minute had passed before Paula walked in.
“Morgan!” She looked surprised and pleased. “Mary K.!” A quick glance at Dagda and her smile evaporated. “What happened?” she asked.
“He was hit by a car,” I said as Mary K. laid Dagda gently on the steel table at the center of the room. Dagda struggled to get up but couldn’t.
Paula pursed her lips. She palpated Dagda’s ribs and stomach gently. Then she touched his left foreleg and frowned. “This needs an X-ray,” she said.
“Is he going to be all right?” Mary K. asked nervously.
Paula looked at her and smiled reassuringly. “This is one lucky kitty,” she said. “I think his leg is broken. He might have to hobble around on a cast for a while, but all things considered, that’s pretty minor.”
I exhaled with relief. “That’s great news,” I said.
“Why don’t you guys wait outside while I take the X-ray?” she suggested. “If we do have to put a cast on, we may have to sedate him. It could take a little while.”
I threw myself into one of the large, comfortable chairs in the waiting room while Mary K. went outside to the pay phone to let our parents know where we were. I was glad we had come here. I didn’t know where the receptionist was, but she was no longer behind her desk. I was alone in the waiting room as the sky outside grew from pink to dusky gray and the shadows disappeared.
What had happened today? I dug a hand into my pocket, remembering the feeling of the door slamming into my back, the fear as I left the ground, Alisa’s screams. Thank the Goddess that Erin was there, I thought. She saw everything. She knows I couldn’t have levitated myself. Especially not with my power restrained the way it is.
But then, who did it?
There was a sudden blast of cold air as Mary K. stepped back into the clinic. “I finally reached Mom,” she reported. “She said she hopes Dagda’s okay and she’s glad we thought to go to Paula.”
“Thanks, Mary K.,” I said.
“I called Alisa, too,” Mary K. said, sliding into the seat next to mine. “But her dad said she’s too sick to come to the phone.” Mary K.’s voice told me that she wasn’t exactly sure this story was true. She looked at me sideways. “What happened in there?” she asked. “Why did she run out of our house?”
I sighed. “I’m really not sure.” It was the truth. “I’m not sure why she came bursting into my room in the first place.”
Mary K. shrugged. “She wasn’t feeling great. Maybe she just got confused which door was which.”
I thought ab
out Alisa’s face, distorted in fear. “She doesn’t like me.”
“She doesn’t know you,” Mary K. replied. After a moment she added, “And you don’t know her.”
Something in her tone of voice made me look at her. “What do you mean?” I asked.
Mary K. sighed. “It’s just—Alisa’s going through some pretty rough family things right now. She’s not. . not at her best.”
I sank back into the chair, wondering what was going on with Alisa. But Mary K. clearly didn’t want to tell me, and I didn’t want to press her for details. Suddenly I felt guilty for not reaching out to Alisa more. It was obvious that she was troubled and that probably the animosity she felt toward me didn’t really have anything to do with me.
Still, at least she had a friend like Mary K. Someone who didn’t give up secrets easily. Someone who cared. I gave my sister a sideways look, loving her. I really hoped we could get past the trouble we were having now.
Paula came out with Dagda in her arms. He was wearing a small cast on his foreleg, which stuck out awkwardly from the rest of his limbs. “Here you go,” Paula singsonged. “Good as new—or almost. He’s a little out of it from the sedation, but that’ll wear off by morning.”
I rushed over, and Paula handed Dagda to me. He stirred in my arms, and Mary K. scratched him behind the ears. “Thank you so much, Paula,” I said. Dagda’s breathing was perfectly normal, and he didn’t seem to be in any pain. And thank you, Erin, I added silently.
“It’s just a fracture. You’ll need to come back in two weeks so we can check on his progress,” Paula said. “But I think we’ll be able to take the cast off then.”
We said good-bye, and I handed Dagda to Mary K. so I could drive. On the way home Mary K. asked, “Who was that woman who was at the house today? She was the same one you were at the library with, right?”
I winced. I should have seen this question coming. “She’s a tutor.”
“And a witch, right?” Mary K. asked.
“Anyone who has been initiated into a coven is a witch,” I replied, figuring that a half-truth is better than no truth at all.
Mary K. stroked Dagda. “So—why are you hanging out with her?” Her voice held a distinct note of unease.
“She’s teaching me.”
“Like, how to put hexes on people and stuff?” Mary K. asked.
“No,” I said curtly. Hadn’t she learned anything about Wicca from being around me? “Of course not. She’s teaching me about the history of Wicca and about herbs.”
Mary K. looked dubious. “Herbs?”
“Herbs have a lot of medicinal properties. Some can speed recovery. I mean, there might even be something I could feed Dagda that would make him get better sooner.”
“Really?” She sounded intrigued. “I wonder if she could help Alisa. She’s been sort of worn out lately.”
“Do you want me to ask Erin about it?” I suggested.
“No,” Mary K. said quickly. “No, don’t.”
I didn’t press her. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as she rubbed Dagda’s belly and he purred sleepily. She had been there when Erin healed Dagda—but how much had she actually understood? I was afraid to find out.
When we got home, Mary K. handed Dagda over to me, and I took him upstairs and settled him comfortably on my bed. He instantly dozed off once I put him down.
“How is he?”
I turned around and saw my mom standing in my doorway. “He’s fine,” I said, giving Dagda a small pat. Mom came over and gave him a gentle rub on the head. “Paula says the cast can come off in two weeks.”
“That’s good news.” My mom’s eyes lingered on Dagda a moment, then she turned to me. “Come downstairs, Morgan. Your father and I want to talk to you.”
I felt my throat tighten, but I followed her downstairs to where my father was sitting on the couch with his serious face on. My mom sat down beside him. I took the armchair across from them—The Accused.
“Morgan, Mary K. told us that you had a visitor today,” my mom began. “And that you were with a friend in the library yesterday.”
My body went cold. I tried to read my mother’s face— did she know that Erin was a witch? I didn’t think so.
“You weren’t supposed to have any visitors,” my mom went on. “You knew the rules, and you broke them.”
I wanted to protest, but I knew that would only make things worse. I clamped my lips together and sat on my hands.
“Morgan, your father and I have talked about this a great deal. We want you to be in a supportive environment. We don’t want you to throw your future away. You need guidance and a firm hand and—”
Fear gnawed at my stomach like a hungry rat. No. This couldn’t be. “What are you saying?” I asked.
“What your mother is saying,” my dad put in, “is that we think it would be best if you went to Saint Anne’s starting at the beginning of next quarter.”
Oh, no, no, no! My stomach fell. “What?” I cried.
My mother’s nostrils flared. “Look, we’ve given you a number of chances to show us that you’re turning your grades around, and you’ve disobeyed us at every step. This started long ago—back when we asked you not to read Wiccan books—”
“So that’s it,” I broke in, stunned. “You’re sending me to a Catholic school to try to convert me!”
“What?” My mom looked shocked.
“Morgan, don’t be ridiculous,” my father said. “We just want what’s best for you.”
“And what’s best for me is Catholicism and not Wicca, right?” I shot back. “I can’t possibly have both in my life.”
“You were raised with Catholic values,” my mom said hotly. “Those are our values.”
I stood up and faced them. “Look, I can’t help being a witch,” I said. My voice shook. “Wicca is in my blood. I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to. But that’s the point— I don’t want to. I respect your beliefs. Why can’t you live with mine?”
The minute the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to call them back. My father’s face went white, and my heart ached, but it was too late. My parents sat on the couch, stone-faced and silent. It was so quiet that I could hear the seconds ticking by on my watch.
Then my mom stood up. “Morgan, we’ve made this decision already. We want to put you in a positive environment— and we found one that seemed to offer the kind of academic support and discipline we think you need. We want you to value school and excel in it as you have in the past. I’m sorry if that offends you, but it’s something else you’re going to have to live with.” She turned and walked out of the room.
My father stood and faced me. “We love you,” he said in a quiet voice. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, and I saw in his eyes that my father was afraid— afraid for me.
We looked at each other a moment, then he turned and followed my mom.
“I love you, too,” I said softly to the empty room.
11. Connection
I’m scared. I think I might be going crazy.
Today I was over at Mary K.’s house, and I started to feel sick—kind of dizzy and nauseated. So I went to her bathroom to splash water over my face.
While I was standing at the sink, something weird started to happen. My hearing started to fade, almost as if someone had stuffed wads of cotton in my ears, and then my vision started to narrow, like I was looking through a tube. I thought I was starting to black out, so I sat on the toilet seat and put my head between my knees. After a few minutes I felt a little better, so I got up and splashed a little more water on my face. Then I headed out through the door— only I guess I got the wrong door because I walked into Morgan’s room, and there she was doing some bizarre ritual with Erin. That’s when things started to get really crazy. I think I started hallucinating because I thought I saw Morgan rise into the air, like some kind of freaky from The Exorcist.
Needless to say, I got out of there. But I still don’t know if what I saw was rea
l.
And I can’t figure out what would be more frightening—if it was, or if it wasn’t.
— Alisa
It was a dismal morning—gray and chilly—and I kept my head down and my shoulders hunched as I strode toward the quiet school building. The bell had rung ten minutes ago. Mary K. had always made sure that I was up by seven-thirty, but now that she was barely speaking to me, I didn’t have any more wake-up insurance. Today I was late beyond all redemption, thanks to the fact that I’d overslept by forty-five minutes. I was still feeling headachy and ill, and the weather made me feel even worse. The absence of my magick was so overpowering that it was almost like a presence. I couldn’t wait to get inside the warm school and distract myself with academics for a while. Or maybe I could catch a few winks in English class. Since I’d be attending Saint Anne’s soon, I could afford to catch a nap here and there while I could.
Morgan.
I spun around. Who’s calling me? I thought. But of course, my magick was still reined. Apparently I could still receive a witch message—I just couldn’t send one. I turned back and scanned the front of the building.
At first I didn’t see him. I had to look very closely before I noticed Hunter standing beside the large oak tree that grew to the far right of the building.
“How are you?” he asked as I walked up to him. His navy blue cap was pulled down over his hair, and the wind had made his cheeks pink. “You look tired.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Listen, Hunter, I know I said I’d call you the other day—”
“Morgan, it’s fine,” he interrupted me. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to send a witch message, and Erin explained that you were grounded. She told me a few other things, too.” Hunter reached out and pulled me into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” he whispered into my hair.
I relaxed against his chest, loving the warmth of his touch. I felt him kiss the top of my head, making my scalp tingle, and then pull me tighter. It’ll be all right, I thought. Even if I get sent to Saint Anne’s, I’ll still have Hunter.