Strife s-9

by Cate Tiernan

  There was so much I wanted to say—I wanted everyone to know how grateful I was to have my magick back; I wanted Sky to know that I was sorry she was leaving. But the power of the moment was intense, and it seemed inappropriate to address anything but the grim task at hand. I focused my energy on Hunter’s presence. I felt a warm rush of strength and love and somehow knew that Hunter was sending me his emotions. I pulled those feelings around me like a blanket.

  Erin pulled the book, still wrapped in its dark shroud, from its place beside her and placed it in her lap. After untying the silk cover, she turned to a page she had marked with a red bookmark. Erin closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to take a deep breath to steady herself. Then she opened her eyes and began to read the spell aloud.

  The words were harsh and ugly, half of them written in an ancient language that I didn’t understand—one that seemed older than any language I’d heard before. They seemed to force their way out of Erin’s throat, as if she could hardly bear to utter them. Alyce’s eyes were closed, and she was grimacing as if in pain with every word Erin spoke. Sweat broke out on Sky’s forehead, and a bead trickled down the side of her face. Even I felt dizzy and tired, although I couldn’t tell whether it was the effect of the spell or the strain of experiencing the circle through Hunter. I felt a current run through me like a bolt of electricity, and I knew it was the power of the circle growing and combining, running through all of us.

  I felt a wave of exhaustion—Hunter’s, I was almost certain. Alyce’s face was flushing pink, then darker red. Her grimace grew wider, and it seemed like she could hardly bear what was happening. Tendrils of her gray hair worked their way loose from her long braid. I noticed this in a moment, a period of time shorter than a heartbeat, then slowly, slowly, the haze began to return. The scene was filling with fog that grew thicker with each passing moment. What’s happening? I thought frantically, but not fast enough. The words beat back against me as if I was shouting into the wind. I felt certain that they had reached no one—not even Hunter.

  I became aware of a sound, a sound very much like the roaring ocean beating against the rocks, then drawing back, then beating once again against the rocks. It was a sound I knew, though it took me a moment to place it.

  It was the sound of my breathing.

  I opened my eyes and found myself in my own room. I tried to cast out my senses again for Hunter but found that I couldn’t. Hunter, Sky, Alyce, and Erin—had their magick been sapped, too? Did that mean the spell had been successful? I had no idea—I hoped so.

  I couldn’t believe that everything had happened so quickly. I struggled to sit up, and the lapis lazuli fell from my forehead with a thunk against the floor. I picked it up and held it against my lips for a moment.

  I felt like hell.

  Standing up, I pulled off Maeve’s robe and folded it carefully. Then I yanked on a flannel nightgown and crept to the hiding place where I kept all of my mother’s tools, behind the HVAC vent, and carefully put the robe back in its place. I set the lapis lazuli on my nightstand. Crawling into bed, I gently lifted Dagda’s soft form and placed him at the end of the bed. I stroked his fur, then pulled the covers over me.

  Staring into the darkness, I wished I could call Hunter. . just to hear his voice and to know whether the spell had worked. It seemed cruel to have my magick back—to feel it flowing through me so fiercely for a few moments—and then to have it ripped away again. Still, I knew the magick would return. And I knew that Hunter would, too.

  And if there was one thing I had learned how to do lately, it was wait.

  I expected to feel better when I woke up the next morning, which is why it was such a rude shock when I still felt horrible. Every muscle ached, and when I tried to sit up, my body actually shook with the effort. Still, I forced myself over to my dresser and pulled on some fresh clothes. I had to go to school today—my history paper was due. I’d spent practically every spare moment, every lunch period and study hall, working on it. Even if it wouldn’t help my quest to stay out of Catholic school, I wasn’t about to let those precious twenty points of extra credit go without a fight.

  I thought I’d never make it to fifth period. But when I walked into history class and placed my paper on Mr. Powell’s desk, I felt proud of myself and happy. Even though my parents had never approved of my topic, the paper was good, and I knew it.

  After school I came home and fell straight into bed. I didn’t wake up until eight o’clock, when my mom appeared in my bedroom with a tray, looking worried. “Are you all right, Morgan?” she asked.

  “Fine,” I said, my voice thick from sleep. “I just stayed up late last night. I had to hand in my history paper today.” Both of these things were true, although unrelated.

  My mom nodded. “I made you some soup.” She placed the tray on the floor by my bed. “Lean forward.”

  I obeyed, and she plumped up the pillows behind me. Then she placed the tray on my lap. The soup was minestrone—one of my favorites. “Delicious,” I said when I’d had a spoonful.

  “I didn’t wake you because I figured you needed your rest,” my mom said. “Besides, Dad and I like to have a romantic dinner alone sometimes.”

  “Where’s Mary K.?” I asked.

  “She’s over at Alisa’s house.” Mom traced a finger over the edge of my afghan. “Apparently Alisa was out sick today. Mary K. went over to give her the Spanish assignment.” My mother studied the pattern in the blanket carefully. I knew she was holding something back. Almost as if she felt me looking at her, my mom leaned over and brushed my hair away from my face.

  “I really don’t feel sick,” I assured her. “I was just tired. I feel better already.”

  I think my mom could tell I was lying, but she didn’t press me. Instead, she just stood up. “Leave the tray by your bed when you’re finished,” she instructed. “I’ll come back and get it later.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said.

  She nodded and closed the door behind her as she left. I had another spoonful of soup and realized that I really did feel better—a little better, anyway. For once my mom and I hadn’t argued about grades, or beliefs, or Catholic school. It had seemed, for a moment, almost like we were back to normal.

  Almost.

  13. Flame

  I can’t write much—the pen feels like lead in my hand.

  This morning I woke up feeling so sick that my sheets were actually hurting me. When Dad took my temperature, he flipped out—it was 103 degrees. He gave me some Tylenol and me drink some juice, then he took me to Dr. Hawthorne’s office. He took my blood and a strep cutture. But he didn’t really have any idea what was making me so sick. He seemed worried that my temperature had spiked so quickly but couldn’t explain it. He says it’s the flu. Doctors always say it’s the flu.

  Mary K. came over for a while, which made me feel a bit better, but now I’m feeling worse again—feverish and nauseated. Nothing seems to help.

  I’m scared. I wish I could call someone in Kithic. I miss it so much that I’m starting to think I made a mistake by leaving the coven. But I guess it’s too late to go back now.

  — Alisa

  By the time I stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen on Saturday morning, Mary K. was already dressed and stacking the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.

  “Is Alisa there?” Mary K. asked, and I realized she was talking into the cordless as she straightened up and closed the dishwasher. “She is?” There was a long pause. “What’s wrong?” An even longer pause. “Oh. Okay.” Mary K. reached out and gripped the countertop. “Can she have visitors? ” she asked. “Well, thanks, Mr. Soto,” she said finally. “Tell her. . tell her I hope she gets better soon.” Mary K.’s eyebrows drew together in a worried frown as she clicked off the phone and placed it on the counter.

  I was tempted to sneak away—this was none of my business—but Mary K.’s expression disturbed me. I cleared my throat to let her know I was there, and asked, “Everything okay?”

 
Mary K. turned to face me. Her eyebrows lifted, and for a moment I thought she was going to yell at me for eavesdropping, but she seemed to change her mind. “Alisa’s really sick,” she said finally. “She’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh,” I said. A feeling of dread squeezed my lungs. “What’s wrong?”

  Mary K.’s voice shook a little. “Nobody knows. All they know is that it’s serious. She’s. . she’s not even conscious. Her dad is really freaked out.”

  “Oh my God, Mary K.” I went over to her and hugged her. “That’s horrible.”

  Mary K. started to cry. I didn’t say anything. . I just rubbed her back the way I used to do when we were children. After a few moments she took a couple of shaky breaths. “It’s just scary,” she whispered into my shoulder.

  “I know,” I replied. “But she’s in the hospital now. The doctors are there—they’ll figure out what’s wrong with her.” I rubbed her back again. “It’s going to be okay.” I hoped it was true.

  Mary K. pulled away from me. “Morgan,” she said, and stopped.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Morgan, I’m sorry I told Mom and Dad about your friend.”

  It took a minute for me to figure out who she was talking about. “You mean Erin?” I asked.

  “I was just so s-s-scared.” Another tear squeezed out of the corner of Mary K.’s eye and trickled down the side of her cheek. I brushed it away.

  “I know,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  We looked at each other a moment. “I don’t want anything to happen,” Mary K. said.

  “It won’t,” I assured her.

  “How do you know?” she demanded. “I mean—why are you risking it?”

  I sighed. “Mary K., magick isn’t just horrible, dangerous, dark things. It can also be beautiful and wonderful. It’s part of who I am. And I’m”—How could I put it? — “I’m strong. You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” The words were more forceful than I really believed, but saying them actually made me feel better.

  They seemed to have the same effect on Mary K. She straightened up and passed her hands over her face, then she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Morgan—would you take me to see Alisa?”

  “Of course,” I said quickly. I was about to ask whether she wanted to go right now, but then I remembered. “Oh, crap, I’m grounded. We’ll have to ask Mom and Dad if it’s okay.”

  “They’re out running errands,” Mary K. said, “and visiting hours are only until three.”

  “Can we go tomorrow?”

  Mary K. nodded. “Sure. That would be great.” She started to head out of the room, then turned back. “Thanks, Morgan,” she said.

  I nodded. “No problem.”

  Mary K. smiled at me, and for a moment she looked just like the sister I knew—the one who loved me, no matter what.

  That night I moped around the house for a couple of hours. The house was deserted—Mom and Dad were over at the Berkows’ for dinner, and Mary K. had gone over to her friend Susan’s house. My parents had given me permission to watch television, but there was nothing decent on any of the channels. My chest ached. I still felt awful from the previous night’s spell, but more than that, I was sad about tonight’s circle. It would be the last one with Sky, and I was missing it.

  What I needed was magick, and if I couldn’t go to Sharon’s house along with the rest of Kithic, I could at least try to scry by myself. Maybe some of my power had returned.

  Up in my room, the match hissed and flared as I lit my pillar candle. I breathed deeply and stared into the flame. I could feel the rays of warmth radiating off the candle. The heat sank into me, driving away the cold draft in my room. As my breathing grew more regular, I felt calm. . and after a while, happy. I looked into the depths of the small blaze. The graduated colors, the blue, orange, and yellow, of the fire seemed to swirl together and grow. They flared and changed color, first to red, then purple, then violet, then green. The green fire twirled slowly, like an eddy in the ocean, and I realized that the fire was showing me something and bent closer.

  In the depths of the green flame I saw a figure—Hunter. He was waving at me, but it wasn’t a wave that beckoned me closer. It was more like a farewell. My heart quickened, but the image faded. I was left only with the swirling green flame, the color of Hunter’s eyes. Slowly it faded to violet, then purple, then red. . and in a moment it was an ordinary candle flame again.

  What did it mean? Was it a portent—an image of the future? Or was it a picture of something that might come to pass but might not? I didn’t know. I was afraid to know.

  Although I tried to comfort myself with the certain knowledge that my power was back, I couldn’t stop the feeling of dread that squeezed my lungs in its grip, making it difficult to breathe. Hunter and I had been through so much together, and I’d been so happy that he was near me, safe.

  I had a horrible feeling that everything was about to change.

  I took a long hot shower and put on a clean nightgown. Dagda hobbled into my room and sniffed at a pile of books in the corner. I patted my bed, and he leaped up onto it, purring as I stroked him. It was late—almost midnight—and I was about to click off the lamp by the side of my bed when my eye fell on a flash of midnight blue on my nightstand. It was the piece of lapis lazuli. I picked it up and rubbed it.

  I could call Hunter, I realized. If my magick was back, then his must be, too.

  I lay back on my bed and placed the lapis on my forehead, closing my eyes and forming a mental image of Hunter. I am here, I thought. Hunter, I am here.

  Morgan.

  It was both a voice and not a voice—almost like my own thought, yet somehow separate—and I knew that it was Hunter.

  I miss you, I thought.

  Yes, he replied. I feel the same.

  I couldn’t exactly see anything—just the same sort of grainy darkness that I always saw when I closed my eyes. But after a few moments the darkness seemed to grow lighter. It continued to pale until it was almost the same purple-gray as twilight—or as the sky before the sun rises.

  Kithic? I thought. How was the circle?

  Melancholy. Hunter’s word reverberated through my mind. Sky is sad to be leaving tomorrow, although she doesn’t say so. And of course, Alisa has left us. Everyone was gloomy. You should be glad that you weren’t there.

  I wish I had been there. As it is, I won’t get to say good-bye.

  Hunter’s thoughts were gentle. Sky understands.

  The darkness before my eyes grew even lighter—pinkish, like the inside of a conch shell. With the next breath I took, I had the sense that Hunter was in my room. His distinct odor of soap and clean laundry filled my nostrils. Still, I knew that he was in another house, halfway across town.

  I feel like you’re here with me. The words were Hunter’s. I wondered if he was experiencing the same thing I was.

  The spell, I asked, did it work?

  According to the council, Ciaran hasn’t moved for twenty-four hours, Hunter replied. A Seeker will move in on him tomorrow. And then there’s the matter of our magick. Mine completely disappeared Thursday night….This is the first glimmer I’ve of it all day.

  It feels wonderful. The words drifted through my mind, sending chills through my body. I wasn’t sure whether they were mine or Hunter’s. But it didn’t matter.

  At the center of the pinkish void, a small ball of silvery flame flared and began to pulse. It flared brilliantly until the entire space was lit with dazzling whiteness. It warmed me, as if I were standing with my face to the sun.

  You are so brave. The words, the words, mine or his? I love you.

  I didn’t send any more thoughts. It seemed unnecessary. Hunter’s presence was all I had wanted. . and now I felt like I was surrounded by it, almost engulfed by it.

  I knew what this light was. It wasn’t Hunter’s energy or mine. It was something beyond the two of us—something greater than the sum of two halves. This light was the energy betwee
n us, the power of mùirn beatha dàns, soul mates.

  14. Heal

  October 5, 1971

  I tried to talk to Sam about what’s been happening, but I never got the chance. The minute I mentioned the Harris Stonghton’s book, ha became furious. He demanded to know whether I had destroyed it, and when I said I hadn’t, he started shouting.

  I was already on the edge, and having him yell at me set me off. I told him that he should have burned the book himself. He was the one who stole it, he was the one who brought it home, he was the one who tried one of the spells even after I told him the book was evil. I was sick of trying to help him! As we stood there screaming at each other, I was suddenly struck with a splitting headache, a piercing, stabbing pain.

  Sam threw up his hands and stormed out of my room. I followed him, still yelling—and so I saw what happened. As he reached the top of the stairs, the mahogany table in the hall gave a violent lurch. It slid as if the entire hose has tipped on its foundation and slammed into him.

  “Sam!” I screamed.

  Sam clawed at the banister, but he couldn’t stop himself from falling. He tumbled down the entire stair, head over heels. When he reached the bottom, he lay perfectly still for a moment, his leg twisted behind him. He looked up at me for a moment, then turned his head to the side and vomited.

  “Sam!” I screamed again, then ran to call an ambulance. I knelt beside him while we waited for it to arrive, but he didn’t open his eyes again. I felt numb as I rode in back with him to the local hospital. Luckily the doctors say that he’s only got a broken leg and a mild concussion. He’ll be all right. With a fall like this, they said, things could have been much worse.

  Much worse—if things had been much worse, he’d be dead.

  This can’t go on. I know what happened with the table—I did it. I did it, and I can never do anything like that again.

  I won’t let another person die because of the Curtis witchcraft.

  — Sarah Curtis