by Cate Tiernan
— and I woke up in my bed, shaking and flooded with adrenaline. I glanced around in panic, but I immediately realized I was in my room. Confused and terrified, I burst into tears, grabbing my pillow and holding it against me. I'd had another nightmare. I braced myself, trying to remember its terrifying details, but found all that remained was a foggy miasma of fear, of panic. But why? What had it been about? I couldn't remember. The memory was slipping away from me. I punched my pillow in frustration, fresh sobs erupting. I muffled them in my pillow, then flopped down on my bed, crying harder. I don't know how long I cried, but eventually I choked to a watery stop and lay there, exhausted.
I had to get to the bottom of this. This was my third night of frightening dreams. What were they about? What was going on with me? Tomorrow after school I would tell Hunter and Alyce and Bethany about them. They were starting to affect my state of mind. I needed help.
And a drink of water. I pushed back the covers, barely noticing that my legs seemed to sting slightly. Then, as I was standing, I glanced down-and froze with horror. My feet and legs were wet! They had bits of wet grass clinging to them, as if I had just run across a lawn! And my legs were scratched all over, with dozens of tiny scratches, like I had-Oh, Goddess! My heart stopped and my blood turned to ice. Like I had rolled down a thorny embankment. I had been outside. I had been outside while I was asleep. Oh, Goddess, what was happening to me?
Shaking, I walked across the room, noting the faint outlines of damp footprints on my sisal rug. My throat was closed with fear, but desperately I cast my senses. I felt nothing out of the ordinary-just my sleeping family. And Dagda? I looked around for my kitten. He always slept with me, often under the covers. I went back and looked on my bed, patting the covers. No Dagda. I made little kissing sounds, calling him. Then I tiptoed out onto the landing and started down the stairs. I saw the barest trace of wet footprints on the stairs and a few pieces of grass. Goddess, Goddess.
Then, at the bottom of the stairs, I saw Dagda's glowing green eyes. He was hunched in front of the front door, his back arched, ears back. He was snarling, showing his teeth. I stared at him then, glanced behind me. There was nothing.
"Dagda, what's wrong?" I asked softly, padding down to get him. He drew back as I reached him, flattening himself against the door, his claws out, looking manic. Low growls came from his throat, along with a sibilant, teakettle hiss.
"Dagda!" I stopped and pulled back my outstretched hand in shock. He was hissing at me.
My parents were so surprised to see me the next morning that they stopped talking. Everyone in my family is an early bird, except me. It was a running joke that Mary K. sometimes had to resort to throwing water on my face to get me out of bed in time to get to school.
"Are you okay?" mu mom asked, looking at my face. "Did you not sleep well?"
I hadn't further depressed myself by looking in a mirror this morning, but I had a good idea of what I must look like. I moved zombielike to the refrigerator and pawed around inside until I found a Diet Coke. I managed to drink some, hoping the caffeine would help jump-start some brain cells.
"I did not sleep well," I confirmed in an understatement. Automatically I looked around for Dagda and saw him hunched over his bowl, wolfing down kibble. Last night had been so strange-he had never come back into my room.
"Are you sick?" my father asked.
"I don't think so," I said, bracing myself against the kitchen counter. At least not physically, I amended silently. Maybe mentally. I drank some more soda and sat down at my place at the table. "I just haven't been sleeping much."
"Studying," my mom theorized, nodding and clearing her place. "It won't be long till finals. Honey, I'm glad that your schoolwork is getting back up to par, but I don't want you to ruin your health staying up till all hours, studying."
"It's paying off, though," my dad said encouragingly. "You've been bringing home terrific grades, and your mom and I are really pleased."
I gave him a little smile. My grades had nose-dived earlier in the year, in part because of the time and energy I was outing into studying Wicca. My parents had gone ballistic and lowered the boom on me. Now I was studying more, careful to maintain a decent average.
I glanced over at Dagda-he was gone, and as I gazed blankly around the kitchen, I suddenly felt something warm and soft brush against my legs. Cautiously I looked down. My kitten-almost a cat now-was rubbing against me, purring, as he usually did. I tentatively reached down one hand, and he butted his little triangular head against it, demanding ear scratching. Almost weeping with relief-my cat didn't hate me! — I scratched his favorite spots until he flopped limply on the floor in a surfeit of pleasure.
"Morning!" Mary K. said brightly, coming into the kitchen. She looked fabulous, as always, with her clear skin, shining, bouncy hair, and bright brown eyes framed by long lashes.
"Morning sweetie," Mom answered, and Dad gave Mary K. a fond smile.
My sister pulled a lemon yogurt out of the fridge and sat down at the table. She glanced across at me, taking in my appearance. "Are you sick? What are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep," I mumbled, sucking down more caffeine. Several brain cells sprang into action, and it occurred to me that I needed to get dressed for school. Picking up my soda, I headed upstairs to face this new challenge.
I already had Das Boot's motor running when Mary K. climbed in, russet hair swinging forward into her face, Mark Chamber's letter jacket slung around her shoulders. She'd been dating him for a couple of weeks.
"I assume the jacket means things with the beloved Mark are chugging right along?" I asked as I pulled out of our driveway. Mary K.'s face dimpled in a happy smile.
"He's so, so nice," she said, dropping her book bag onto the floor.
"Good. Because if he's a jerk, I'm going to gouge his eyes out." Mary K. giggled, but her face was shadowed slightly by the meaning and the memory behind my words. "I don't think you'll have to."
What Alisa had said to me on Saturday night suddenly came back to me. "So, have you thought about what to wear to Alisa's dad's wedding?" this had all the subtlety and finesse of a sledgehammer, since I'm notoriously fashion-challenged.
Mary K. looked at me. She wasn't a fool, and I could see she was trying to figure out my angle. "I'm not sure if I'm going to go," she said cautiously.
"Why not? Weddings are fun. And you get cake," I pointed out.
"I don't know," Mary K. said, looking out the car window. "I don't know if Alisa and I have that much in common anymore."
"Because she's half witch," I said, stating the obvious. My sister shrugged.
"Well, I know how you feel about Wicca and the whole blood witch thing," I said. "I know you would feel better if I didn't have anything to do with it and if Alisa didn't have anything to do with it."
Mary K. didn't look at me.
"The thing is," I went on, "no one chooses to be what they are. They just are. It's like the color of your eyes or hair or how tall you are. I was born with blood witch genes because my biological parents were blood witches. Alias is half and half, and there's nothing she can do about it."
My sister sighed.
"In fact," I said, "Alisa herself was really freaked out when she realized she was half witch. I mean, the girl ran away just a few weeks ago because being half witch wasn't something she wanted to sign up for."
Mary K. bit her lip and looked out the window some more. I had only a few blocks till school. "Do you think Alisa's bitchy?" I asked.
Mary K. turned startled eyes to me. "No."
"Does she lie? Cheat? Steal? Has she moved in on Mark Chambers? Does she say bad stuff about you behind your back?"
"No, of course not," said Mary K. "She's really cool-"
"Exactly. You guys like the same books, movies, clothes. You have similar and incredibly lame senses of humor. You both inexplicably have a crush on Terrance Hagen, the most insipid boy actor ever."
Mary K. was giggling by now. Then her face sobere
d. I fired my last shot.
"Mary K., you can be friends with whoever you want. If I didn't think that you really cared about Alisa, I would shut up. But you do care about her. And right now Alisa's dad is getting married. She's about to get a new half sibling. She has no real mom. I just think she could use some friends. And between you and me, I think she wouldn't mind it if those friends didn't have anything to do with Wicca."
I parked my car in the school lot, the wheels crunching on the small white shells that covered the ground.
"You're right," Mary K. said softly, hauling up her book bag. "I do care about Alisa. I do want to be friends with her."
"Good," I said cheerfully. "And just think, if you're really, really, really persistent, you might be able to win her over to Catholicism. Ouch." I rubbed my thigh where Mary K. had just punched me.
"Later, 'gator," she said, just like she used to do when we were little. I smiled at her.
"In a while, crocodile," was my original response.
6. Hunter
I spent most of Tuesday at Practical Magick, helping Alyce sort the books properly. The bookcases in the new room of the store were almost finished. Alyce and I had gone through most of the stock, keeping long, detailed lists of each category. Within each category there were many subcategories, and of course most books had to be cross-referenced. It was engrossing and renewed my interest in reading or rereading some important Wiccan texts, but as with the herb imbuing it wasn't exactly fulfilling.
I was up on a ladder, calling down titles to Alyce when I sensed someone coming. The bell over the door jangled in the next moment-Morgan. I glanced at my watch. It was four o'clock already.
"Teatime," I said, starting to climb down the ladder. My hands were filthy with dust, and I wiped them on my jeans. "Hello, my love," I said, meeting Morgan halfway. I held her shoulders lightly and kissed her. "Couldn't stay away from me, I see. I missed you, too."
Her mouth quirked in a nervous smile, then she looked past me to Alyce. "Actually," she said softly, "I need to talk to both of you. Can you spare a couple of minutes?"
"Certainly, dear," said Alyce. She walked to the back of the store and called out to her other employee. "Finn, could you mind the shop for me for a bit?" He nodded and walked to the cash register.
Alyce gestured to the tattered orange curtain that led to the employees' lounge/storage room/lunchroom. Already I was picking up on Morgan's tension, overlain with fatigue, and I wondered what was going on-she hadn't mentioned anything. I rubbed her back as we walked in and sat down. She gave me a strained smile and put her hand on my knee. I tried to read her eyes, but they seemed shuttered, and I went on alert. If something was bothering Morgan, how had I not sensed it before? Or was she hiding something from me?
Within minutes Alyce put three mugs of tea on the table, projecting, as usual, and air of calm, maternal empathy. "What's going on, Morgan? You look very upset."
Morgan nodded and swallowed. I let my arm rest across the back of her chair so she would feel my support. "I've been having…dreams," she said. "Nightmares, actually. Scary ones."
I began rubbing her back again with one hand. "These must be somewhat out of the ordinary for you to want to talk to us both about them," I said.
Morgan gave a short, dry laugh. "They're out of the ordinary," she agreed. "They've been going on for three nights now." I put my head to one side, curious, and she turned to me to explain. "I just thought they were ordinary dreams. Everyone has nightmares sometimes. And nothing that explicitly bad ever happens in them-I'm not seeing murders or anything. They're just really strong, disturbing images. I thought maybe it was stress-finals coming up, that kind of thing. But last night…"
She paused to sip her tea, and beneath my hand I felt a fine tremble shake her. " What happened last night?" I asked.
"I had another dream," she said. "I can't even remember most of it. I feel like I keep seeing hawks, dark hawks, in the dreams, but I'm not sure."
I remembered Morgan's response to the hawk we had seen the day of the picnic, and I felt irritated with myself that I hadn't picked up on it. I must be getting thick.
"Last night's dream felt like the worst, but I can't say why," Morgan went on. "All I remember is-I think was in a car, my car. I wasn't driving, and I had to get out. But it wouldn't stop. I think I jumped out. And when I did, I realized I had bird's wings, but they were made of fire."
Instantly Alyce's eyes met mine. That had to be a symbol for something.
Morgan shook her head, frustrated by not being able to recall more details. "I fell in a ditch, I think. Then I was running on a road, looking for something or someone, and my wings were gone." She shivered again, though it was warm in the room, and hunched her shoulders as if to protect herself. "But that's not the worst part," she said in a small voice. "The worst part is that when I woke up, my legs and feet were wet. And there were little bits of dried grass stuck to me."
"Oh, Morgan." My muscles tensed. Goddess. This was incredibly serious.
"And I had these," Morgan said, pulling up the sleeve of her shirt. Her arm was crisscrossed with many fine scratches. "My legs are scratched, too," She sounded afraid but was trying not to show it. "So I was sleepwalking. I went downstairs and saw wet footprints all the way to the front door. And Dagda-" Her voice broke off, and she gripped her mug in both hands. "I saw Dagda and went to him, and he hunched up like a Halloween kitty and hissed at me. Like I scared him." Her voice wavered. She was obviously fighting back tears. I scooted my chair closer to her and tried to wrap my arms around her protectively.
Alyce's kind, round face showed some of the concern I was feeling, though she still looked calm.
"Have you ever sleepwalked before?" I asked.
Morgan shook her head. "Never."
"The other two nights you had these dreams… do you think you were sleepwalking then?"
Morgan frowned, trying to remember. She shook her head, and her hair brushed back and forth against my arm. "Not that I know of."
Alyce sat back, looking at Morgan thoughtfully. "Goodness," she said. "You must feel very frightened, dear."
Morgan nodded, not looking at her. Alyce reached out and covered Morgan's hand with her own. "I don't blame you. I would be upset, too. What else do you remember about the dreams? Any kind of detail, anything at all. What about the first dream?"
Morgan sighed. "I remember waking up and knowing I'd had a bad dream and that I was kind of upset, but I just put it out of my mind. All I could remember about it was my feet hurting."
I smiled at her in encouragement.
"The next dream I remember better," Morgan said, "because I was determined not to repeat it again last night. I remember running through huge walls, like in a mansion. I kept getting lost. I looked through the window trying to get my bearings, and outside there were more walls, floating there. They were covered with writing, but I don't remember any of it. I remember running past the windows, and when I passed them, their curtains caught on fire. And there was a hawk, I think." Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember anything else. Then she shook her head. "That's all I remember."
"Was there a fire in the first dream?" I asked, looking for common threads.
"I don't remember. I don't think so. But maybe? Maybe I smelled smoke?" Morgan looked frustrated and confused.
"Okay," said Alyce, patting her hand reassuringly. "Let's look at what we have. You said that hawks were a part of your dreams. Do you remember what they were doing, how they looked?"
Morgan slowly shook her head. "I don't remember. I just feel like they've been in all of my dreams."
"All right," said Alyce. "Usually dreaming about birds symbolizes freedom or happiness."
"Yes, but she's dreaming about raptors, birds of prey," I pointed out. "That could indicate greed or a power struggle. Having a dark- feathered hawk to me seems more ominous: sensing danger or threat." I didn't know all that much about dream interpretation. I had learned enough to pass my initiatio
n, but I remembered a few of the common symbols.
"What about me having wings with flames on them?" Morgan asked.
Alyce shot me a hesitant glance.
"Well, fire usually symbolizes purification, cleansing," I said. "Or sometimes metamorphosis, something changing from one form to another," Alyce added. "But you also have personal connections to it."
Morgan nodded solemnly. She had shown a special affinity for fire ever since she'd first learned she was a blood witch. She was one of the few blood witches I'd ever known who could successfully scry with fire. There was also family history with fire. Apparently her birth mother, Maeve Riordan, had also shown an affinity for it. Until she'd been burned to death.
"There's something else," Alyce said, looking thoughtful. "A bird with wings of fire… It's ringing a bell, but I can't quite place my finger on it. I feel like I've heard of that somewhere before." She thought for another few moments, then shook her head briskly. "Well, we'll need to do research on that one and on the curtains catching fire. Now, the car. Cars often represent the path you're taking through life, the path you're taking to achieve goals."
I frowned, trying to recall old lessons. "And being a passenger symbolizes someone having control over you, dictating your path."
"Walls can represent either safety or confinement. The halls you ran down were also a life path. The symbols you couldn't understand represented your literal confusion about something, that there's something going on you don't understand." Alyce leaned forward, thinking.