by KB Anne
I stop dead in my tracks. He was bitten by a werewolf. And not just any werewolf—the Original Werewolf. I sprint the rest of the way home like my life depends on it, because I know Ryan’s does.
* * *
“Gram? Dad?” I shout, running into the house. When no one answers I rush through the kitchen and out the back door to the garden and greenhouse, the only places Gram goes when she’s not inside. I dash down the lily-lined stone path. The lush gardens to the left and right beckon me to enter and investigate the day’s growth, but more pressing issues require my attention.
As soon as I round the corner, Gram knows something’s wrong. Not only is she a mind reader, but the blotches on my cheeks are a dead giveaway.
“Gi, child, are you all right? What’s the matter?”
“Will Ryan—” I huff, “—turn into a werewolf?”
She pats the bench she’s sitting on, the bench we’ve sat on a thousand times together. “Dear, sit and take a deep breath first.”
I clutch my sides. “Will Ryan turn into a werewolf?”
She pats the seat again.
When I don’t oblige her, she sighs. “I don’t know.”
“In the movies, every time a person gets bitten by a werewolf and doesn’t die, he turns into one.”
She breathes in and out through her nose. “The legends state the same, but what you used on the wound may stop the change from taking place.”
“Is that what you and Dad were talking about when you came home from the hospital?”
She nods.
“So, you really believe that I am the Goddess Brigit, don’t you?”
“With all my being, and that’s why I can honestly say I don’t know what’s going to happen to Ryan. There are no legends we’re aware of that mention the magical powers of Brigit in human form.”
I cross my arms. This conversation took a ghastly turn. “Gram, I am not Brigit. I have no magical powers whatsoever.”
“Child, you possess more magic than anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ve known a lot of witches in my time.”
“Yeah right.”
“Do you think just anyone would know what herbs to use to help Ryan?”
“I used what was nearby. Besides, you taught me about them.”
“No, I didn’t. There are no coincidences. You stopped at that particular spot in the woods because you knew those herbs were there.”
“Gram, there was blood pouring out of his neck, and Scott was about to collapse with exhaustion with Lizzie on his back. We had to stop.”
“Those herbs only grow in certain areas with very specific growing conditions. If you stopped a few minutes before or after, you would have missed them.”
I shake my head back and forth. This side detour has gone on far too long. She’s not making any sense.
“All right,” she says, “then can you explain how you found Scott when he fell in the well?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “I guessed. I knew where the well was. Besides, Scott’s such a klutz.”
“Gigi, you were seven years old. You were never permitted out of the backyard except when you went to school. You had never been out to the Miller’s farm. You had no way of knowing the well was there.” She watches my jaw set stubbornly, as I cross my arms. “Do you think other sixteen-year-olds have injured stray animals show up routinely at their doorsteps and have the ability to heal them or possess such an extensive knowledge of plants?”
“Gram, you taught me everything.”
“No, I didn’t. You know it. Brigit is the Goddess of Fertility and Harvest. Her mere presence encourages abundant growth. Before you were born, your mother and I had a small vegetable garden. We grew some tomatoes, a little lettuce, a bunch of zucchini, but not much else. After your birth, our gardens blossomed into what they are today. In fact, everyone in the neighborhood remembers back to the days when their gardens produced nothing, and now look at them!” She stands up, sweeping her arms over the lush foliage on either side of her. “Look. Look at the fertility sprung forth from Brigit. Do you think most people grow enough food to feed their families for an entire year?” She points at a giant pumpkin that snuck out of its bed, then the spiraling edamame and bean vines, the overflowing Swiss chard patch, and the fruit trees heavy with apples, pears, and peaches even though it’s past their season.
“Gram, people just learn over time. They get better at it. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Do other people have roses and flowers this late into the year?”
“The roses are in the greenhouse, and the fall’s been warm. The plants are just confused.”
She collapses back into her seat. “Child, what can I say to convince you?”
“Gram, I gotta be honest. I don’t think I’ll ever be convinced. I can believe Scott’s my brother, because no one else can drive me that crazy. Uncle Mark as my ‘biological father’? Sure. But everything else . . . I don’t know. It’s pretty unbelievable. I mean witches, reincarnated gods and goddesses, and magic? Come on. Why do you believe it?”
“Because Brigit selected me to serve as her voice.”
If anyone else had said that to me, I’d call them nuts or worse. Probably worse. Definitely worse. Then I’d shove them out of the way, kick their ass, and get on with my life. But with Gram . . . well, she’s always been a steady, reasonable voice, who maybe didn’t discipline me as harshly as I deserved but was always there for me. She’s always there for her circle of family and friends.
“What do you mean she ‘selected you’?”
“Brigit calls to many women, but not all choose to listen. She bestows on her chosen sisters gifts. Some possess the ability to heal animals and people. Others, the gift of storytelling. Farmers, quilters, potters, and jewelry makers are all gifted from Brigit. Her most gifted read minds and project their thoughts into other’s minds and often possess the gift of prophecy.”
I realize these are the gifts Darius referred to at the flea market last week. He said Gram possessed many gifts, and he suspected I did too. I dismissed my own gifts, but I knew Gram was something special.
“What gifts are you gifted with?”
She winks at me. You know.
I clear my throat. “Gram, what gifts were you given?”
Girl, you are stubborn. She shakes her head. “As the direct descendants of Brigit, we possess all her gifts, including that of prophecy.”
“Crystal balls, creepy music, and tea leaves at the bottom of a mug in a very Harry Potter-esque attic setting?”
“Not so scripted as fiction and far removed from witch books. For us, it comes in the form of a flashback, or a flash-forward, if you will. A thought or idea that takes root and blooms into something that is truth. I was sixteen when I spoke the prophecy of the next coming of Brigit. It was the most powerful prophecy I had ever given or ever would give.”
“You were my age. No one ever believes a word I say. Why would anyone believe you?”
She grasps my hand. “Gi, people do believe you. You don’t believe in yourself. That’s where the difference lies. I had begun my training in the Order of Brigit a year earlier. As a descendant from the line, I had already given many prophecies or insights into what the future held. Some predictions were very basic, such as a particular cow giving birth on a particular day. Others were more overarching, such as predictions about the weather and the harvest. I predicted with such regularity and accuracy, that whatever I prophesized was recorded. When Brigit’s next reincarnation came to me, everyone listened. Part of it was that people believed in my ability, but they also wanted to believe that Brigit desired to live with them. The problem with prophecies is that there aren’t always exact dates. They can occur years, or in this case, decades into the future—that’s why they’re recorded.”
“What is the Order of Brigit?”
“The Order of Brigit is composed of women who choose to follow the Goddess for their life. Similar to a nun or priest, but not so rigid and unforgiving, and the tr
aining is far longer than in modern religions. Women who follow the Goddess spend the first ten years in training, the next ten years in practice, and the last ten years training the next generation.”
“Are you still with the Order?”
“I still worship and follow the Goddess, but I am no longer a member of the Order.”
“What happened? Did you age out?”
“For twenty-three years, I was a dedicated follower of Brigit. I saw no reason why I wouldn’t continue my service for another seven. But Brigit had other plans for me, and I didn’t see my own future. A man visited our coven. He had traveled the world and studied many different forms of magic. He was fascinated by the vows women take to worship Brigit. We spent countless hours together, talking, laughing, falling in love, though we never spoke the words . . .
“That spring, the High Priest was away, so he stood in for him during the Beltane ritual. The same ritual at which you were conceived years later.”
I swallow. There’s really no need for Gram to share all the details with me. Especially the words, “intercourse” and “grandmother” spoken in the same sentence. It’s bad enough I’d heard about my mom and dad.
“Nine months later, your mom and Calliope were born, and so ended my time as a follower of the Order of Brigit.”
“Why did you leave the Order?”
“Mothers, while adored and appreciated by the Order, can no longer give Brigit the singular focus she requires of Order followers. She wants them to honor her by being a dedicated mother to their children. To grow a new generation of believers.”
“What happened to the guy?” I can’t recall a single picture of an unknown man with my grandmother.
“He left soon after the ritual.”
“Why? I thought you were in love.”
She smiles more to herself than me. “We were, but we were fervently dedicated to our causes. He left not knowing I was pregnant.”
“Did you try to contact him?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “His plane went down somewhere over the Atlantic on his way back to Ireland.”
I cradle her hands in mine. The love Gram gives rivals no one else’s, and it is without condition. For her to lose someone of such importance had to be devastating. Then to lose her own daughter . . . She sacrificed so much for no end, because I am not who she believes me to be.
“Gram, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I had two beautiful daughters who filled my heart with love. And I have a wonderful granddaughter who is a goddess.”
For once I keep my mouth shut and don’t disagree with her. I really don’t need to.
She can read my mind anyway.
4
Genetics Gone Wild
There’s so much I want to ask, so much I want to talk about, but there is one person who hurt the people I love, and I want to know her truth.
“Gram, what happened to Calliope? Why did she betray you and Mom?”
The words “Mom” and “Dad” roll off my tongue much easier than I anticipated. As if I had been waiting my entire life for the opportunity to use those descriptors.
“There are two types of twins. Identical, when they share the same egg, and fraternal, when two eggs grow in the same uterus. Your mom and her sister were genetically identical twins, but in every aspect—from thought to action—they were polar opposites. Lulu was the light. Calliope was the darkness. What truly set them apart was the blessing of gifts from Brigit. As I told you, most women from Brigit’s line are born with a special gift—divination, the ability to heal, the ability to teach. Calliope wasn’t blessed with any. Lulu possessed multiple gifts. Your mom read minds and projected her thoughts, like we do with each other. She could also see the future, like I did.”
“You don’t anymore?”
“No, once I became pregnant, I lost my gift. When I discovered I was having twins, I thought my love and light prophecy applied to them. Their birthdays were January 30, close to Brigit’s day, but I soon realized I was wrong. There was no love in Calliope. No light. It’s terrible to say that of your own daughter, but it’s true. I feared her jealousy would one day consume her.
“The girls joined the Order of Brigit when they were fifteen. When Lulu was twenty, she had a vision that she would have a daughter who was Brigit. Though I no longer possessed the gift of sight, I knew it was true. A day or two later, Calliope said she had a vision that she was going to give birth to a god as well. No one recorded the prophecy. Not one person believed her. She was furious and left the Order. We didn’t hear from her for several years. Then out of nowhere, she moved back with her new husband, Mark. She was a few months pregnant with Scott and finally seemed at peace with herself and the world. But all that changed once Mark met your mom. To say sparks flew between them would be a gross understatement, so they purposefully stayed apart. Neither one wanted to hurt Calliope. But living in the same town and belonging to the same coven made it a constant struggle to keep their distance from each other. Sabbats came and went that year, and Beltane was fast approaching. Mark became the High Priest, and at Calliope’s pushing, the coven decided to carry out the traditional worship ritual. You already know what happened that night, but I didn’t tell you about the magic of the evening. Everyone present truly believed that the God and Goddess blessed us with their presence that night.
“A few months later Scott was born. The older he got, the more withdrawn and forlorn Calliope became. All the love and light she had exuded for months when she was pregnant began to vanish. Then, when your mom discovered she was pregnant, things went from bad to much, much worse.
“When you were born everyone scrutinized your movements, your cries, and your tears. You didn’t cry often, but when you did, the tears were collected for blessings.”
Little did everyone know that when I cry it’s like battery acid. Unless they want to start a car, they’re better off using distilled water.
“The ever-present question lingered. Is she, or isn’t she?”
She isn’t.
“At the same time, not one person even considered that Scott was a god. Most of us forgot about the prophecy because it wasn’t even recorded. It was so easy for us to dismiss Calliope’s words because of the timing of it and her jealous nature.”
From the sound of it, I have more in common with Calliope than I do with my own mother. I’m comfortable in the darkness. The light makes me nervous.
“Looking back, I’m sure Calliope believed with all her heart that Scott was a god. She feared Clayone would come after him for leverage against Brigit. With all her flaws—and she had many—she was a dedicated mother and loved Scott more than life itself. After Lulu sacrificed her life to protect you, Calliope never recovered. She began to medicate heavily and withdrew from all of us, even Scott. One day, I found a note that she drowned herself in Radley Pond.
“It was your dad’s idea to tell you that your mom died of a drug overdose. At the time, we figured it was the best way to keep you away from drugs. Once Calliope drowned herself, we used the car accident story instead of telling Scott the truth. I’m sorry we lied to you about your mother. Drugs tragically belittle the importance of her sacrifice, but of course, everything we’ve ever done has been to protect you. Now you know the truth, and we can honor her memory. I would prefer to keep the true nature of Calliope’s death a secret from Scott. He’s a strong, loving boy, but he’s not as tough as you.”
We continue sitting on the bench, staring at the roses still in bloom though it’s mid-September. I put my arm around Gram and turn to look at her. Her eyes are filled with tears.
“Gram, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve lost two daughters to Clayone. I don’t want to lose my grandchildren too.”
“You won’t lose us. I thought Dad said we’re protected by the house until Halloween.”
“You are protected, but will you be a prisoner at home like I am? Will Scott? I stay here to keep up the enchantments. When I left to check on Ryan at t
he hospital, Mark and I had to recharge them. And some of the spells will be lifted when you come of age.”
“When I’m eighteen?” I ask.
Gram nods. My eighteenth birthday’s almost a year and a half away.
* * *
I heard Scott’s arrival long before he rounded the path. First it was the rusty springs of the screen door creaking open and slamming shut. Then it was the pause to pick up Boo Bear who was barking, not to warn us of an intruder, but to beg for a lift. Then it was his hunched shoulders and sad eyes that wanted to plead for forgiveness after a long drawn-out apology.
He possesses an obsessive need to right all his alleged “wrongs,” but he has nothing to apologize for. I was the asshole. I was the one who told him his best friend was going to die.
Don’t, I think with all my being.
He lifts his head, looking at me like he’s confused. He doesn’t fully understand that I’m projecting my thoughts into his mind. He opens his mouth because he’s as stubborn as he can be stupid sometimes.
“Don’t,” I growl. “Don’t even think of it.”
He pulls in his lips and nods before sitting on the other side of Gram. “So, Gram, you’re really a witch, huh?”
She laughs, playfully patting his head. “Honey, do you think most old ladies dress up like witches and cast spells on each other every Halloween?”
His eyes widen. “You and your friends are all witches?”
Over the years, Scott and I have suffered through many of Gram’s outrageous Halloween parties and the hordes of friends who came over dressed like witches. If they’re all witches, I’d be shocked, and after all the discoveries I’ve made over the past twenty-four hours, that’s significant.
“Well, most of them. The most interesting and exciting ones anyway. Occasionally we invite some non-witches, just for fun, but they tend to be pretty boring and mild mannered. They don’t really get into the spirit of the holiday. Of course, for us, it’s not called Halloween. It’s Samhain. We just use the Christianized name to fit in and not draw any unwanted attention to ourselves.”