by Cate Tiernan
Before I knew it, I was sliding sideways out of control into the deep drainage ditch. Goddess! I screamed silently. Fear and adrenaline pierced my body, a slew of invisible arrows. My hands gripped the steering wheel. I had lost control; the tires screeched. Das Boot lurched sideways on an ice slick, like a heavy white glacier.
The next few seconds unfolded in slow motion. With a sickening crunch the car's nose rammed a pile of ice and snow. I jerked forward and heard the shattering of a headlight Then silence. The car was no longer moving. But for a few seconds I sat there—paralyzed, unable to move. I was conscious only of my own breathing. It came in quick, uneven gasps.
All right, I finally said to myself. I'm not hurt.
When I lifted my head, I thought I saw the briefest flash of two red taillights, vanishing into the night.
My eyes narrowed. So… it had been a real car after all.
With a trembling sigh I turned off the engine. Then I threw open the door and hoisted myself out of the driver's seat—no easy feat considering Das Boot was skewed at a crazy angle. It was hard to concentrate, but I called on my magesight and peered down the road in the direction that the car had disappeared. All I saw, though, were trees, sleeping birds, the faint glow of living nocturnal creatures.
The car was gone.
I leaned against my door, breathing hard, my fists clenched inside my pockets. Even though I was pretty sure those lights hadn't been magickal, the fear didn't subside. Somebody had run me off the road. Das Boot was hopelessly lodged in the ditch. A lump formed in my throat I was on the verge of bursting into tears, shaking like a leaf. What was going on? I remembered the runes I had drawn on the dash right before the wreck, and now I redrew them in the chill air around me. Eolh, Ur, Rad. The brisk movement helped calm me slightly, at least enough for me to try to figure out what to do.
Actually, there was pretty much only one option. I had to walk the rest of the way home. I didn't have a cell phone, so I couldn't call anyone for help. And I didn't exactly feel like waiting around in the darkness on this frozen, lonely road all by myself.
Heaving open the driver's door again, I fished inside for my backpack and carefully locked Das Boot. I shook my head. It was going to be a long, miserable march to my house. But as I heaved the backpack across my shoulder, a flash of dim light illuminated the snowflakes around me, and I heard the faint rumble of a motor. I turned to see a car slowly approaching… from the same direction the lights had vanished.
The flash of relief I'd briefly felt at the possibility of being rescued evaporated as the car rolled to a stop, not fifteen feet from where I stood. The headlights weren't nearly as bright but for all I knew, this was the same car. Maybe the person driving had decided to turn around and finish me off, or—
My insides clenched. The license plate, the grating of the tan BMW… I recognized it even before the passenger window unrolled. It was Bree's car.
Bree looked across from the driver's seat, her eyes outlined in black, her skin pale and perfect We regarded each other silently for a few moments. I hoped I didn't look as freaked out and disheveled as I felt. I wanted to radiate strength.
"What happened, Morgan?" she asked.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. My eyes narrowed as a horrible thought struck me. Could Bree have been the one who'd run me into the ditch?
It was possible. There were no other cars on the road. She could have made a U-turn up ahead and come back to see what had happened to me. But… Bree? Hurt me?
Remember what you heard in the bathroom, a voice inside chimed. She gave your hair to a witch. Remember.
Maybe things had changed permanently. Maybe Bree no longer cared about me at all. Or maybe Sky Eventide had put her up to this—as a stunt to scare me, the same way that Sky had forced her to turn over a lock of my hair. A thousand thoughts pounded against my skull, aching to be let out, to be heard: Oh God, Bree, don't let them fool you! I'm worried about you. I miss you. You're being so stupid. I'm sorry. I need to talk to you. Don't you know what's happened to me? I'm adopted. I'm a blood witch. I'm Woodbane. I'm sorry about Cal—
"Morgan?" she prodded, her brow furrowed.
I cleared my throat. "I hit a patch of ice," I said. I gestured unnecessarily to Das Boot.
"Are you okay?" she asked stiffly. "Did you hurt yourself?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine."
She blinked. "Do you want a ride home?"
I took a deep breath but shook my head again. I couldn't get into her car. Not when she might have been the one who had run me off the road in the first place. Even though I could hardly believe I was having such horrible thoughts about someone who had once been my best friend, I didn't dare risk it
"Are you sure?" she pressed.
"I'll be fine," I mumbled.
Without another word she rolled up her window and took off. I noticed that she accelerated slowly so she wouldn't splatter me with snow and slush.
My chest ached as I walked home.
My parents fussed over me, which was nice. I told them I'd skidded off the road on a bad patch of ice, which was true in a way, but I left out the part about the other car behind me. I didn't want to worry them any more than necessary. I called a tow truck company, who agreed to get Das Boot and bring it home later that night. Thank the Goddess for Triple A, I thought and decided to ask for a cell phone for Christmas.
"Are you sure you don't want to come for Chinese with us?" Mom asked, after making sure I had thawed. My parents were heading out to meet Aunt Eileen and Paula, to drive by several houses that were for sale in the area, then to get dinner. They wouldn't be back till late. Mary K. was at Jaycee's, and I was sure she was meeting Bakker later.
"No, thanks," I said. "I'll just wait for the tow truck."
Mom kissed me. "I am so thankful you're okay. You could've been hurt so easily," she said, and I hugged her back. It was true, I realized. I really could have been hurt If it had happened at another section of the road, I could have been hurt so easily," she said, and I hugged her back. It was true, I realized. I really could have been hurt. If it had happened at another section of the road, I could have gone into a thirty-foot ravine. An image popped into my mind of Das Boot tumbling down a rocky cliff, then bursting into flames—and I cringed.
After Mom and Dad left, I set a pot of water on to boil for frozen ravioli. I grabbed a Diet Coke, and the phone rang. I knew it was Cal.
"Hello there," he said. "We're taking a little break. What are you doing?"
"Fixing some dinner." It was incredible: I still felt a little shaky, even though the mere sound of Cal's voice worked wonders. "I, um, had a little accident."
"What?" His voice was sharp with concern. "Are you okay?"
"It wasn't anything," I said bravely. "I just went off the road and ended up in a ditch. I'm waiting for the tow truck to bring Das Boot home."
"Really? Why didn't you call me?"
I smiled, feeling much better as I dumped a bunch of ravioli into the water. "I guess I was still recovering. I'm okay, though. I didn't hurt anything except my car. And I knew you were busy, anyway."
He was quiet for a moment. "Next time something happens, call me right away," he said.
I laughed. If it had been anyone else, I would have said they were overreacting. "I'll try not to do it again," I said.
"I wish I could come see you," he said, sounding frustrated. "But we're doing a circle here and it's about to start. Lousy timing. I'm sorry."
"It's fine. Don't worry so much." I sighed and stirred the pot "You know, I…" I left the sentence hanging. I was going to tell him about seeing Bree, about all of my terrible fears and suspicions, but I didn't I couldn't bear to reopen the wound, to allow all those painful emotions to come flooding back
"You what?" Cal asked.
"Nothing," I murmured.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
He sighed, too. "Well, okay. I should probably go. My mom is starting to do her stuff. I'm not sure
how late this will go—I might not be able to call you later. And you know we don't pick up the phone if it rings during a circle, so you won't be able to call me."
"That's okay," I said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Oh, tomorrow," said Cal, sounding brighter. "The famous pre-birthday day. Yeah, I have special plans for tomorrow."
I laughed, wondering what plans he had made. Then he made a silly kissing noise into the phone, and we hung up.
Alone and quiet, I ate my dinner. It felt soothing to be by myself and not have to talk. In the living room I noticed a basket full of fatwood by the fireplace. In just a few minutes I had a good blaze going, and I fetched Maeve's BOS from upstairs and settled on the couch. My mom's one crocheting attempt had resulted in an incredibly ugly afghan the size and weight of a dead mule. I pulled it over me. Within moments Dagda had scrambled up the side of the couch and was stomping happily across my knees, purring hard and kneading me with his sharp little paws.
"Hey, cute thing," I said, scratching him behind his ears. He settled on my lap, and I started reading.
July 6, 1977
Tonight I'm going to scry with fire. My witch sight is good, and the magick is strong. I used water once, but it was hard to see anything, I told Angus and he laughed at me, saying that I was a clumsy girl and might have splashed some of the water out of the glass. I know he was teasing, but I never used it again.
Fire is different. Fire opens doors I never knew were there.
Fire.
The word rolled around my head, and I glanced up from the page. My birth mother was right. Fire was different. I'd loved fire since I was little: its warmth, the mesmerizing golden red glow of the flames. I even loved the noise fire made as it ate the dry wood. To me it had sounded like laughter—both exciting and frightening in its hungry appetite and eager destruction.
My eyes wandered to the burning logs. I shifted carefully on the couch, trying not to disturb Dagda, though he could probably sleep through almost anything. Facing the flames, I let my head rest against the back of the couch. I set the BOS aside. I was one hundred percent comfortable.
I decided to try to scry.
First I released all the thoughts circling my brain, one by one. Bree, looking at me standing in the snow by the side of the road. Hunter. His face was hard to get rid of—and when I pictured it, I got angry. Over and over I saw him, silhouetted against a leaden gray sky, his green eyes looking like reflections of Irish fields, his arrogance coming off him in waves.
My eyelids fluttered shut. I breathed in and out slowly. The tension drained from each muscle in my body. As I felt myself drift more completely into a delicious concentration, I became more and more aware of my surroundings: Dagda's small heart beating quickly as he slept, the ecstatic joy of the fire as it consumed the wood.
I opened my eyes.
The fire had transformed into a mirror.
There in the flames I saw my own face, looking back: the long sweep of brown hair, the kitten in my lap.
What do you want to know? the fire whispered to me. Its voice was raspy and sibilant—seductive yet fleeting, fading way in acrid curls of smoke.
I don't understand anything, I answered. My face was serene, but my silent voice cried out in frustration. I don't understand anything.
Then in the fire a curtain of flame was drawn back. I saw Cal, walking through a field of wheat as golden as his eyes. He swept out his hand, looking beautiful and godlike, and it felt like he was offering the entire field to me as a gift. Then Hunter and Sky came up behind him, hand in hand. Their pale, bleached elegance was beautiful in its own way, but I felt a terrible sense of danger suddenly. I closed my eyes as if that might blot it out.
When I opened them again, I found myself walking through a forest so thickly grown that barely any light reached the ground. My bare feet were silent on the rotting leaves. Soon I saw figures standing in the woods, hidden among the trees. One of them was Sky again, and she turned and smiled at me, her white-blond hair glowing like an angel's halo around her. Then she turned to the person behind her: it was Raven, dressed all in black. Sky leaned over and kissed Raven gently, and I blinked in surprise.
Many disjointed images flowed over each over next, sliding across my consciousness, hard to follow. Robbie kissing Bree…my parents watching me walk away, tears running down their faces…Aunt Eileen holding a baby.
And then, as if that movie were over and a new reel began, I saw a smell, white clapboard house, set back on a slight rise among the trees. Curtains fluttered from the open windows. A neat, tended garden of holly bushes and mums lined the front of the house.
Off to one side was Maeve Riordan. My birth mother.
I drew in my breath. I remembered her from another vision I'd had, a vision of her holding me when I was an infant. She smiled and beckoned to me, looking young and goofy in her 1980s clothes. Behind her was a large square garden of herbs and vegetables, bursting with health. She turned and headed toward the house. I followed her— around the side, where a narrow walk separated the house from the lawn. Turning to face me again, she knelt and gestured underneath the house, pointing.
Confusion came over me. What was this? Then a phone began ringing from far away. Although I tried to keep concentrating, the scene began to fade, and my last image was of my birth mother, impossibly young and lovely, waving good-bye.
I blinked, my breathing ragged.
The sound of a phone still filled my ears. What was going on? Several seconds passed before I realized that it was our phone, not a phone in my vision. The images were all gone now. I was alone in our house again—and somebody was calling.
CHAPTER 15
Presence
September 4, 1998
Uncle Beck hit me last night. Today I have a shiner and a split lip. It looks really impressive, and I'm going to tell people I got it defending what's left of Athar's honor.
Two years ago, on the dawn after my initiation, Uncle Beck told me why Mum and Dad disappeared. How Mum had seen the dark cloud coming when she was scrying, and how it had nearly killed her, right through the vision. And how, right after they escaped and went into hiding, their coven was wiped out. I remember all the witches in the coven, how they were like aunts and uncles to me. Then they were dead, and Linden and Alwyn and I came to live with Beck and Shelagh and Ather and Maris and Siobhan.
Since then I've been trying to find out about the dark wave, the force of evil that destroyed my parent's coven and made them go into hiding. I know it's got something to do with Woodbanes. Dad is—or was—Woodbane. The last time I was in London, I went to all the old bookshop where they sell occult books. I visited the circle of Morath, where they keep a lot of the old writings. I've been reading and searching for two years. Finally last night, Linden and I were going to try to call on the dark side, to get information. Since Linden's initiation last month, he's been pestering me to let him help, and I had to say yes, because they were his parents too. Maybe in two years, when Alwyn's initiated, she'll want to work with us. I don't know.
Anyways, Uncle Beck found us in the marshes a mile from the house. We hadn't even got far in the rite, and suddenly Uncle was storming up, looking huge and terrible and furious. He broke through our circle, kicked out our candles and our fire, and knocked the athame from my hand. I've never seen him so angry, and he hauled me up by my collar as if I was a dog and not sixteen and as tall as him.
"Call on the blackness, will you?" he growled, while Linden jumped to his feet. "You bloody bastard! For eight years I've fed you and taught you and you've slept under my roof, and you're out here dealing with blackness and leading your young brother astray?" Then he punched me, knocking me down, and I hit the ground like an unstrung puppet. The man has a fist like a ham—only harder.
We had words, we thrashed it out, and at the end, he understood what I wanted, and I understood that he'd rather kill me than let me do it, and that if I involved Linden again I would need to find another place to live. He's a
good man, my uncle, and a good witch, though we ofter clash. Mum is his sister and I know now that he desires to right the wrong done to her as much as I. The difference is that I was willing to cross the line to do it, and Beck isn't.
— Giomanach
"Hello?" I said into the receiver. I realized that I had no sense of who it was, even though I usually did before I picked up the phone.
Silence.
"Hello?" I said again.
Click. Drone of dial tone.
Okay, I knew, of course, that people get wrong numbers all the time. But for some reason, maybe because I was still caught up in images, emotions, and sensations from the fire, this silent phone call unnerved me. Every spooky movie I had ever seen came back to haunt me: Scream, Halloween, The Exorcist, Fatal Attraction, Blair Witch. My only thought was: Someone was checking to see if I was home. And I was. Alone.
I punched in star sixty-nine. Nothing happened. Finally a computerized female voice told me that the number I was trying to reach was blocked.
Feeling tense, I slammed the phone down on the hook. Then I began to race around the house, locking the front and back doors, the basement door, locking windows that had never been locked in my memory. Was I being stupid? It didn't matter. Better stupid and safe than smart and dead. I turned on all the outside lights instead of just the dim yellow glow of the front porch fixture.
I didn't know why I felt so afraid, but my first sense of alarm was rapidly growing into pure terror. So I retrieved my trusty baseball bat from the mudroom, locked that door, scooped up Dagda, and scampered upstairs to my room, glancing over my shoulder. Maybe it was still the aftermath of the accident, but my hands were clammy. My breath came quickly. I locked my bedroom door, then locked the door that led from the bathroom to Mary K.'s room.
I sat down on my bed, clenching and unclenching my fists. Cal, was all I could think. Cal, help me. I need you. Come to me.
I sent the witch message out into the night. Cal would get it. Cal would save me.