by Cate Tiernan
"He's changed," Mary K. insisted.
I didn't say anything. After I'd scraped the last plate, I went up to my room. Twenty minutes later I picked up on Bakker's vibrations, and then the doorbell rang. I sighed, wishing I could protect Mary K. from afar.
Up in my room, I studied my book on the properties of different incenses, essential oils, and brews that one can make from them. After an hour I turned to Maeve's Book of Shadows once more, dreading what I would find out and yet compelled to keep reading. It was so full of sadness right now, of anguish over Ciaran. Even though he had concealed his marriage and proved ready to desert his wife and children, she still felt he was her muirn beatha dan. It was hard for me to understand how she could still love him after learning all that. It reminded me of Mary K. and Bakker. If someone had held me down and almost raped me, I knew there was no way I would ever forgive him or take him back.
Who's there? I looked up, my senses telling me that another person's energy was nearby. I scanned the house quickly. I did that so often and was so familiar with my family's patterns that it took only a second to know that my parents were in the living room, Mary K. was gone, and a stranger was in the yard. I flicked off my bedroom light and looked out my window.
I peered down into the darkest shadows behind the rhododendron bushes beneath my window, and my magesight picked out a glint of short, moonlight-colored hair. Hunter.
I ran downstairs and through the kitchen, grabbing my coat off the hook by the door. Boldly I crunched through the snow across the backyard, then down the side, where my bedroom window was. If I hadn't been looking for him, if I didn't have magesight, I never would have seen Hunter blending with the night's shadows, pressed against our house. Once again I got a strong physical sensation from his presence—an uncomfortable, heightened awareness, as if my system was being flooded with caffeine over and over.
Hands on hips, I said, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Can you see in the dark?" he asked conversationally.
"Yes, of course. Can't every witch?"
"No," he said, stepping away from the house, dusting off his gloves. "Not every witch has magesight. No uninitiated witch does, except you, I suppose. And not even every full-blood witch has it. It does seem to run strongly in Woodbanes."
"Then you must have it," I said. "Since you're half Woodbane."
"Yes, I do," he said, ignoring the challenge in my voice. "In me it developed when I was about fifteen. I thought it had to do with puberty, like getting a beard."
"What are you doing here?"
"Redrawing the protection sigils on your house," he said, as if he was saying, Just neatening up these bushes. "I see Cal laid his own on top of them."
"He was protecting me from you," I said pointedly. "Who are you protecting me from?"
His grin was a flash of light in the darkness. "Him."
"You're not planning to try to bind him again, are you?" I asked. "To put the braigh on him? Because you know I won't let you hurt him."
"No fear, I'm not trying that again," Hunter said. He touched his neck gingerly. "I'm just watching—for now, anyway. Until I get proof of what he's up to. Which I will."
"This is great," I said, disgusted. "I'm tired of both of you. Why don't you two leave me out of whatever big picture you're playing out?"
"I wish I could, Morgan," said Hunter, sounding sober. "But I'm afraid you're part of the picture, whether you want to be or not."
"But why?" I cried, fed up.
"Because of who you are," he said. "Maeve was from Belwicket."
"So?" I rubbed my arms up and down my shoulders, feeling chilled.
"Belwicket was destroyed by a dark wave, people said, right?"
"Yes," I said. "In Maeve's Book of Shadows, she said a dark wave came and wiped out her coven. It killed people and destroyed buildings. My dad went to look at the town. He said there's hardly anything left."
"There isn't," said Hunter. "I've been there. The thing is, Belwicket wasn't the only coven destroyed by this so-called dark wave. I've found evidence of at least eight others, in Scotland, England, Ireland, and Wales. And those are only the ones where it was obvious. This—force, whatever it is—could be responsible for much more damage, on a smaller scale."
"But what is it?" I whispered.
"I don't know," Hunter said, snapping a small branch in frustration. "I've been studying it for two years now, and I still don't know what the hell I'm dealing with. An evil force of some kind. It destroyed my parents' coven and made my parents go into hiding. I haven't seen them in almost eleven years."
"Are they still alive?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "No one knows. My uncle said they went into hiding to protect me, my brother, my sister. No one's seen them since."
The parallels were clear. "My birth parents went into hiding, here in America," I said. "But they were killed two years later."
Hunter nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. But they're not the only ones who have died. I've counted over a hundred and forty-five deaths in the eight covens I know about."
"And no one knows what it is," I stated.
"Not yet." His frustration was palpable. "But I'll find out. I'll chase it till I know."
For a long minute we stood there, not speaking, each lost in our thoughts.
"What happened with Linden?" I asked.
Hunter flinched as if I'd struck him. "He was also trying to solve the mystery of our parents' disappearance," he said in a low voice. "But he called up a force from the other side, and it killed him."
"I don't understand," I said. A chill breeze riffled my hair, and I shivered. Should I ask Hunter in? Maybe we could hang in the kitchen or family room. It would be warm there.
"You know, a dark spirit," Hunter said. "An evil force. I'm guessing the dark wave is either an incredibly powerful force like that or a group of many of them, banded together."
This was too much for me to take in. "You mean, like a dead person?" My voice squeaked. "A ghost?"
"No. Something that's never been alive."
I shivered again and wrapped my arms around myself. Before I knew it, Hunter was rubbing my back and arms, trying to warm me up. I glanced up at his face in the moonlight, at his carved cheekbones, the green glitter of his eyes. He was beautiful, as beautiful as Cal in his own way.
This is who hurt Cal, I reminded myself. He put a braigh on Cal and hurt him.
I stepped away, no longer wanting to ask him inside. "What will you do with this dark force when you find it?" I asked.
"I won't be able to do anything to it," he said. "What I hope to do is to stop the people who keep calling it into existence."
I stared at him. He held my gaze; I saw him glance at my mouth.
"And then," he said quietly, "maybe then people who have been hurt by this, like you, like me… will be able to get on with their lives."
His words fell like quiet leaves onto the snow as I stood, trapped by his eyes. My chest hurt, as if I had too much emotion inside, and to let it all out was unthinkable: I wouldn't know where to begin.
Frozen, I watched Hunter lean closer to me, and then his hand was on my chin, and it was cold, like ice, and he tilted up my face. Oh, Goddess, I thought. He's going to kiss me. Our eyes were locked on each other, and again I felt that connection with him, with his mind, his soul. A small spot of heat at my throat reminded me that I wore Cal's silver pentacle on a cord around my neck. I blinked and heard a car drive up and realized what we were doing, and I stepped back and pushed against him with my hands. "Stop that!" I said, and he looked at me with an unfathomable expression.
"I didn't mean to," he said.
A car door opened, then slammed shut, then opened, and Mary K.'s voice said, "Bakker!" Her tone was shrill, alarmed.
Before the door slammed shut again, I was running across the yard to find Mary K., with Hunter right behind me.
Bakker had parked in front of our house. Inside the dark car I caught glimpses of arms and legs an
d the auburn flash of my sister's hair. I yanked the car door open, spilling Mary K. on her back into the snow, her legs up on the car seat.
Hunter reached down to help Mary K. up. Tear tracks were already frosting on my sister's face, and one of her jacket's buttons had been ripped. She was starting to cry and hiccup at the same time. "M-M-Morgan," she stammered. I leaned into the car to glare at Bakker.
"You stupid bastard," I said in a low, mean voice. I felt cold with rage. If I'd had an athame right then, I would have stabbed him.
"Stay out of it," he said, sounding upset. He had scratch marks on one cheek. "Mary K.!" he called, shifting in his seat as if he would get out. "Come back—we need to talk."
"If you ever look at, touch, talk to, or stand next to my sister again," I said very softly, "I'll make you sorry you were ever born." I didn't feel at all afraid or panicky: I wanted him to get out of the car and come after me so I could rip him apart.
His face turned red with anger. "You don't scare me with all that witch crap," he spat.
An evil smile snaked across my face. "Oh, but I should," I whispered, and watched the color drain from his cheeks. I narrowed my eyes at him for a second, then drew out of the car and slammed the door shut.
Hunter was watching us from a few feet away. Mary K. was holding his arm, and now she blinked up at him, saying, "I know you."
"I'm Hunter," he said as Bakker peeled away, burning rubber.
"Come on, Mary K.," I said, taking her arm and leading her toward the house. I didn't want to look at Hunter—I was still trying to process that almost kiss.
"Are you okay?" I asked, hugging Mary K. to my side as we went up the steps.
"Yes," she said shakily. "Just get me upstairs."
"Will do."
"I'll see you later, Morgan," said Hunter. I didn't reply.
CHAPTER 13
The Circle
Giomanach is alive. Back from the dead. Dammit! Having the council's dog breathing down our necks could ruin everything. I need to take care of him. It's my responsibility.
I'll put the braigh on him, around his neck, and he can see how it feels.
— Sgath
The next day Mary K. came into the family room as I was researching correspondences on the computer. There were dozens of Wiccan sites on-line, and I loved cruising from one to another.
"Morgan?"
"Yeah? Hey." I turned to look at her. Head hanging down, she looked uncharacteristically drawn and defenseless. I stopped what I was doing and pulled her into a tight hug.
"Why did he do it?" she whispered, her tears making my cheeks wet. "He says he loves me. Why does he try to hurt me?"
A rage began to boil in me. Was there some kind of spell I could do to Bakker that would teach him a lesson?
"I don't know," I told her. "He can't take no for an answer. Somehow he doesn't mind hurting you."
"He does mind," Mary K. cried. "He doesn't want to hurt me. But he always does."
"If he can't control himself, he needs help," I said slowly and carefully. "He needs to be in therapy. He's going to end up killing someone someday, a girlfriend or a wife." I pulled away and looked my sister in the eyes. "And Mary K.? That person will not be you. Understand?"
She looked at me helplessly, her eyes awash with tears. I shook her shoulders gently, once, twice, until she nodded.
"It won't be me," she said.
"It's over this time," I said. "Right?"
"Right," she said, but her eyes slid away, and I swore to myself.
"Do you want to tell Mom and Dad about him, or should I?" I said briskly.
"Oh, uh…"
"I'll tell them," I said, setting off to find them. In my opinion, keeping this a secret only made it more likely it would happen again. If my folks knew, Mary K. would have a harder time forgiving Bakker and going back to him again.
My parents did not take it well. They were angry with me for not telling them sooner, furious with Mary K. for continuing to see Bakker after the first time, and almost murderous in their rage toward Bakker, which cheered me up. In the end there was a big group hug, complete with tears and sobbing.
Half an hour later I paced off a small plot in the backyard, where my parents had agreed I could have a garden. The ground was too hard to dig, but I hammered in stakes and string to show where next spring's herbs would be. Then I sat on the snowy ground and tried to meditate for a while, clearing my mind and sending good thoughts into the earth below me, thanking it for being receptive to my garden. Feeling refreshed, I went back inside to look for a spell to put on Bakker.
Technically, of course, I wasn't supposed to do spells. I wasn't initiated, and I'd been a student for barely a couple of months. So I wasn't committed to spelling Bakker. But if the necessity arose…
Once more we had turkey sandwiches for dinner. I was approaching my saturation point with turkey and was glad to see the carcass was almost bare.
"Any plans for tonight?" my mom asked me.
"Cal's going to pick me up," I said. "Then we're going to Ethan's." Mom nodded, and I could almost see her weighing my boyfriend against Mary K.'s. On the one hand, Cal was Wiccan. On the other hand, he had never hurt me.
By the time Cal rang our doorbell, I had dressed in faded gray cords and the purple batik blouse he had given me for my birthday. I'd French braided my hair to the nape of my neck, then let the rest hang down. In the mirror I looked excited, pink cheeked, almost pretty: a vastly different creature than the Morgan I had been two months ago and a different Morgan than just two days ago. Now I knew I wasn't a murderer. I knew I wasn't guilty. I could breathe again, and enjoy life, without Hunter's death hanging over me.
"Hi!" I greeted Cal, shuffling into my coat. I said goodbye to my parents, and we walked down the salt-strewn pathway to the Explorer. In the dark car he leaned over and kissed me, and I welcomed his familiar touch, the faint scent of incense that clung to his jacket, the warmth of his skin.
"How's Mary K.?"
"So-so." I rocked my hand back and forth. I'd told him the gist of what had happened last night, omitting the Hunter part. "I've decided to fix it so that every time Bakker speaks, a toad or snake will slither from his mouth."
Cal laughed and turned onto the main street that would take us to Ethan's. "You are one bloodthirsty woman," he said. Then he flicked me a serious glance. "No spells, okay? Or at least please talk to me about them first."
"I'll try," I said with exaggerated virtue, and he laughed again.
He parked in back of Robbie's red Beetle outside Ethan's house and turned to me again. "I haven't seen you in days, it feels like." He looped his hand around my neck and pulled me closer for a breathless kiss.
"Just one day," I answered, kissing him back.
"I wanted to ask you—what did you think about my Seomar?"
"What's a shomar?"
"Seomar," Cal corrected my pronunciation. "It's a private place, usually used by one witch alone, to work magick Different from a place where you meet with others."
"Does every witch have one?" I asked.
"No. Quit evading the question. What did you think of mine?"
"Well, I found it sort of disturbing," I said. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I couldn't lie, either. "After a while I wanted to get out of there."
He nodded, then opened the car door and got out. We walked up the pavement to Ethan's small, split-level brick rambler. "That's natural," he said, not sounding offended. "I'm the only one who's worked there, and I've done some intense stuff. I'm not surprised it seemed a little uncomfortable." He sounded relieved. "You'll get used to it pretty fast."
He rang the doorbell while I wondered if I even wanted to get used to it.
"Hey, man," said Ethan. "Come on in."
This was the first time I'd been to Ethan's house: before we were coven mates, we'd never socialized in or out of school. Now I saw that his house was modest but tidy, the furniture worn but cared for. Suddenly two small apricot bundles skitte
red around the corner from the hall, barking wildly, and I backed up a little.
Jenna laughed from the couch. "Here, pup dogs," she called. The two doglets ran toward her, panting happily, and Jenna gave them each a tortilla chip. She'd obviously been here before and knew Ethan's dogs. Another surprise.
"I never figured you for Pomeranians," Cal told Ethan with a straight face.
"They're my mom's," Ethan said, scooping one under each arm and carrying them back down the hall.
Robbie came out of the kitchen, munching a chip. Matt arrived last, and we went downstairs to the basement, which had been finished to be a large family room.
"Is Sharon still out of town?" I asked, helping Ethan push back furniture.
"Yeah. In Philly," he said. He pushed one of his straggly ringlets out of his eyes.
Once the furniture was out of the way, Cal started unpacking his leather satchel, taking out his Wiccan tools.
"Hey, Jenna," Matt said, since she had ignored him upstairs. His usual pressed appearance had taken a downslide in the last few days: his hair was no longer brushed smooth, his clothes looked less carefully chosen.
Jenna met his gaze squarely, then turned away from him with no expression on her face. Matt flinched. I'd always thought of Jenna as being kind of needy and dependent on Matt, but now I was beginning to suspect that she'd always been the stronger one.
"Last Wednesday, I asked you to choose your correspondences," Cal said as we settled on the floor around him. "Did anyone have any success?"
Jenna nodded. "I think I did," she said, her voice firm.
"Let us have it," said Cal.
"My metal is silver," she said, showing us a silver bracelet on her wrist. "My stone is rose quartz. My season is spring. My sign is Pisces. My rune is Neid." She lifted her hand and drew Neid in the air. "That's all I have."
"That's plenty," said Cal. "Good work. Your rune, standing for delay and the need for patience, is very apt."
He fished in his satchel and took out a squarish chunk of rose quartz the size of an egg. It was pale pink, mostly clear, not milky, and inside were cracks and flaws that looked like broken windowpanes, trapped inside. I thought it looked like pink champagne, frozen In time. Cal handed it to Jenna. "This is for you. You'll use it in your spells."