Witch-Child

by Gerilyn Marin

  He startles, and looks over his shoulder at me. "Geez, Cae. You scared me."

  I make a markedly unattractive snorting sound as he turns to face me. It isn't as though I don't notice that he just nearly jumped out of his skin; I'm simply wrung out because of the whole Ghost at Wendi's House mess from last night, so I'm not thinking as clearly as I could be.

  "I scared you?" My eyebrows inch up my forehead as I cross my arms. "Ya know what? I'm too mad at you to even pretend like I care."

  Frowning, he puts his back to me just long enough to close his locker. "What the hell did I do?"

  I refrain from rolling my eyes, or stamping a heel. I've already expressed that I'm angry at him. Having dramatics in the corridor at school will only draw attention to us.

  "It's not anything you did. This is about something you did not do."

  His brow furrows and he leans back against his locker. "You're going to have to explain that to me."

  "I need to explain something to you? Right."

  Grey blinks a few times, but still looks just as confused as before. "All right, I seriously have no idea what you're going on about."

  "No idea?" I echo. The hallway is almost empty, now, but I wait for the last few stragglers to leave before I say anything more. "Withhold information much?"

  "What do you mean?" He asks, giving me a bewildered once-over.

  I should have realized sooner that I'm too irritated to notice that maybe he does need me to let him in on what the hell I'm talking about. I've always disliked when people get mad at someone for reasons unknown to said someone.

  A person can't act upon, or react to, information they don't have. I need to explain to him why I'm mad before I can expect him to understand.

  Taking a deep breath, I give my head a little shake and then start. "Last week you told me that you went through Drake's Cove's records. That they showed who married who, and who took on whose name, stuff like that."

  "Uh, yeah," he says, with a go on nod.

  "When we came across the name Riordan, you didn't say anything." As far as I'm concerned, he's aware that our town's memories are a mess; he has no way of knowing whether or not I have knowledge of my own relatives' surnames.

  He places his hands on my shoulders and stoops so that we're eye level, staring into my eyes as though he thinks I may have lost my mind. "Say anything about what, Cae?"

  I feel my expression pinch as I look back at him. Did this really escape the notice of someone who seems to hang onto details? Of course, at the time that he was going through the town records, he hadn't any reason to commit to memory information tied to the McKenna or Riordan families.

  I really should have thought this through before opening my mouth.

  "My maternal grandmother's maiden name was Riordan."

  Grey straightens up superfast, like he's jumping back from me. But his hands are still on my shoulders, so I don’t think this is a matter of suddenly seeing me differently or something like that.

  "What?" That single word seems to be all he can say.

  "My mom's mother was Jennifer Riordan." I add in what else I remember—still put off a little by how easily I recall this now, when nothing of the kind occurred to me while I was knee-deep in Elizabeth Riordan's memoirs. "In fact, she was the last Riordan in Drake's Cove. She was the only child of an only child, so that name died out here when she married my grandfather."

  Grey looks away from me, his hands slipping from my shoulders finally. "I didn't remember."

  I shake my head; now that I've thought reasonably about the whole thing, I can't really stay mad at him. "Why would you have? You had no reason to—"

  "That's not what I mean," he says quietly, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. "Now that you say it, I do remember seeing that in the records. Riordan married into Mitchell, had your mom, Audrey, and she married into McKenna."

  His eyes cloud over a bit as he lifts his gaze to mine once more. "That's so weird. It's like . . . I couldn't connect the two until you pointed it out. Like you had to remind me."

  My heart drops into my stomach as I let his words bounce around in my head. Suddenly my thoughts are a little fuzzy, and I can't focus my eyes.

  Distantly, I hear someone calling my name, but the voice is just a dull whisper.

  "Cae!"

  I snap out of it to find Grey staring into my face and shaking me, his fingers wrapped around my upper arms.

  "I lost you for a sec, there. Are you okay?"

  I nod, forcing a gulp down my throat. "Yeah, just, um . . . . I wasn't able to remember, either. Not until last night when Wendi said something about my grandma's maiden name."

  "Do you think—?" He frowns, shakes his head and then tries again. "Do you think it's the spell?"

  That didn't even occur to me! "You think it could still be active?"

  "Maybe. I mean," he shrugs, "I don't know a whole hell of a lot about, you know, actual magic."

  "Me, neither."

  "But wouldn't it make sense? I mean, what if Wendi was only able to make that connection about the Riordan name because she doesn't recognize it as something connected to Jack?"

  After we take a moment with that idea, Grey asks, "So what do we do?"

  We have both been so intent on keeping this all secret that I suppose something as obvious as needing outside help just doesn't immediately register. "Well, we need to talk to someone who does know about actual magic."

  His eyebrows shoot up. "And you know somebody like that?"

  I return the shrug. "Actually, I might. And we're in luck."

  He perks up a little at the forced brightness in my tone.

  "You wanted to go somewhere that we can do some occult research, right?"

  "Right?"

  "Well, we don't have to change our plans. The person we need to speak to is in the same place."

  It's just after one in the afternoon when I climb into the passenger seat of a new-ish, shiny black Jeep on Saturday. Grey's new-ish, shiny black Jeep. Apparently, he walks to school because he likes walking, and agreed to the whole my mother drives us to her office thing because he wanted to make a good impression on Mom.

  But today, we're heading to a place in the far end of Knoll Park—one of Drake's Cove's neighboring towns—and while a walk there might only take an hour, weather is a bit nippy today.

  Well, that and we're both a little agitated with regard to time, already, since we had to wait until the weekend to make this trip.

  "Okay, so where, exactly, are we going?"

  "I already gave you the address," I say, a little impatiently. It's not Grey I'm cranky with, though, but the entire—incredibly bizarre—situation I've gotten myself into.

  "No, I mean is it like an occult bookstore? A New Age shop? What?"

  I look out the window, watching the passing scenery. This section is mostly fields, farmhouses, and Mom-and-Pop stores; by comparison, Drake's Cove seems downright urban. Makes me wonder how much of the area is no different than it had been when Elizabeth—who, I'm positive, now, was my great-great, however many times great, aunt—had been alive.

  "Both. We need to talk to the proprietor's daughter, Sarah."

  "And you know her how?"

  I clear my throat, reaching the point that I'd known would come since I decided we needed to seek her aid. "Sarah's a witch, but she's also a medium. She is the person people call when there's activity they want quieted for a while."

  "So she's psychic, like you?"

  I glance over at him, for any evidence that he's mocking me, but his expression is completely serious.

  "I'm . . . barely psychic. I'm a little sensitive, at best. But she's good, okay?"

  "I seem to recall, a week and a half ago, you thought I was crazy for talking about witches and magic."

  "Well, to be fair, what Sarah does is banishment and cleansing. It's about the same as having a priest come over to bless a house. The effects just don't last very long, because, you know, it's Drake's Cove. I ha
d no reason, at the time, to connect actual magic-having witchery with what I've grown up around."

  We both fall silent for a moment, but then something else occurs to me.

  "Hmm, speaking of cleansings, I need to have her go to Wendi's house one of these days."

  "Why? What going on at Wendi's house?"

  "I don't know; she's just got some activity going on."

  I look over at him again, and he appears deep in thought.

  "How much time do you spend at Wendi's?" he asks.

  I utter a little, humorless laugh. "She's my best friend and she lives right next door. I practically grew up in her house. Why?"

  "Well, things have been happening at my house, too."

  "What types of things?"

  He frowns, but keeps his eyes on the road. "Poltergeisty-type things."

  "Okay . . . ." I'm not sure what that has to do with anything.

  "What night did it start?" Grey asks.

  "Tuesday. Though, technically, it was Wednesday morning, because it was about—"

  "Three o'clock?"

  I blink rapidly a few times as I stare at him. "How did you know?"

  He glances briefly toward me. "That's around the time it started at my house, too."

  My brow furrows. Wednesday morning, maybe that's why he was so jumpy when I caught up with him by his locker later that same day. "You think they're connected?"

  "I think they could be."

  "Wendi's never had anything happen in her house before."

  "Maybe ghosts can get confused, just like people."

  I get what he's saying, but, admittedly, I don't really want it to make sense. The sudden haunting of Wendi's house might be because of me.

  Maybe he can tell that I need a moment to turn that over, because we drive the rest of the way in silence.

  After we pull up outside of Sarah's family's store, Grey climbs out, not once taking his eyes off the shop windows. Everything someone thinks of in relation to New Age stuff hangs in the windows, plastered against the glass: hand-carved wind chimes, dream catchers, and crystals of different shapes and colors dangling from long, leather cords.

  "Wow," he says, then offers a quick chuckle. "They don't even try to blend in, huh?"

  I can't help laughing. "I guess when your neighboring town is haunted, no one makes a big deal about the spooky witch shop."

  "Good point."

  When we enter the store, there's a heavy scent in the air—the combination of incense sticks, flowers, dried herbs, and candles—that is a little overpowering at first.

  I give myself a little shake to get my bearings, and then hook a finger into the cuff of the brown leather jacket Grey is wearing, tugging him with me past the cluttered shelves.

  Sarah's mom, Leslie—though, I always thought she should have had some hippie-child name like Moonbeam—arranges books on a long table behind the counter when we walk up. Her long, salt and pepper hair is tied in a thick, loose braid, pulled over one shoulder, and her bright, flowery peasant blouse makes her green eyes dazzling.

  "Cadence!" She says warmly, reaching silver-ringed fingers over the glass countertop to grasp my hand. "We haven't seen you in a while."

  I smile without having to tell myself to do so. Leslie just has a contagious way about her. "I know. I've just been distracted."

  Her gaze sweeps past me to touch on Grey and her eyes crinkle at the corners. "I see."

  My cheeks burn at her insinuation, reminding me that I'm still holding his coat with my other hand. "Oh, it's uh, not like that."

  She laughs and shakes her head a little, but lets it go. "Everything all right?"

  I know she doesn't just mean the words in any general way. This is a specific question—if a Drake's Cove kid is in this shop, we are usually here because our too-busy parents sent us for help with something. Wendi and I, and a few other girls we hang out with sometimes, are the exception, coming all the way out here just to look at crystals, flip through books on meditation or whether or not plants have souls . . . things of that sort.

  For the record, I'm still not sure if they do or don't.

  "Everything's okay, I guess." I respond automatically, but Grey nudges me with his elbow. I say over my shoulder, "I didn't forget, just gimme a sec."

  "All right," he says with a sigh, crossing him arms.

  I feel like he's uncomfortable here, but that might just be because of Leslie's knowing-mother expression.

  "We need to talk to Sarah."

  Leslie nods, but doesn't move or speak for a moment. Geez, if she wants to know why, she could just ask.

  "Please?"

  Her face falls before she breaks into a soft grin. "Fine. I'll go get her."

  She disappears behind a curtain of multi-colored glass beads and Grey steps up next to me at the counter.

  "Isn't she a witch, too?" he says in my ear, his voice low.

  "I think so," I whisper back, "but I can't be positive. I don't want to, I don't know, insult her or something by just assuming. I know for a fact that Sarah is, though."

  "Sarah is what?"

  Her words come through the beaded curtain before she does. Sarah steps out looking like a stereotypical Gypsy; the flowing, patchwork skirt, brown leather sandals, and a white, cotton tunic blouse offset her long dark hair and the green eyes she inherited from Leslie.

  Sarah's only a few years older than we are, a fact that's not lost on me in the slightest when her cheeks redden a little as she gives Grey a quick once-over.

  Whatever. He’s not my boyfriend or anything, so I just ignore the mild irritation creeping across my skin, and focus on her simply being the Sarah I've known since I was little.

  I crinkle the bridge of my nose at her as I say behind my hand in a stage whisper, "You're a witch."

  "Well, shit," she says with a feigned gasp, "does everyone know?"

  Pursing my lips, I nod. "Sorry, I think your secret's out."

  "So what can I do for you today?"

  "This is my friend Grey."

  He gives a brief, awkward wave, but doesn't say anything.

  Sarah, to her credit, tries, quite obviously, not to give him more than a passing look this time. I know she's doing it for my sake, in case I don't just mean friend.

  "I've been helping him look into local history and, um, we found something that belongs to one of my ancestors." I pull my messenger bag up onto the counter and fish around for a moment, retrieving the pages. "These are pages from her Book of Shadows."

  Sarah’s entire expression brightens. "I didn't know your ancestors were witches!"

  "Neither did I. We kinda need you to look over a spell she did and tell us . . . how to reverse it, if that's possible."

  She arches a brow and nods.

  "Sure, okay. Let's go in the back. And you can fill me in on what this is about while I go over these," she says as she takes the pages.

  Once in the back room, she sets a pot of tea to boil on a tiny stove, and we all sit as Grey and I—with us giving constant assurances that we're not crazy, and we're being one hundred percent honest—tell her what's happening. She rather easily accepts everything we have to say, and I guess we aren't expecting that.

  After about the eighth assurance, she replies without looking up from my so-many-times-great-aunt's writings. "You don't have to keep telling me you're not nuts. I can tell there's something not-quite-human about you."

  I glance over at Grey, to see that the color has drained from his face.

  "You can?" he asks weakly.

  She nods, waving a hand dismissively at him. "Don't worry, it's barely noticeable, you just give off a slightly different energy than most people. It's even different from ours."

  "Ours?" I say, noticing the way she points to herself and then me.

  "The energy of those with psychic abilities is also slightly different from most people," she says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

  "Right."

  She takes a little longer read
ing over the circles before she sits back and pushes the pages gently across the table toward me. "Wow, your ancestor was one tough cookie. Must run in the family. Okay. I can tell you how to break the seal, if that's what you really want."

  "It is," Grey says sternly.

  "But," she wags a finger at him, "that's the only part you can undo. I advise against unbinding the town's memories."

  "Wait, what?"

  Sarah frowns and stands up from the table to go pour the tea. "Well, try and understand, Cadence, this spell is very unusual. If it were to be undone, completely, then the memories would flood, almost literally, back into you all. It would become as though you'd grown up all your life with the knowledge the spell has withheld. So, I can only tell you how to unbind this . . . Spring-heel, but that's it."

  "Okay. That's enough, though, isn't it?" I ask, hopefully.

  "Enough for what?" She looks up briefly from her task.

  "To stop the hauntings and crap."

  "Oh, that's not possible."

  My shoulders slump and I can swear my heart skips. "Why not?"

  "Because the damage done to the land, spiritual-energy-wise, can't be undone. Jack's been there so long, constantly pulling things to the area just with his presence." She shrugs. "Removing him will stop it from getting any worse, sure, but there's no fixing what's already been done. An area can only absorb so much inhuman energy for so long before the condition becomes permanent."

  I feel the warmth drain from my cheeks as I turn to look at Grey. I hope he'll seem surprised, or disappointed, that he'll apologize and tell me that he'd thought wrong. But . . . the expression on his face tells me that this isn't news to him.

  Grey deliberately misled me about this whole thing. Grey, who I was starting to . . . .

  "You lied to me." My voice is barely a thread of sound. "You knew there was no way to fix Drake's Cove."

  "Cae, listen—"

  "Fuck off!" I'm out of my chair and crossing the room to the beaded curtain.

  "Cae!"

  I glance back over my shoulder to see Grey stand, but Sarah catches his hand, pinning it against the table and forcing him to sit back down.

  "No, you need to listen!" she insists.

  Whatever. I forget to say goodbye to Leslie as I hurry out of the shop and start walking towards Drake's Cove.