Blood Witch

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All quoted materials in this work were created by the author.
Any resemblance to existing works is accidental.
Blood Witch

 

SPEAK
Published by the Penguin Group
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Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2001
This edition published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2007

 

Copyright © 2001 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company, and Gabrielle Charbonnet

All rights reserved

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eISBN : 978-1-101-17660-3

 

 

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For a moment the name hung in the air before me, wavering like a black insect in front of my eyes. Bradhadair! Also known as my birth mother, Maeve Riordan. I was holding her Book of Shadows, started when she first joined her mother’s coven, when she was fourteen. Her Wiccan name, Bradhadair, was Gaelic for “fire starter.” And I was reading words she had written in her very own hand—

“Morgan?”

I glanced up, startled. And then I felt a jolt of alarm.

My boyfriend, Cal Blaire, and his mother, Selene Belltower, stood at the entrance of the secret library. Their bodies were backlit by a shaft of light from the hall. Their faces were blank masks, hidden in shadow.

My breath caught in my throat. I had entered this room without permission. Not only had I kept Cal and our other friends waiting, I had trespassed in a private area of Selene’s house. I had no business being in this room, reading these books. This I knew. A hot flush of shame made my face burn.

But I couldn’t help myself. I was desperate for more knowledge—about Wicca, about my birth mother. After all, I’d only recently uncovered extraordinary secrets: that I’d been adopted; that my birth mother, a powerful witch, had been murdered, burned to death in a barn. But so many questions still remained unanswered. And now I had found Maeve Riordan’s Book of Shadows: her private book of spells, thoughts, and dreams. The key to her innermost life. If the answers I sought were anywhere, they were in this book. Subconsciously—in spite of my guilt—my hands tightened around it.

“Morgan?” Cal repeated. “What are you doing in here? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words rushing out. I looked around, wondering how I could explain being in this place. “Uh—”

“The others went on to the movie,” Cal interrupted. His voice hardened. “I told them we’d try to catch up with them, but it’s too late now.”

I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. The movie theater was at least a twenty-minute drive from here, and the movie started at eight-fifteen. I swallowed. “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I just—”

“Morgan,” Selene said. She stepped farther into the room. For the first time I saw tense lines on her youthful face, so like Cal’s. “This is my private retreat. No one is allowed in here except me.”

Now I was nervous. Her voice was calm, but I sensed the leashed anger underneath. Was I in real trouble? I stood up at her desk and closed the book. “I—I know I shouldn’t be in here, and I didn’t mean to intrude. But I was walking along the hall, and then suddenly I just fell against this door, and it opened. Once I was inside, I couldn’t stop looking at everything. It’s the most amazing library. . . .” My voice trailed off.

Selene and Cal gazed at me. I couldn’t read their eyes, nor could I get any sense of what was going through their minds, and that made me even more nervous. I wasn’t lying, but I hadn’t told them the whole story, either. I had also been trying to avoid Sky Eventide and Hunter Niall, two English witches who were here tonight to take part in one of Selene’s circles. For some reason, these two guests of Selene’s filled me with inexplicable dread. When I’d heard them coming along the hall, I had tried to avoid them—and had ended up stumbling into this secret library. It had been an accident.

That’s right, I thought. It
had
been an accident. Nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, I wasn’t the only one who had some explaining to do. I had a few questions for Selene.

“This is Maeve Riordan’s Book of Shadows,” I found myself saying. My voice sounded loud, harsh in my ears. “Why do you have it? And why didn’t you tell me you had it? You both know I’ve been trying to find out about her. I mean . . . don’t you think I’d want to see something that belonged to her?”

Cal seemed surprised. He glanced at his mother.

Selene reached behind her and shut the door, closing us all inside the secret room. No one walking down the hall would ever notice the door’s almost invisible line. Her beautiful eyebrows arched as she came closer to me.

“I know you’ve been trying to find out about your mother,” she said. In the golden halo of the lamplight her expression seemed to soften. She glanced at the book. “How much have you read?”

“Not a lot.” I chewed my lip anxiously.

“Have you come across anything surprising?”

“Not really,” I said, watching her.

“Well, a Book of Shadows is a very personal thing,” Selene said. “Secrets are revealed there, unexpected things. I was waiting to tell you about it because I know what it contains, and I wasn’t sure you were ready to read it.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I’m not sure you’re ready now, but it’s too late.”

My face tightened. Maybe I had been violating a private area of her house, but I had a right to know about my mother. “But it’s not really your decision to make,” I argued. “I mean, she was
my
mother. Her Book of Shadows should be mine. That’s what you’re supposed to do with Books of Shadows, pass them down to your children. It
is
mine.”

Selene blinked at my strong words. She glanced at Cal again, but he was looking at me. Once more my fingers tingled as they traced the book’s worn leather cover.

“So why do you have it?” I repeated.

“I got it by accident,” Selene said. A fleeting smile crossed her face. “Though of course most witches don’t believe in accidents. My hobby is collecting Books of Shadows—really, I collect almost any book having to do with witchcraft, as you can see.” She waved an elegant hand at the shelves in the room. “I work with several dealers, mostly in Europe, who have standing orders to send me whatever books they have of interest—any Book of Shadows, no matter what its condition. I find them fascinating. I take them with me wherever we go and set them up in a private study, as I did here when we moved in this past summer. To me, they’re a window into the human side of the craft. They’re diaries, records of experiments; they’re people’s histories. I have over two hundred Books of Shadows, and Maeve Riordan’s is just one of them.”

I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. Her response sounded strangely voyeuristic—especially from a high priestess, someone who was otherwise so in touch with people’s feelings. Why couldn’t she see that Maeve Riordan’s book wasn’t just another Book of Shadows? At least not to me.

My initial guilt and nervousness were giving way to anger. Selene had read my mother’s private words. But right then Cal stepped across the room and put his hand on my shoulder, rubbing gently. He seemed to be saying he was on my side, that he understood. So why couldn’t his mother? Did she think I was too much of a child to handle my mother’s secrets?

“Where did you get
this
Book of Shadows?” I asked insistently.

“From a dealer in Manhattan,” Selene said. Once again her tone was impossible to read. “He had acquired it from someone else—someone who had no credentials, who may have stolen it or found it in a secondhand store somewhere.” She shrugged. “I bought it about ten or eleven years ago, sight unseen. When I opened it, I realized it was by the same young witch who I’d read about dying in a fire, not far from here. It’s a special Book of Shadows, and not just because it’s Maeve’s.”