Blood Witch (2 page)

“I’m going to take it home,” I said boldly, surprising myself again.

For a long moment silence hung thick in the air. Again my heart started to race. I’d never challenged Cal’s mother before; I hardly ever challenged adults at all . . . and she was a powerful witch. Cal’s eyes flashed between the two of us.

“Of course, my dear,” Selene finally said. “It’s yours.”

I let my breath out silently. Selene added, “After Cal told me your story, I knew one day I would give it to you. If, after you read it, you have any questions or concerns, I hope you’ll come and talk to me.”

I nodded. “Thanks,” I mumbled. I turned to Cal. “You know, I really just want to go home now.” My voice was shaky.

“Okay,” Cal said. “I’ll drive you. Let’s get our coats.”

Selene stepped aside to let us pass. She remained in the study, probably to look around at what else I had touched or examined. Not that I could blame her. I didn’t know what to feel. I hadn’t meant to abuse her trust, but there was no denying the reward: I now possessed an intimate record of my birth mother’s life, written in her hand. No matter what mysteries lay inside, I knew I could handle them. I
had
to handle them.

Cal squeezed my shoulder as we walked down the hall, reassuring me.

Outside, the November wind whipped through my hair, and I brushed it out of my face. Cal opened his car and I climbed in, shivering against the cold leather seats and pushing my hands deep inside my pockets. The Book of Shadows was zipped up inside my jacket, next to my chest.

“The heater will warm things up in a minute,” Cal said. He turned the key and punched buttons on the dash. His handsome face was just a silhouette in the dark of night. Then he turned to me and brushed his hand, surprisingly warm, against my cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure. I was grateful for his concern, yet I was all wrapped up in the mystery of the book and still uneasy about what had just happened with Selene.

“I wasn’t trying to spy or sneak around,” I told him. The words were true, but they sounded even less convincing the second time around.

He glanced at me again as he turned the Explorer onto the main road. “That door is spelled shut,” he said thoughtfully. “I still have to get Mom’s permission to go in—I’ve never been able to open the door by myself. And believe me, I’ve tried.” His grin was a white flash in the darkness.

“But that’s weird,” I said, frowning. “I mean, I didn’t even try to open the door—it just popped open, and I almost fell down.”

Cal didn’t respond. He concentrated on the road. Maybe he was trying to figure out how I had gotten in there, wondering if I’d used magick. But I hadn’t, at least not consciously. Maybe I had been destined to find my way into that study, to find my mother’s book.

Snow had started to fall, and now it brushed against the windshield, not sticking anywhere. It would be gone by morning. I couldn’t wait to get home, to run upstairs to my room and start reading. For some reason, my thoughts turned to Sky Eventide and Hunter Niall. I had instantly disliked both of them: their piercing gazes, their snotty English accents, the way they looked at Cal and at me.

But why? Who were they? Why did they seem so important? I’d seen Sky only once before, in the cemetery a few days ago. And Hunter—Hunter upset me in a way I couldn’t explain. I was still thinking about it when Cal pulled into my driveway and switched off the engine.

“Are your folks home?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to come in?”

“That’s all right,” I said, appreciating his offer. “I think I’ll just hole up and read.”

“Okay. Listen, I’ll be home all night. Just call me if you want to talk.”

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for him.

He came into my arms, and we kissed for a few moments. The sweetness momentarily washed away any confusion and uncertainty I was feeling about my encounter with Selene. Finally, reluctantly, I untangled myself and opened the car door.

“Thanks,” I said again. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay. Take care.” He gave me a smile and didn’t leave until I was inside.

“Hi!” I called. “I’m home.”

My parents were watching a movie in the family room. “You’re early,” said Mom, looking at the clock.

I shrugged. “We missed the movie,” I explained. “And I just decided to come home. Well, I’ll be upstairs.” I fled up to my room, ditched my coat, and flopped down on my bed. Then I pulled out a
Scientific American
magazine and got it ready in case I suddenly needed to cover the Book of Shadows. My parents and I had reached an uneasy truce—about Wicca, about my birth mother, about all the deception. It was best not to disturb that. I didn’t want to have to explain anything painful to them.

Maeve Riordan’s own words, I thought.

My hands trembling, I opened my mother’s Book of Shadows and began to read.

Saturday morning I didn’t exactly leap out of bed. I’d been up until the wee hours, reading Maeve’s Book of Shadows. She’d started it when she was fourteen years old. So far, I couldn’t figure out what Selene meant about finding out something upsetting. Aside from unpronounceable Gaelic words and lots of spells and recipes, I hadn’t found anything really disturbing or strange. I knew that Maeve Riordan and Angus Bramson, my birth parents, were burned to death after they came to America. I just didn’t know why. Maybe this book would explain it somehow. But I was reading slowly. I wanted to savor every word.

When I finally woke up and groped my way downstairs, my eyes were slits. I stumbled toward the refrigerator for a Diet Coke.

I was working on a couple of Pop-Tarts when Mom and Mary K. breezed in, having taken a brisk mother-daughter walk in the chill November air.

“Wow!” said Mom, her nose pink. She clapped her gloved hands. “It’s nippy outside!” She came over and gave me a kiss, and I flinched as her icy hair brushed against my face.

“It’s pretty, though,” Mary K. added. “The snow is just starting to melt, and all the squirrels and birds are on the ground, looking for something to eat.”

I rolled my eyes. Some people are just too cheerful in the morning. It isn’t natural.

“Speaking of something to eat,” Mom said, taking off her gloves and sitting down across from me, “can you two hit the grocery store this morning? I’m showing a house at ten-thirty, and we’re out of almost everything.”

Mentally I reviewed my blank calendar. “Sure,” I said. “Got a list?”

Mom plucked it off the fridge and started adding items to it. Mary K. put the last bagel in the toaster. The phone rang, and she whirled to get it.

Cal, I thought, my heart picking up a beat. Happiness washed over me.

“Hello?” answered Mary K., sounding perky and breathless at the same time. “Oh, hi. Yeah, she’s here. Just a sec.”

She handed the phone to me, mouthing, “Cal.”

I knew it. Ever since I’d discovered Wicca, since I’d discovered Cal, I’d always been able to tell who was calling. “Hi,” I said into the phone.

“How are you?” he asked. “Did you stay up all night, reading?”

He knew me. “Yes . . . I want to talk to you about it,” I said. I was very aware of my mother and Mary K. sitting right there, especially since Mary K. was patting her heart and making swooning gestures at me. I frowned.

“Good—I’d like that,” Cal said. “Want to drive up to Practical Magick this afternoon?”

Practical Magick was a Wicca store in the nearby town of Red Kill, and one of my favorite places to spend a spare hour or two. “I’d love to,” I said. My frown melted into a smile. All my senses were waking up.

“I’ll come get you. Say, one-thirty?”

“Okay. See you then.”

I hung up the phone. My mom lowered the newspaper and looked at me over her reading glasses.

“What?” I said self-consciously, a big grin on my face.

“Everything going all right with Cal?” she asked.

“Uh-huh,” I said. I could feel my cheeks reddening. It felt weird to talk to my parents about my boyfriend—especially since he was the one who had introduced me to Wicca. I’d always been able to discuss my life with Mom and Dad, but Wicca was a part of it they wanted gone, forever. It had created a wall between us.

“Cal seems nice,” Mom said brightly, trying to put me at ease and fish for information at the same time. “He’s certainly good-looking.”

“Um . . . yeah, he’s really nice. Let me go take a shower,” I mumbled, standing up. “Then we’ll go to the store.” I fled.

 

“Okay, first stop, coffee shop,” Mary K. directed a half hour later. She folded Mom’s grocery list and stuck it in her coat pocket.

I wheeled Das Boot—my massive, submarine-like old car—into the parking lot of the small strip mall that boasted Widow’s Vale’s one and only coffee emporium. We dashed from the car to the café, where it smelled like coffee and pastry. I looked at the board and tried to decide between a grande latte or a grande today’s special. Mary K. leaned over the glass case, gazing longingly at the bear claws. I checked my cash.

“Get one if you want,” I said. “My treat. Get me one, too.”

My sister flashed me a smile, and I thought again that she looked so much older than fourteen. Some fourteen-year-olds are so gawky: half formed, childlike. Mary K. wasn’t. She was savvy and mature. For the first time in a long while, it occurred to me that I was lucky to have her as my sister, even if we didn’t share the same blood.

The door swung open, bells jangling. Bakker Blackburn came in, followed by his older brother, Roger, who had been a senior at Widow’s Vale High last year and was now at Vassar. My insides clenched. Mary K. glanced up, eyes wide. She looked away quickly.

“Hey, Mary K., Morgan,” Bakker mumbled, avoiding my gaze. He probably hated me. About a week earlier, I’d kicked him out of our house in no uncertain terms when I’d found him pinning Mary K. down on her bed, practically raping her. He also probably thought I was an alien, since those terms had included hitting him with a ball of crackly blue witch fire—without even meaning to. I still didn’t know how I’d done it. My own power constantly surprised me.

Mary K. nodded at Bakker. She clearly didn’t know what to say.

“Hey, Roger,” I said. He was two years older than me, but Widow’s Vale is a small town, and we all pretty much know each other. “How’s it going?”

Roger shrugged. “Not bad.”

Bakker’s eyes remained glued to Mary K.

“We’d better go,” I stated, heading toward the exit.

Mary K. nodded, but she took her time following me out the door. Maybe she secretly wanted to see if Bakker would say anything. Sure enough, he approached her.

“Mary K.,” he began pleadingly.

She looked at him but turned and caught up to me without a word. I was relieved. I knew he’d been groveling hard since the Incident, and I could tell that Mary K. was weakening. I was afraid that if I spoke too harshly, it might drive her back to him. So I kept my mouth shut. But I had promised myself that if I got the slightest inkling of his forcing himself on her again, I would tell my parents, his parents, and everyone I knew.

And Mary K. would probably never forgive me, I thought as we got into the car.

I started Das Boot’s engine and pulled out onto the street. Thinking about Mary K.’s love life made me think about my own. I started to smile and couldn’t stop. Was Cal my
mùirn beatha dàn
—the Wiccan term for soul mate, life partner? He seemed to believe so. The possibility sent a shiver down my spine.

At the grocery store we stocked up on Pop-Tarts and other necessities. In the snacks aisle I lifted twelve-packs of Diet Coke into the cart while Mary K. piled bags of pretzels and chips on top. Farther down the shelf were boxes of Fudge Therapy, Bree’s favorite junk food.

Bree. My former best friend.

I swallowed. How many times had Bree and I smuggled boxes of Fudge Therapy into a movie theater? How many boxes had we consumed during sleepovers as we lay in the dark, spilling our secrets to each other? It still seemed bizarre that we were enemies, that our friendship had broken up because she had wanted Cal and he had wanted me. In the past few weeks I had wished again and again that I could talk to her about all that I’d learned. Bree didn’t even know I was adopted. She still thought I was a Rowlands by birth, like Mary K. But Bree was being such a bitch to me now, and I was being cold to her. Oh, well. For now, there was nothing I could do about it. It seemed best not to dwell on what I couldn’t change.

Mary K. and I checked out and loaded up the car. I stifled a yawn as we climbed back in. The gray, cheerless weather seemed to sap my energy. I wanted to go home and nap before Cal came over.

“Let’s go down Picketts Road,” said Mary K., adjusting the car’s heater vents to blow right on her. “It’s so pretty, even if it takes longer.”