The Coven

  The Coven- Cate Tiernan

  Morgan’s powers are stronger than she ever imagined. She has

  visions, she lights fires with her mind, and her spells work

  miracles. When her boyfriend Cal, a member of the same coven,

  insists that witchcraft is in her blood, Morgan is confused. Her

  parents definitely aren’t witches. They do seem to be keeping

  something secret, though-something about Morgan’s past.

  Sweep: The Coven

  Cate Tiernan

  EBook by: TheLiz

  PrologueI was dancing In the atmosphere, surrounded by stars,

  seeing motes of energy whizzing past me like microscopic

  comets. I could see the entire universe, all at once; every

  particle, every smile, every fly, every grain of sand was

  revealed to me and was infinitely beautiful.

  When I breathed in, I breathed in the very essence of

  fife* and I breathed out white light It was beautiful, more than

  beautiful, but I didn't have the words to express ft even to

  myself. I understood everything; I understood my place in the

  universe; I understood the path I had to follow.

  Then I smiled and blinked and breathed out again, and I

  was standing in a darkened graveyard with nine high school

  friends, and tears were running down my face.

  "Are you okay?" Robbie asked in concern, coming over to

  me.

  At first ft seemed he was speaking gibberish, but then I

  understood what he had said, and I nodded.

  "It was so beautiful," I said lamely, my voice breaking, I

  felt unbearably diminished after my vision. I reached my finger

  out to touch Robbie's cheek. My finger left a warm pink line

  where it touched, and Robbie rubbed his cheek, looking

  confused.

  The vases of flowers were on the altar, and I walked

  toward them, mesmerized by their beauty and also the

  overwhelming sadness of the flowers* deaths. I touched one

  bud, and it opened beneath my hand, blooming In death as It

  hadn't been allowed to in life. I heard Raven gasp and knew

  that Bree and Beth and Matt backed away from me then.

  Then Cal was next to me. "Quit touching things," he said

  quietly, smiling. "Lie down and ground yourself."

  He guided me to an open spot within our circle, and I by

  down on my back, feeling the pulsing life of the earth centering

  me, easing the energy from me. making me feel more normal.

  My perceptions focused, and I saw the coven clearly, saw the

  candles, the stars, the fruit as themselves again and not is

  pulsing blobs of energy.

  “What's happening to me?” I whispered. Cal sat cross

  legged and lifted my head onto his lap, stroking my hair strewn

  across his legs. Robbie knelt next to him. Etan, Beth and

  Sharon circled closer, peering over his sholder at me as if I

  were a museum display. Jenna was holding Matt around his

  waist, as if she were afraid. Raven and Bree were the farthest

  back, and Bree looked wide-eyed and solemn.

  “You made magick,”Cal said, gazing at me with those

  endless golden eyes. “You're a blood witch.”

  My eyes opened wider as his face slowly blotted out the

  moon above me. With his eyes deeply into mine, he touched my

  mouth with his, and with a sense of shock I realized he was

  kissing me. My arms felt heavy as I moved them up to encircle

  his neck, and then I was kissing him back, and we were joined,

  and the magick crackled all around us.

  In that moment of sheer happiness I didn't question what

  being a blood witch meant to me or my family or what Cal and I

  being together meant to Bree or Raven or Robbie or anyone

  else. It would be my first lesson in magick, and it would be

  hard learned: seeing the big picture, not just a part of it

  1. After Samhain

  This book is given to my incandescent one, my fire fairy,

  Bradhadair, on her fourteenth birthday. Welcome to Belwicket.

  With love from Mathair.

  ><

  This book is private. Keep out.

  Imbolc, 1976

  Here's an easy spell to start my Book of Shadows. I got it from

  Betts Jowson, except I use black candles and she uses blue.

  To Get Rid of a Bad Habit

  1.Light alter candles.

  2.Light black candle. Say: “This holds me back. No more will I

  do it. No more is it part of me.”

  3.Light white candle, Say” “This is my might and my courage

  and my victory. This battle is already won.”

  4. Picture in your mind the bad habit you want to break. Picture

  yourself free from it. After a few minutes of imagining victory,

  put out the black candle, then the white candle.

  5.Repeat a week later if necessary. Best done during a waning

  moon.I did this last Thursday as part of my initiation. I haven't

  bitten my nails since. --Bradhadair

  I woke slowly on the day after Samhain. I tried to resist

  the light behind my eyes, but soon I was awake, and there was

  nothing I could do about it.

  My room was barely light It was the first day of

  November, and the warmth of autumn had leached away. I

  stretched, then was flooded with memories and sensations so

  strong that I sat straight up in bed.

  Shivering, I saw again Cal leaning over me, kissing me. Me,

  kissing Cal back, my arms around his neck, his hair soft

  beneath my fingers. The connection we made, our magick, the

  electricity, the sparks, the way the universe swirled around us

  ,,. I am a blood witch, i thought I am a blood witch, and Cal

  loves me, and I love Cal. And that's the way it is.

  The night before, I'd had my first kiss, found my first love.

  I had also betrayed my best friend, created a rift in my new

  coven, and realized my parents had lied to me my whole life.

  All of this happened on Samhain, October 31, the witches'

  New Year. My new year, my new life.

  I lay back down in bed, the coziness of my flannel sheets and

  comforter reassuring. Last night I had seen my dreams come

  true. Now I knew, with a coldness in my stomach, I would pay

  the price for them. I felt much older than sixteen.

  Blood witch, I thought Cal says that's what I am, and

  after last night, after what I did, how can I doubt it? It must be

  true. I am a blood witch. In my veins flows blood that has been

  Inherited from thousands of years of magick making,

  thousands of years of witches intermarrying. I'm one of them,

  from one of the Seven Great Clans: Rowanwand, Wyndenkell,

  Leapvaughn, Vikroth, Brightendale, Burnhide,and Woodbane.

  But which one? Rowanwand, both teachers and hoarders

  of knowledge? Wyndenkeil, the expert spell writers? Vikroth?

  The Vikroths were magickal warriors, later related to Vikings. I

  smiled I didn't feel very warriorlike.

  The Leapvaughns were mischief makers, joke players. The

  Burnhide clan focused on doing magick with gems, crystals,

  and metals, and
the Brightandales were the medical clan, using

  the magick of plants to heal. Or ... there was Woodbane. I

  shivered There was no way I was of the dark clan, the ones

  who wanted power at any cost, the ones who battled and

  betrayed their fellow clans for control of land, of magickal

  power, of knowledge.

  I considered it. Of the seven great clans, if I was in fact

  from one of them, I felt most like the Brightendales, the

  healers. I had discovered that I loved plants, that they spoke to

  me, that using their magickal powers came naturally to me. I

  hugged myself, smiling. A Brightendale. A real blood witch.

  Which means my parents must also be blood witches, I

  thought It was a stunning notion. It made me wonder why

  we'd been going to church every Sunday for as long as I could

  remember. I mean, I liked my church. I liked going to services.

  They seemed beautiful and traditional and comforting. But

  Wicca felt more natural.

  I sat up in bed again. Two images kept coming at me: Cal

  leaning over me, his golden eyes locked on mine. And Bree, my

  best friend: the shock and pain on her face as she saw Cal and

  me together. The accusation, hurt, desire. Rage.

  What have I done? I wondered.

  I heard my parents downstairs in the kitchen, starting

  coffee, unloading the dishwasher. Flopping back down in bed, I

  listened to the familiar sounds: Not every single thing in my life

  had changed last night.

  Someone opened the front door to get the paper. Today

  was Sunday, which meant church, followed by brunch at the

  Widow's Diner. Seeing Cal later? Would I talk to him? Were we

  going out now, a couple? He had kissed me in front of

  everyone—what had it meant? Was Cal Blaire, beautiful Cal

  Blaire, really attracted to me, Morgan Rowlands? Me, with my

  flat chest and my assertive nose? Me, who guys never looked at

  twice?

  I stared up at my ceiling as if the answers were written

  on the cracked plaster. When the door to my room burst open,

  I jumped.

  "Can you explain this?" my mom asked. Her brown eyes

  were wide, her mouth tight, with deeply carved lines around it

  She held up a small stack of books, tied with string. They were

  the books I had left at Bree's house because I knew my parents

  didn't want me to have them, my books on Wicca, the Seven

  Great Clans, the history of witchcraft A note attached to the

  books said in big letters: Morgan—You left these at my house.

  Thought you might need them. Sitting up, I realized this was

  Bree's revenge.

  "I thought we had an understanding," Mom said, her

  voice rising. She leaned out my bedroom door and yelled,

  "Sean!"

  I swung my legs out of bed. The floor was cold, and I

  pushed my feet into my slippers.

  "Well?" Mom's voice was a decibel louder, and my dad

  came into my room, looking alarmed.

  "Mary Grace?" he said. "What's going on?"

  Mom held up the books as if they were a dead rat "These

  were on the front porch!" she said. "Look at the note!"

  She turned back to me. "What do you think you're doing?"

  she demanded, incredulous. "When I said I didn't want these

  books in my house, that didn't mean I wanted you reading

  them in someone else's house! You knew what I meant

  Morgan!"

  "Mary Grace," my dad soothed, taking the books from her.

  He read their titles silently.

  My younger sister, Mary K., padded into the room, still in

  her plaid patchwork pajamas. "What's going on?" she said,

  pushing her hair out of her eyes. No one answered.

  I tried to think fast "Those books aren't dangerous or

  illegal. And I wanted to read them. I'm not a child—I'm sixteen.

  Anyway, I was respecting your wishes not to have them in the

  house."

  "Morgan," my dad said, sounding uncharacteristically

  stern. "It's not just having the books In the house, and you

  know it We explained that as Catholics, we feel that witchcraft

  is wrong. It may not be illegal, but it's blasphemous.”

  "You are sixteen," Mom put in. "Not eighteen. That means

  you are still a child." Her face was flushed, her hair unbrushed .

  I could see silver strands among the red. It hit me that in four

  years she would be fifty. That suddenly seemed old.

  "You live under our roof," Mom continued tightly. "We

  support you. When you're eighteen and you move out and get a

  job, you can have whatever books you want, read whatever

  you want But while you're in this house, what we say goes."

  I started to get angry. Why were they acting this way?

  But before I said anything, a verse came into my head.

  Leash my anger, calm my words. Speak in love and do no hurt.

  Where did that come from? I wondered vaguely. But

  whatever its origin, it felt right I said it to myself three times

  and felt my emotions ratchet down.

  "I understand," I said. Suddenly I felt powerful and

  confident I looked at my parents and my sister. "But Mom, It

  isn't that easy," I explained gently. "And you know why, I

  know you do. I'm a witch. I was born a witch. And if I was,

  then you were, too."

  2. Different

  December 14, 1976

  Circle last night at the currachdag on the west cliffs.

  Fifteen of us in all, including me, Angus, Mannannan, the rest of

  Belwicket, and two students, Tara and Cliff. It was cold, and a

  fine rain fell. Standing around the great heap of pat, we did

  some healing for old Mrs. Paxham, down to the village, who's

  been ailing. I felt the cumhachd, the power, in my fingers, in

  my arms, and I was happy and danced for hours.

  --Bradhadair

  My mother looked like she was about to have a stroke.

  Dads mouth dropped open. Mary K. stared at me, her brown

  eyes wide.

  Mom's mouth worked as If she was trying to speak but

  couldn't form the words. Her face was pale, and I wanted to

  tell her to sit down, to take it easy. But I kept silent I knew this

  was a turning point for us, and I couldn't back down.

  "What did you say?" Her voice was a raw whisper.

  "I said I'm a witch," I repeated calmly, though inside, my

  nerves were stretched and taut. "I'm a blood witch, a genetic

  witch. And if I am, you two must be also."

  "What are you talking about?" Mary K. said. "There's no

  such thing as a genetic witch! God, next you'll be telling us

  there are vampires and werewolves." She looked at me in

  disbelief, her plaid pajamas seeming young and innocent

  Suddenly I felt guilty, as if I had brought evil into the house.

  But that wasn't true, was it? All I had brought into the house

  was me, a part of me.

  I raised my hand, then let it fall, not knowing what to say.

  "I can't believe you," Mary K. said. "What are you trying

  to do?" She gestured toward our parents.

  Ignoring her, Mom said faintly,"You're not a witch."

  I almost snorted. "Mom, please. That's like saying I'm not

  a girl or I'm not human. Of course I'm a witch, and you know
it

  You've always known it"

  "Morgan, just stop it!" Mary K. pleaded. "You're freaking

  me out You want to read witch books? Fine. Read witch books,

  light candles, whatever. But quit saying you're really a witch.

  That's bullshit!"

  Mom snapped her gaze to Mary K., startled. "Scuse me,"

  Mary K. muttered. I'm sorry, Mary K.," I said. "It's not

  something I wanted to happen. But it's true." A thought

  occurred to me. "You must be one, too," I said, finding that

  idea fascinating. I looked up at her, excited. "Mary K., you must

  be a witch, too!"

  "She is not a witch!”my mom shrieked, and I stopped,

  frozen by the sound of her voice. She looked enraged, the veins

  in her neck standing out, her face flushed. "You leave her out

  of it!"

  "But—," I began.

  "Mary K. is not a witch, Morgan," my dad said harshly.

  I shook my head. "But she has to be," I said. "I mean, it's

  genetic. And if / am, and you are, then..."

  "Nobody is a witch," my mom said shortly, not meeting

  my eyes. "Certainly not Mary Kathleen."

  They were in denial. But why?

  "Mom, it's okay. Really. More than okay. Being a witch is t

  wonderful thing," I said, thinking back to the feelings I'd hid

  last night "It's like being—"

  "Will you stop?” Mom burst out "Why are you doing this?

  Why can't you just listen to us?" She sounded on the verge of

  tears, and I was getting angry again.

  "I can't listen to you because you're wrong!" I said loudly,

  "Why are you denying all of this?"

  "We're not witches!" my mom screeched, practically rattling

  my windows.

  She glared at me. My dad's mouth was open, and Mary K.

  looked miserable. I felt the first hint of fear.

  "Oh," I snapped. "I guess I'm a witch, but you're not,

  right?" I snorted, furious at their stubbornness, their lies.

  "Then what?”I crossed my arms and looked at them. "Was I

  adopted?"

  Silence. Long moments of the clock ticking, the thin,

  scratchy sound of elm twigs brushing my windowpanes. My

  heartbeat seemed to go into slow motion. Mom groped for my

  desk chair, then sank into it heavily. My dad shifted from foot

  to foot, looking over my left shoulder at nothing. Mary K. stared

  at all of us.

  "What?" I tried to smile. "What? What are you saying?

  I'm adopted?"

  "Of course you're not adopted!" said Mary K., looking at

  Mom and Dad for their agreement.