Strife Page 13

  she doesn’t need proximity for telekinesis.

  My chest felt hollow. That was it, then. It was true. My own father had practically tried to kill me. Why? I wondered. What could he possibly gain by hurting me?Morgan,Hunter went on,now that Ciaran is in custody, I think we should lift the deflection spell.There’s no telling what might

  happen to him if he is stripped while still under the spell—and there’s no need for it anymore,

  anyway. Erin is here, and she agrees with me.

  In a few moments I saw Erin’s familiar face and twinkling eyes. She was sitting in a room surrounded by candles. Her face was lit with a golden glow. I felt the delicate bones of her hands in mine, and I knew that she and Hunter were holding hands. They were ready to begin the circle.

  I had to blink back tears. Although I had feared that Ciaran might have been behind the strange accidents all along, somehow finding out for certain didn’t fill me with relief; it filled me with sadness. I’d known he could be incredibly cruel, but a small part of me simply didn’t want to believe that he was capable of hurting me. He was my birth father, after all. My only living parent. To know that he had actually tried to harm me, even knowing I was his daughter, was almost incomprehensible. And I couldn’t understand why. Can we have the circle without Sky and Alyce?I asked.

  Sky has already left,Hunter replied,and Alyce is busy with the store. But it doesn’t require as

  much magick to release the spell as to put it in place.The three of us can do it.

  All right,I said.But first I have to tell you something.I took a deep breath.Alisa is very sick. She’s

  in the hospital. Mary K. and I went to see her this afternoon, and she had some kind of crash.

  I’m worried.I didn’t tell him that I might have been responsible for what had happened. I simply

  couldn’t allow myself to think those thoughts. That’s terrible,Hunter replied. I could feel his concern, then confusion as he added,Do you think

  we should send some healing spells her way?

  No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.Even though I felt certain that I hadn’t actually

  performed any magick that afternoon, that Alisa’s crash was just a coincidence, the idea of doing a spell for her was terrifying. What if we ended up hurting her? I couldn’t take the chance.Alisa quit the coven,I explained.I don’t know if she would want a spell done for her. And I wouldn’t

  want to do anything against her wishes.

  All right,Hunter conceded, even though I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced.Let me know

  how she’s doing, won’t you, Morgan?

  Of course,I promised. I inhaled deeply, bracing myself for the task to come.Let’s begin,I said

  with Hunter’s voice.

  Erin began a low hum at the back of her throat, then, in a voice that was almost a whisper, she began to chant.

  “Let us now unwork the magick that encircles the blameworthy,

  Leave him to his own strategy,

  Just or fell.”

  The words went on, and the magick that welled up in me was like cool, clear water, fluid and bracing. I waited for Erin to pull out Harris Stoughton’s book, and I was surprised to realize that she wasn’t going to. She didn’t even seem to have the book with her. Instead, she reached for a large white dish and a white teapot. With a steady hand she filled the dish with steaming liquid. My nostrils were filled with the scent of mint and rosemary, and I nearly laughed to realize that my connection with Hunter was so strong that I could actuallysmellwhat he smelled. Reaching into a green velvet pouch beside her, Erin pulled out a handful of something and crumbled it into the water. The water shimmered for a moment, like the ocean in the setting sun. There was a light hissing sound and the scent of lavender, then Erin looked up and smiled. “We have released the witch from his own restraints.” Erin sounded as happy and relieved as I felt. “He will no longer be his own victim.” I inhaled deeply, still taking pleasure in the beautiful smells that lingered around me. Undoing the deflection spell had been as beautiful and easy as putting it on had been ugly and horrible. I felt wonderful now, even though the magick hadn’t been directed at me. I was safe now—Ciaran couldn’t threaten me any longer, and my magick was intact. Morgan, thank you,Hunter’s voice echoed in my mind.

  For what?

  There was a moment before he replied.For everything,he said finally.For everything,he repeated, soft as the sound of water flowing over smooth stones. In the next moment he was gone. The lapis lazuli made a slight click as I placed it back on the nightstand and turned off the lamp. I love you, Hunter Niall, I thought as I pulled the comforter up to my chin. I looked out my window, into the depths of the starry sky. “I did it.” Bree leaned against a bank of lockers, clutching her books to her chest. There were dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well. “You talked to Robbie?”

  Bree gave a faint nod.

  “How did it go?” I asked. It was five minutes to the first bell. “Badly,” Bree said. “But better than I thought it would.” “So are you . . .” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “We’re still together,” Bree replied, tucking her silky hair behind one ear. “He was hurt, though. Really hurt about the stuff with Matt.” She looked at me, her eyes rimmed with red. “That was the worst part. I’ve never—”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  “He said that he loved me.” Bree’s voice was small and fragile, like a little girl’s teacup. “I’m glad I told him, even though it wasn’t easy.” We stood there a moment, not saying anything. “I guess I’m afraid,” Bree said finally.

  I thought about Bree—about all the nights she ate dinner alone because her father was out of town on business. I thought about the brother she hadn’t spoken to in over a month, the mother she hadn’t seen in years. Bree knew about difficult love. No wonder she was afraid. “Robbie is special,” I told her. “And you’re strong.” Bree nodded, as if what I’d said was something she knew already—something she’d forgotten. She squeezed my hand, then let it go. “You’re strong, too.” The bell rang, and we were swept down the hall toward homeroom in a churning sea of students. Neither one of us said anything more. Neither one of us had to. Letting

  “Morgan?” Mary K.’s voice echoed up the stairway. I put my book aside and stood up. I had been lying on my bed, reading my English assignment, with Dagda curled comfortably in the curve of my waist.

  Mary K. called up again, with more urgency this time.“Morgan!” “What? What is it?” I stepped out of my room and peered down the stairs. Mary K. was standing at the bottom with a huge grin. “What’s going on?” “There’s somebody here that you might like to see.” “Who?” I started walking down the stairs. Hunter? I thought hopefully. But no, I would have sensed his coming. Who else could she be talking about? When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Mary K. was alone in the foyer. Was she playing a trick on me? “Well, who—”

  I broke off. Alisa was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking small and pale. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, emphasizing her gaunt, delicate face. She looked up at me nervously. “Hi, Morgan.”

  “Wow, Alisa.” She looked like she was still weak, but she wasthere,sitting in my living room, talking to me. I walked over to the couch and perched beside her. “I’m so glad you’re okay. How do you feel?”

  Alisa shrugged. “Depends when you ask me, I guess.” She pulled her hands into her lap, and I could see that she was holding the red-and-white teddy bear that Mary K. had brought to her hospital room. “I still feel weak, and I still have aches and dizziness every once in a while.” She smiled a wan smile. “But I’m getting better. I’m well enough to leave my house, and that feels

  great.”

  Mary K. perched on my dad’s armchair. “Do they know what made you sick?” Alisa shook her head a little sadly. “Nobody seems to have any idea,” she said. “After you two left, I got really bad, and the doctors were pretty worried. They told my fath
er to start preparing for the worst. But after a few hours I just seemed to get better. And around midnight, I woke up really thirsty and asked the nurse for a glass of juice. I mean”—she gave a little laugh—“I’d been unconscious for, like, days, and I just up and asked for some apple juice out of the blue. The nurse was in shock.”

  “Wow.” Mary K. looked at me as if to say, “Isn’t that crazy?” “I know,” Alisa went on. “The doctors say it was a really bad virus and that the worst of it just had to pass through my system before I could start getting better.” She looked at me meaningfully. “But the fact is, they don’t really know what made me sick—and now they don’t have any idea what made me better.”

  The way she was staring at me made me uncomfortable, and I looked away, out the window. Did she and Mary K. think that I’d cured her? But I hadn’t. “Alisa, I—” “Anyway,” Alisa interrupted me, “I just wanted to say thank you. For coming to visit me in the hospital, I mean.” She looked down into her lap and stroked the tiny red-and-white bear. Even though she was better, I still sensed a sadness in Alisa. I wondered about the family problems Mary K. had mentioned before.

  “You’re welcome,” I said softly. I reached over to squeeze her arm. She seemed so down, and I still felt this weird protectiveness toward her. I wondered if I was starting to get maternal urges or something.

  As I touched Alisa’s arm, there was a crash.Alisa jumped. We all looked up to see that a framed photo had fallen off the mantel across the room. Frowning, Mary K. jumped up and picked it off the floor. “That’s weird,” she murmured, holding up a photo of our family around the tree last Christmas. “Must have been a draft.”

  I stared, frozen. There was no reason for that picture to fall off the mantel. No reason, that is, except the strange telekinetic incidents that had been following me. But that was Ciaran, I told myself. And Ciaran’s in custody. He can’t be doing this to me. Was it possible that it was just a weird accident? Maybe I was making something out of nothing. If it had happened anytime before the past couple of weeks, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. It was just that so much had been happening lately . . . anything even vaguely out of the ordinary seemed suspicious.

  Mary K. gingerly picked up the broken glass that surrounded the picture. As I watched her, I had a more frightening thought: What if it wasn’t Ciaran who had been behind those incidents? What if it was someone else— someone else who was after me, and still on the loose? “Um, I’d better get back to my homework,” I blurted, standing up. “Alisa, I’m really glad you’re feeling better. I hope I’ll see you back at school soon.” “Thanks.”

  As I left the room, my eyes fell on the photo. Mary K. had propped it, still in the broken frame, on an end table while she picked up the glass. I shuddered when I saw how it had broken. Deep cracks had formed that set Mary K., my mom, and my dad in one section. In the other section was me, alone.

  I sprinted back up to my room.

  But before I even had time to think about what had happened, Mom knocked on my bedroom

  door. “Do you have a minute?” she called.

  “Sure,” I said as my mom opened the door and walked in, holding a sheaf of papers in her hand. I sighed. I could smell a lecture coming on. I knew what the papers were—it was the extra-credit assignment I’d written for Mr. Powell. He’d just handed it back that morning, with an A—that meant the full twenty points of extra credit. I’d been so excited about it that I’d left it out on the kitchen table for my mom to see, but now I remembered. She hadn’t been so thrilled that I’d chosen to write about the persecution of witches. No doubt she wanted to tell me that this wouldn’t be an appropriate application essay for Saint Anne’s. “Morgan,” my mom said as she settled at the edge of my bed, "I like to think I’m a reasonable person.”

  Usually, I said mentally. But I didn’t say anything out loud; I just nodded. “That’s why I—” But she couldn’t finish. She just looked at the paper and shook her head. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said finally. “I just left it out because I thought you’d be glad that my grades are coming up.”

  “I know,” my mom said slowly. “And you were right—Iamglad.” She flipped through the paper. “This is very well written, Morgan. You must have done a lot of research for it.” “A lot,” I agreed. “But it’s not hard when you’re researching something you’re really interested in.”

  My mom nodded and pursed her lips. “I always told you girls that I’d never stand in the way of things you were interested in,” she said. “At the time, I thought that was such an easy promise to make.” She looked down at the paper again. “Morgan, I think your father and I made a mistake when we considered sending you to Catholic school.” For a moment I thought I’d misheard her or hallucinated or something. “That was the wrong solution,” my mom went on. “I guess we—or I guess I—just overreacted. “I . . .” My mom stopped to take a deep breath. “I hope you know that I’m just afraid for you, Morgan. I love you, that’s all,” she finished in a whisper. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. She was serious—no Catholic school! Thank the Goddess! And with that wave of relief came a rush of love and gratitude for my mom, who was putting aside her fear and allowing me to explore something she didn’t understand. I leaned over and took the paper from her hand. “Thank you so much,” I said softly. “I know Wicca frightens you. But it’s part of me, Mom. I can’t change it.” My mother was silent for so long that I thought perhaps I’d upset her. But finally she said, “You’re right.” She sighed and shook her head. “Morgan, I’m your mother, and I want you to be happy. I was concerned when I saw your grades suffering. But now you’ve shown me that you’re bringing them up. You’ve even proved that your interests and your academics can peacefully coexist.” She looked at me. “I don’t want to be the kind of mother who tells you what to believe. I swore to myself that I’d never be like that, and I intend to keep that promise. No matter how hard it is.”

  I leaned over and hugged her, breathing in the light, sweet smell of her perfume. It occurred to me how much I had missed her—how much I had missed my whole family—in the last few weeks. Now I was safe, Ciaran was in custody, and I had my family around me. I felt warm and happy. My mom kissed me on the forehead. “I think that this hard work deserves a little reward,” she said. “What do you suggest?”

  I lifted my eyebrows and grinned. “The end of my grounding period?” “How about a phone call?”

  “Good enough,” I said quickly, scrambling out of bed. Dagda let out a mew of complaint.

  “Where are you going?” my mom asked.

  I turned and grinned at her. “To go call Hunter.” “Ah,” she said with a smile. “Well, tell him I said hello.” “I will,” I called over my shoulder as I practically ran down the stairs. I couldn’t wait to tell him the good news about Alisa—I couldn’t wait to tell him everything. I was in such a hurry as I punched in Hunter’s number on the cordless phone that I messed up twice. I took a deep breath and tried again.

  Hunter answered on the first ring. “Morgan, I’m so glad you called,” he said. I laughed for what seemed like the first time in weeks. I hadn’t spoken to Hunter in days, and his voice seemed delicious to me. It was true that the mind melds we’d been having were great, but there was something so comforting about hearing his voice on the phone, so normal, that it almost made me giddy. “I guess there’s no point in trying to surprise you with a phone call,” I said lightly. “Guess what! No Catholic school!” There was a moment of quiet on the other end of the line. For a second I wondered whether he’d heard me. “Morgan, love, that’s brilliant. Is it because you’ve brought your grades up?” “It is,” I said happily. “Oh, and Alisa’s okay! She stopped by earlier.” “Oh, excellent.”

  I paused, thinking about Alisa’s visit and the picture falling. Should I tell Hunter about that? Or would he just think I was paranoid?

  “Morgan—” Hunter began. There was something in his tone. What was it? Concern? Fear? “What is it?”
A feeling of dread spread through the pit of my stomach. “I’ve heard from Sky.”

  It took a moment for the news to sink in. “What did she—” “She’s found some leads,” Hunter went on. “In fact, she believes my parents are not in France.” “No?” I felt a sudden, horribly selfish wave of relief. Did that mean Hunter wouldn’t have to go to Europe to search for them?

  “No,” Hunter replied. “She believes they’re in Canada. Quebec. It would explain the French. I’m going to head up there myself, as soon as possible.” The room started to tilt crazily, and I had to hold on to the counter for support. “But—but—the council—”

  “I’ve spoken with the council,” Hunter said. “Morgan, Ciaran is in custody. Selene and Cal are gone.” He paused. “I’ve asked permission to investigate the Canada leads. There’s no reason for me to be here now.” He sighed. “Don’t you see? You’re safe now. There isn’t anything left for me to do in Widow’s Vale.” Had he really just said that? “Thanks a lot,” I said bitterly, swallowing the tears that were welling up in my throat.

  “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it,” Hunter said quietly. I did know. But it hurt anyway. “How long will you be gone?” I asked. “It’s hard to be sure,” Hunter replied. “It could be a few days or a few weeks. Or longer. It depends on what I find.”

  Of course. That was what I was afraid of. The image I’d seen when I scried, the image of Hunter waving farewell, entered my mind, along with the feeling of dread I’d felt when I first saw it. Was it possible . . . was it possible that he mightnevercome back? Don’t think that way, I commanded myself, but it was too late. I thought of the picture falling earlier, how frightened I had been. Had something so small really seemed so important just a few minutes ago? “Just how reliable is Sky’s information?” I demanded. The moment the words were out of my