Reckoning s-13 Read online

  "Kind of," I admitted. I took a deep breath. "I need to talk to you about something."

  "What's up?" she said, concerned.

  "You asked me what's been going on recently, why I've been so distant."

  "I've been worried about you," she replied, popping the top of a bottle of iced tea and setting the cap on the ground for Dagda, Morgan's kitten, to bat around.

  Okay. Just come out and say it.

  "I'm a witch," I blurted. "Just like Morgan."

  Mary K. flinched just a bit, then seemed to try to ignore what I was saying by going through the contents of her bag. "I know you were in that thing she goes to… that Kithic thing."

  "It's more than that," I explained. "My mother was a witch. I'm a blood witch."

  She looked up at me, frozen.

  "What do you mean, your mother was a witch? What's a blood witch?"

  "Do you remember that book Morgan had here the other week?" I asked. "The one I kept staring at? That book was my mother's Book of… her diary."

  "How could Morgan get your mother's diary?" she asked shortly. "That is ridiculous. Do you hear what you are saying?"

  "I know what I'm saying," I said with a sigh, "and I know how it sounds. But it's true. My mother was a blood witch. I can… do things…"

  "You're trying to tell my that you have magickal powers?" she said. "Is that it?"

  Oh, God.

  "You've been sick," she said agitatedly shaking out the entire contents of her baf onto the floor. "You're stressed out about what's happening with your dad."

  "I wish that was it," I said. "I wish I was just imagining all of this. But I'm not. This stuff is real. It's not some dumb high school trend or some kind of Ren Faire spin-off club. Witches are real. I have the book here. I'll show you."

  I reached into my bag to get my mom's Book of Shadows. I always carry it with me. She held up her hand, indicating that I shouldn't bother.

  "I don't understand," she said, her brown eyes blazing. "We were going to write that letter to the paper. Now you're telling me that you're back into this witch stuff, just like that, and that somehow Morgan had a book that said your mother was a witch?"

  "Look, I didn't mean to upset you." I hung my head. "I would give anything for this not to be true. It's not a choice."

  We were both silent for a few minutes. The only noise came from Dagda trying to chomp in the bottle cap.

  "Alisa," she said sadly. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do with this."

  "Neither do I," I replied, running my finger along the seams of her lemon-colored comforter. She took a pretzel out of the bag and dropped it on the floor. Dagda pounced in excitement. "I should probably go," I said quietly.

  Mary K. looked unhappy, but I think we both realized that our conversation was over. There was just a lot of dead air between us, and it was making both of us uncomfortable.

  "My parents aren't home yet," she said. "Neither is Morgan."

  "It's nice out," I said. "I'll walk home."

  We looked at each other; then she turned her attention to her books, her face drawn. I quietly let myself out.

  Morgan drives the weirdest car I have ever seen in my life, some kind of monster from the early seventies. It's huge and unbearably ugly, with a white body and a blue hood, and she treats it as if it were her very own child. She was docking this scary ship into the driveway when I came out of her front door. I stopped, and she stepped out of the car and looked at me.

  "What's wrong, Alisa?" she said, eyeing my slumped shoulders.

  "I just told Mary K. the truth," I said flatly. "That I'm a blood witch like you."

  She exhaled loudly and leaned back against the car.

  "How'd that go?" she asked.

  "It sucked."

  She frowned. At least she understood what it was like for me. I knew that when she'd told her family, it had ended up being a royal mess. Things had improved for her, though… maybe they would for me too.

  "How about a ride home?" she asked. I nodded my thanks. She climbed back into the car, and I got in on the passenger's side.

  "Mary K. will come around," she said, trying her best to cheer me up.

  "No, she won't," I said, playing with the window crank. "You know as well as I do. This isn't something that people come around to."

  "Want to have an informal circle?" she asked. "It might clear your mind a bit. How about we go to Hunter's?"

  Morgan's boyfriend in Hunter Niall, the leader of Kithic. Hunter had really intimidated me until very recently. He's an imposing guy—very good looking and tall, with chiseled features and piercing green eyes. He's always, always serious. To top it all off, he's British, with this exacting accent. But I had gotten to know Hunter a bit better recently, and I'd seen that he wasn't so scary after all. Even if I'd wanted to go and have a circle with them, though, I couldn't.

  "It's all right," I said wearily. "I have to pack up my room or I'll be grounded until I'm twenty."

  "Pack up your room?"

  I explained Hilary's master house-arranging plan, and Morgan gave me a sympathetic look.

  "This hasn't been a great month for you," she said.

  "For you, either."

  "No," she agreed. In the process of dealing with the dark wave, Morgan had confronted her father—a very powerful, and apparently evil, witch named Ciaran. Morgan had assisted Hunter and some others in catching him and stripping him of his magickal powers. From what I'd heard, that had been pretty awful. "I guess not," she said with a sigh. "Maybe it's never easy to find out you're a blood witch. That's something Hunter and the other witches can't quite understand. They don't know what it's like to have a regular family members and witch blood. We're unique."

  How about that? Morgan and I, two of a kind.

  "So," she said, pulling up to my house, "see you on Saturday for the circle? I can pick you up at seven-thirty if you want."

  "That would be great," I said. "Thanks."

  I ran through the door and straight to my room, trying to avoid contact with the Hiliminator. While I didn't see the woman herself, she had left a stack of folded boxes, tape, and markers by my door as a sign of her presence. How very kind it was of my stepmonster-to-be to provide me with moving supplies. It made me feel warm all over. I pushed the pile through the door and shut it behind me.

  My first thought was to check my e-mail. I expected nothing, but there was a little envelop on the corner of my screen when I logged on. I quickly opened the note. It read:

  Alisa,

  Sam Curtis is indeed a member of Ròiseal. I forwarded your note to him. He seemed very excited to hear from you. You should be getting a response soon.

  Blessed be,

  Charlie Findgoll.

  At last, one single piece of good news.

  That night I dreamed of the mermaid again. The dream was almost identical to the one the night before. This only increased my conviction that there was something going on in Gloucester that I needed to find out about.

  At school on Friday, Mary K. seemed standoffish, so I ended up eating lunch alone and going home by myself. When I got there, I found that Hilary had bought rattan boxes for diapers, new sets of shelves, and a lamp shaped like a baby giraffe. I noticed there was nothing new planned for the closet down the hall—no swatches, no carpet sample, no new pieces of furniture. She had gotten me some more folded boxes though.

  After taking these to my room, I hurried to my computer and got online. There was another note. I saw that the sender was Sam Curtis. I couldn't even open it for a moment, and I just sat there, staring at the name. Then, my hand shaking slightly, I clicked on the note.

  Alisa,

  I could barely believe it when Charlie sent me your note. I usually don't like e-mail, but this was a major exception! I am so happy to hear from you! I think about you often, and I want to know all about you.

  I only have a computer at work, so here is my phone number and address. Write, call, visit… or all three.

  — S
am

  I didn't know quite how to respond. I'd acted so quickly in sending the not that I hadn't really come up with a concrete plan about what to do if Sam actually wrote back. If I called him, my father would question the long-distance charge. Visiting—that sounded great, but how was I going to go to Gloucester, especially without my father knowing?

  Quickly, hands shaking, I printed out the note and tucked it into my mom's book. Then I trashed the note from my inbox. I didn't want anyone finding the letter by accident when they were going on-line. My father didn't know anything about my mother's heritage, and Hilary certainly didn't, either. This was private, between my uncle and me.

  At dinner (a pregnancy blue plate special: cold soba noodles and baked lentil burgers) Hilary actually looked worried about me when I left my plate untouched. She offered to get me whatever I wanted—pizza, burgers, anything. It was my father who said that he wasn't going to give in to my "moods". When he ordered me to stay in for the night and work on my room, I went along with it quietly. I was too preoccupied, and too afraid of being grounded, to argue.

  The next morning, the beginning of spring break week, I was still fully engaged in this process. Admittedly, I spent most of my time unearthing old magazines and reading them, sorting out old piles of letters and birthday cards, sifting through clothes and shoes I didn't wear much and moving them around. The boxes sat in the corner, still folded.

  I could tell Hilary had no idea what to say to me. She was starting to lose her patience, and she made frequent passes by my door. On the one hand, every time she looked, I was working. She saw me shuffling things around. On the other hand, nothing was really being accomplished. All of my posters and pictures were still on the walls, and the contents of my drawers were spread all around. In fact, my cleaning had only resulted in a huge mess. By six o'clock that night all I had managed to do was put my socks into a laundry bag and move them to the other room. I was dressed and ready for Kithic's weekly circle a half hour early, though.

  "You know," said Hilary, leaning in my door and staring at the massive pile of magazines and loose papers at the foot of my bed, "we're going to need to start moving this furniture on Monday. Things don't quite look ready."

  "Oh," I said, thanking God as I heard Das Boot's engine, signifying Morgan's approach. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. "They will be. I just had a lot of junk to go through. It will all be in boxes tomorrow. You'll see."

  3. Flood

  April 14, 1945

  Today is my fourteenth birthday, and I will be initiated tonight. I've worked hard and I've studied all my lessons. I know I am ready. Still, it's hard to sit and wait until evening comes. I guess I am a little more nervous than I would like to admit.

  I spent the morning arranging all of my books perfectly on my shelves, but the ghosts came and pulled them all down when I stepped out of my room. They must know I am looking for a spell to make them go away. It makes them angry.

  Tonight after the ceremony Mother has promised to show me the location of the library. Finally! Everything I've prepared for and dreamed off… Goddess, be with me today!

  — Aoibheann

  Every time I see Hunter Niall, I'm struck by his amazing good looks. There's no way not to notice them. It's like getting hit in the eye with a baseball—you just can't help but be aware of something striking like that. I was aware of them as he greeted us at the door of his house. He's really tall and very lean, all muscle. His hair golden blond. I don't think he goes to much trouble to get it cut well, and I'm absolutely sure he doesn't style it. It just always looks good naturally, all tousled. On top of it all, there's the sexy British thing. Enough said.

  "Da's out tonight," he said, opening the rickety screen door for us. He smiled at Morgan and gave her a welcoming kiss. "He won't be back until well after the circle is over."

  I flushed, it must be nice to have a love life. I assumed that Hunter noticed my reaction or read my mind because he laughed.

  "My father doesn't go out much," he explained. "He's not very social, as you might have noticed. This is a big step for him. He's having dinner with Alyce Fernbrake, then they're going to do some research on medicinal uses of milk thistle."

  "I didn't think anything," I said immediately implicating myself. Backed into the hallway. "I'll, uh, go in…"

  Candles were burning in every corner of the living room, giving it a romantic glow. Everybody looked comfortable, but it seemed like I was surrounded by couples. There were Robbie Gurevitch and Bree Warren, Ethan Sharpe and Sharon Goodfine, and Jenna Ruiz and Simon Bakehouse. Then there was Raven Meltzer, decked out in a black skirt so sheer that there was no point wearing it. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, examining the design on a tarot card, then looking at her arm. I had a feeling she was considering another tattoo and wondering how much bicep real estate this particular picture would take up. Raven, while she had no current significant other, was never really single. Matt Adler was sitting next to her at the moment. I knew they had fooled around at some point.

  So there I was. Painfully alone Alisa. I felt like I had wandered through the wrong door, into some kind of couples' encounter session instead of the coven meeting I was supposed to be at.

  "I think we have everyone for this evening," Hunter said as he and Morgan walked in side by side. "Thalia is under the weather, so there will be eleven of us."

  He drew the circle in salt. We blessed the four elements—fire, earth, water, and air—and performed a power chant to bring energy to our circle. Hunter sat us all down and started the ritual for that week.

  "Some of us haven't been feeling very well lately," he said. I thought he must be referring to the dark wave that had almost engulfed Widow's Vale just days before. As it approached, it had made all of the blood witches incredibly sick. Morgan and Hunter had recovered. My head was still sore from where I'd hit it on a gravestone while we were in the old cemetery, fighting the dark wave. Hunter's father, Mr. Niall, was still weak.

  "It's true," said Bree. "This is a really bad time for allergies and flu."

  I almost laughed, but I was able to hold it in.

  "Actually," Hunter said, "the purpose of this exercise is to clear our mind of things that have been troubling us. It's designed to purge us of negative feelings that we may be holding back, feelings that may inhibit our personal progress. Sometimes illnesses are related to emotions, and when we release some of the bad ones, we can experience improved well-being."

  He had placed a little cauldron in the middle of the circle. This was full of twigs and bunches of herbs. Next to it was a small pile of handmade papers and a box of pencils.

  "Clear your mind for a moment," he said, "and concentrate on finding something that is blocking you. Then I'd like everyone to get a piece of paper from the center," he went on, pointing at the papers. "Write down what you've come up with. Something that causes you pain. Be as clear as possible. When you're finished, fold the paper and put it into the cauldron."

  Those little papers weren't going to do the trick for me. I needed something a bit more sizeable, like a three-subject notebook. Everyone else seemed fine with it, though. Raven scribbled just one word, the flicked hers into the cauldron. Other people took more time, carefully choosing a few words. I did my best to cram as much as I could onto the slip. When we had all completed this, Hunter took out his bolline and carved something into a dark blue candle, which he then turned and showed us. There were two runes sliced into the wax.

  "Yr," he said. "Death, the end. Then dag, the dawn. Clarity. May the spark of this flame purify us and lift these weights from our souls and minds."

  "Alisa," Hunter said, looking at me with a smile, "Would you mind leading the chant? Just repeat the following as we go around: Goddess, I turn myself over to you. With this smoke, so goes my care."

  I knew Hunter was making a special effort to include me in the ritual. After all, aside from him and Morgan, I was the only other blood witch present. This was something the oth
ers didn't know. We joined hands and began walking deasil, and I started the chant. My voice sounded squeaky and thin next to Hunter's, but I did my best to speak as clearly and boldly as I could.

  At first all I felt was a kind of lightness, as if I was taking a brisk shower and washing off layers of emotional grime. I could actually see it coming from my skin, like a slight vapor. I sometimes saw things like that now—colors, auras—things that were invisible to me before.

  "Goddess, I turn myself over to you," I repeated. "With this smoke, so goes my care."

  Some of the others had their eyes closed, but mine were open. I was fascinated by what I was seeing. The substance was coming of everyone now. Around some people it was a fine mist, but Morgan, Hunter, and I appeared to be smoldering. It was as if the fire was burning the emotion up just like the slip of paper and pushing the smoke through our pores.

  "Goddess, I turn myself over to you…"

  We circled around and around, the energy mounting higher and higher. I felt a force rising up from me—something swelling up, wanting to get of me, jump out of my mouth or break out of my skin. It was such a powerful feeling that I had to push it down in order to keep speaking and moving, but my voice started to crack under the strain.

  "With this smoke… so goes my care."

  I had written too much on the slip, I realized. I had brought up too much. The smoke was obscuring my vision, tightening my throat. It's not real smoke, I told myself. It's magick. Focus. You can breathe, Alisa. You can speak. But my voice was still crumbling to pieces. Control it! I thought.

  I noticed that some of the others were acting a little strangely, looking all around and falling out of step. Then I suddenly realized why. It was just a little sound at first, and I'm not even sure when I became aware of it. All the pipes in the house were rumbling. The sink in the kitchen had turned itself on. The toilets began to flush themselves.

  "It's all right," Hunter said. "Keep going, everyone." But he, too, looked around in surprise. His gaze fell on me. By this point I could barely speak or see. The force of the spell was dragging things up from every corner of my mind, every cell of my being, and I just had to keep shoving them down to keep going.