Black Magick s-4 Read online

  "I know Sky," I said stiffly. "I met her at Cal's. What did you guys do? Did Sky mention me or Cal?"

  He looked at me. "No. We just did a circle. It was interesting because Sky does it slightly differently than Cal. Why would she mention you or Cal?"

  "Different how?" I pressed, ignoring his question. "You guys didn't, um, do anything scary, did you? Like call on spirits or anything?"

  Robbie stopped walking. "No. It was just a circle, Morgan. I think we can safely say that Bree and Raven are not having their souls sucked out by the devil."

  I gave him an exasperated look. "Wiccans don't believe in the devil," I reminded him. "I just want to make sure that Bree isn't getting into anything dangerous or bad." Like I did.

  We walked to the basement stairs, where our coven, Cirrus, usually hung out in the morning. Ethan Sharp was already there, doing his English homework. Jenna Ruiz sat across from him, reading, her fair, straight hair falling like a curtain across her cheek. They both looked up and greeted us.

  "Bad?" Robbie repeated. "No. Sky didn't strike me as bad. Powerful, yes. Sexy—absolutely." He grinned.

  "Who's this?" Jenna asked.

  "Sky Eventide," Robbie reported. "She's the blood witch that Bree and Raven have in their new coven. Oh, guess their coven's name." He laughed. "Kithic. It means 'left-handed' in Gaelic. Raven picked out that name from something she read, without knowing what it meant."

  The rest of us smiled. After our fight, Bree had split off from Cirrus to start her own coven with Raven. To me it seemed both of them were just playing at being Wiccan, doing it to look cool, to get back at me for winning Cal, or just to do something different. Widow's Vale is a small town, and there aren't that many entertainment opportunities.

  Or maybe I was selling them short. Maybe they were really sincere in their commitment. I sighed and rubbed my forehead, feeling like I didn't know anything anymore.

  In homeroom people were already planning their Thanksgiving holidays, which would start at noon on Wednesday. It would be a relief not to have to go to school for a few days. I've always been an A student (well, mostly), but it was getting harder and harder to keep my mind on schoolwork when so many more compelling things were taking up my time and energy. Nowadays I just flashed through my physics and trig homework and did the bare minimum in other classes so I would have more time to study spells, plan my future magickal herb garden, and read about Wicca. Not only that, but just reading the Book of Shadows written by my birth mother, which I'd found in Selene's library over a week ago, was like a college course in itself. I was stretched very thin these days.

  In homeroom I opened my book Essential Oils and Their Charms under my desk and started reading. In the spring I would try to make some of my own, the way Selene did.

  When Bree came into class, I couldn't help looking up. Her face was as familiar as my own, but nowadays she had another layer to her, a layer that didn't include me. She wore mostly black, like Raven did, and although she hadn't adopted any of Raven's gothy piercings or tattoos, I wondered if it was just a matter of time.

  Bree had always been the beautiful one, the one boys flocked around, the life of the party. I had been the plain friend that people put up with because Bree loved me and was my best friend, but then Cal had come between us. Bree had even lied and told me they'd slept together. We'd quit speaking, and then Cal and I started going out.

  After being like conjoined twins for eleven years, I'd found the last few Breeless weeks bizarre and uncomfortable. She still didn't know I was adopted, that I was a blood witch. She didn't know about what had happened with Hunter. At one time she had been the only person in the world I might have told.

  I couldn't resist looking at her face, her eyes the color of coffee. For just a second she met my gaze, and I was startled by the mix of emotions there. We both looked away at the same time. Did she miss me? Did she hate me? What was she doing with Sky?

  The bell rang, and we all stood. Bree's dark, shiny hair (disappeared through the doorway, and I followed her. When she turned the corner to go to her first class, I was seized by a spontaneous desire to talk to her. "Bree."

  She turned, and when she saw it was me, she looked surprised. "Listen—I know that Sky is leading your coven," I found myself saying.

  "So?" No one looked imperious like Bree looked imperious.

  "I just—it's just that Sky is dangerous," I said quickly. "She's dangerous, and you shouldn't hang out with her."

  Her perfect eyebrows rose. "Do tell," she drawled.

  "She has this whole dark agenda; she's caught up in this whole program that I bet she hasn't told you about. She's— she's evil, she's bad, and dangerous." I realized in despair that I sounded melodramatic and muddled.

  "Really." Bree shook her head, looking like she was trying not to laugh. "You are too much, Morgan. It's like you get off on lying, raining on people's parades."

  "Look, I heard you and Raven last week in the bathroom," I admitted. "You were talking about how Sky was teaching you about the dark side. That's dangerous! And I heard you saying you gave Sky some of my hair! What was that about? Is she putting spells on me?"

  Bree's eyes narrowed. "You mean you were spying on me?" she exclaimed. "You're pathetic! And you have no idea what you're talking about Cal is filling your head with ridiculous crap, and you're just sucking it up! He could be the devil himself, and you wouldn't care because he's the only boy who ever asked you out!"

  Before I realized what was happening, my hand had shot out and smacked Bree hard across the face. Her head snapped sideways, and within seconds the pink outline of my palm appeared on her cheek. I gasped and stared at her as her face twisted into anger. "You bitch!" she snarled.

  Out of lifelong habit, I started to feel remorseful, and then I thought, Screw that. I took a deep breath and called on my own anger, narrowing my eyes. "You're the bitch," I snapped. "You can't stand the fact that I'm not your puppet anymore, that I'm not your charity case, your permanent audience. You're jealous of me for once, and it's eating you up. I have a fantastic boyfriend, I have more magickal power than you'll ever dream about, and you can't stand it. Finally I'm better than you. I'm amazed your head doesn't explode!"

  Bree gaped at me, her eyes wide, her mouth open. "What are you talking about?" she practically shrieked. "You were never my audience! You make it sound like I was using you! This is what I'm talking about! Cal is brainwashing you!"

  "Actually, Bree," I said coldly, "you'd be amazed at how little we talk about you. In fact, your name hardly comes up."

  With that, I swept off, my teeth clenched so tight, I could feel them grinding together. I didn't think I'd ever had the last word in an argument with Bree before. But the thought didn't make me feel any better. Why had I talked to her? I had just made everything worse.

  CHAPTER 4

  Haven

  May 2000

  I remember it rained the day Mum and Dad disappeared. When I woke up that morning they were already gone. I had no idea what was going on. Uncle Beck called late that day, and I told him I couldn't find Dad, or Mum either. Beck called around, to get a neighbor to stay overnight with us until he could get there, and he couldn't find anyone still around. In the end, I was in charge all that long day and night, and the three of us— me, Linden, and Alwyn—stayed in our house alone, not knowing what was happening to us, to our world.

  Now I know that twenty-three other people besides my parents either died or disappeared that night. Years later, when I went back, I tried asking around. All I got were cautious mumbles about a dark wave, a could of fury and destruction.

  I've heard rumors of a dark wave destroying a Wyndenkell coven in Scotland. I'm on my way there.

  Goddess, give me strength.

  — Giomanach

  After my fight with Bree, I was so upset that I couldn't concentrate on anything. My trig teacher had to call my name three times before I responded, and then I answered his question incorrectly—which almost never happened
to me under normal circumstances. During lunch period I sneaked off to Cirrus's hangout spot to be by myself. I scarfed down my sandwich and a Diet Coke, then meditated for half an hour. Finally I felt calm enough to deal with the rest of my day.

  I slogged through my afternoon classes. When the last bell rang, I went to my locker, then followed the crush of students outside. The snow was turning rapidly to slush, and the sun flowed down with an Indian-summerish warmth. After weeks of freezing weather, it felt wonderful. I raised my face to the sun, hoping it would help heal the pain I carried inside, the guilt over what I'd done to Hunter, the terror of being found out.

  "I'm getting a ride home with Bakker, okay?" Mary K. bounced up to me as I took out my car keys, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes clear and shining.

  I looked at her. "Are you going home, or…" Don't go anywhere with him alone, I thought. I didn't trust Bakker—not since I'd caught him pinning Mary K. down on her bed and practically forcing himself on her two weeks earlier. I couldn't believe she'd forgiven him.

  "We're going to get a latte first, then home," she said, her eyes daring me to say something.

  "All right. Well, see you later," I said lamely. I watched her climb into Bakker's car and knew that if he hurt her, I would have no problem doing to him what I had done to Hunter. And in Bakker's case I wouldn't feel guilty.

  "Whoa. I'm glad you're not looking at me like that," said Robbie, loping up to me.

  I shook my head. "Yeah, just watch your step." I tried to sound light and teasing.

  "Is Cal sick? I didn't see him all day," said Robbie. He smiled absentmindedly at a sophomore who was sending flirtatious looks his way.

  "Morgan?" he prompted.

  "Oh! Um, yes, Cal is sick," I said. I felt a sudden jangle of nerves. Robbie was a close friend, and I had told him about being adopted and a blood witch. He knew more about me than Bree did now. But I could never tell him about all that had happened on Saturday night. It was too horrible to share, even with him. "I'm going to call him right now—maybe go see him."

  Robbie nodded. "I'm on my way to Bree's. Who knows, today might be the day I go for it." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and I smiled. Robbie had recently admitted to me that he was totally in love with Bree and had been for years. I hoped she wouldn't break his heart the way she did with most of the guys she got involved with.

  "Good luck," I said. He walked off, and I dumped my backpack in Das Boot and headed back to the pay phone in the school lunchroom.

  Cal answered after four rings. His voice sounded better than it had the night before.

  "Hi," I said, comforted just to talk to him.

  "I knew it was you," he said, sounding glad.

  "Of course you did," I said. "You're a witch."

  "Where are you?"

  "School. Can I come see you? I just really need to talk to you."

  Groaning, he said, "I would love that. But some people just came in from Europe, and I've got to meet with them."

  "Selene's been having people over a lot lately, it seems."

  Cal paused, and when he spoke, his voice had a slightly different tone to it. "Yeah, she has. She's kind of been working on a big project, and it's starting to come together. I'll tell you about it later."

  "Okay. How are your wrists?"

  "They look pretty bad. But they'll be okay. I really wish I could see you," Cal said.

  "Me too." I lowered my voice. "I really need to talk to you. About what happened."

  "I know," he said quietly. "I know, Morgan."

  In the background on Cal's end I heard voices, and Cal covered his mouthpiece and responded to them. When he came back on, I said, "I won't keep you. Call me later if you can, okay?"

  "I will," he said. Then he hung up. I hung up, too, feeling sad and lonely without him.

  I walked through the hall and out the door, got in Das Boot, and drove to Red Kill, to Practical Magick.

  The brass bells over the door jingled as I pushed my way in. Practical Magick was a store that sold Wiccan books and supplies. Although I hadn't realized it until now, it was also becoming the place I went to when I didn't want to go anywhere else. I loved being there, and I always felt better when; I left. It was like a Wiccan neighborhood bar.

  At the end of the room the checkout desk was empty, and I figured Alyce and David must be busy restocking.

  I began reading book titles, dreaming of the day I would have enough money to buy whatever books and supplies I wanted. I would buy this whole store out, I decided. That would be so much more fun than being a relatively poor high school junior who was about to wipe out her whole savings to pay for a crumpled headlight. "Hi, there," came a soft voice, and I looked up to see the round, motherly figure of Alyce, my favorite clerk. As my I met hers, stood still. Her brows drew together in a concerned look. "What's the matter?"

  My heart thudded against my ribs. Does she know? I wondered frantically. Can she tell just by looking at me?

  "What do you mean?" I asked. "I'm fine. Just a little stressed. You know, school, family stuff." I shut my mouth abruptly, feeling like I was babbling.

  Alyce held my gaze for a moment, her eyes probing mine. "All right. If you want to talk about it, I'm here," she said at last.

  She bustled over to the checkout counter and began to stack some papers. Her gray hair was piled untidily on top of her head, and she wore her usual loose, flowing clothes. She moved with precision and confidence: a woman at ease with herself, her witchhood, her power. I admired her, and it broke my heart to think how horrified she would be if she knew what I had done. How had this happened? How had this become my life?

  I can't lose this, I thought. Practical Magick was my haven. I couldn't let the poison of Hunter's horrible death seep out and taint my relationships with this place, with Alyce. I couldn't bear it.

  "I can't wait for spring," I said, trying to get my mind back on track. It wasn't even Thanksgiving yet. "I want to get started on my garden." I walked up the book aisle to the back of the store and leaned against a stool by the counter.

  "So do I," Alyce agreed. "I'm already dying to be outside, digging in the dirt again. It's always a struggle for me to remember the positive aspects of winter."

  I looked around at the other people in the store. A young man with multiple earrings in his left ear came up and bought incense and white candles. I tentatively sent out my senses to see if I could tell if he was a witch or not, but I couldn't pick up on anything unusual.

  "Morgan, good to see you again."

  I turned to see David stepping though the faded orange curtain that separated the small back room from the rest of the store. A faint scent of incense wafted in with him. Like Alyce, David was also a blood witch. Recently he'd told me that he was from the Burnhide clan. I felt honored to have gained his confidence—and terrified of losing it again if he ever found out what I'd done, that I'd killed someone.

  "Hi," I said. "How are you?"

  "I'm all right." He held a sheaf of invoices in him hand and looked distracted. "Alyce, did the latest batch of essential oils come? The bill is here."

  She shook her head. "I have a feeling the shipment is lost somewhere," she said as another person checked out. This woman was buying a Wiccan periodical called Crafting Our Lives. I picked up on faint magickal vibrations as she passed me and was once again naively amazed that real witches existed.

  I wandered around the store, fascinated as always by the candles, incense, small mirrors the shop contained. Slowly the place emptied, then new people came in. It was a busy afternoon.

  Gradually the sunlight faded from the high windows, and I began to think about heading home. Alyce came up as I was running my fingers around the rim of a carved marble bowl. The stone was cool and smooth, like river stones. The stones Hunter had probably hit when he fell hadn't been smooth. They had been jagged, deadly.

  "Marble is always thirteen degrees cooler than the air around it," Alyce said at my side, making me jump.

 
"Really? Why?"

  "It's the property of the stone," she said, straightening some scarves that customers had rumpled. "Everything has its own properties."

  I thought about the chunks of crystal and other stones I had found in the box containing my mother's tools. It seemed like ages ago—but it had actually been less than a week.

  "I found Maeve's tools," I said, surprising myself. I hadn't planned to mention it. But I felt the need to confide something in Alyce, to make her feel I wasn't shutting her out.

  Alyce's blue eyes widened, and she stopped what she was doing to look at me. She knew Maeve's story; it had been she who'd told me of my birth mother's awful death here in America.

  "Belwicket's tools?" she asked unbelievingly. Belwicket had been the name of Maeve's coven in Ireland.

  When it was destroyed by a mysterious, dark force, Maeve and her lover, Angus, had fled to America. Where I'd been born—and they had died.

  "I scryed," I told Alyce. "In fire. I had a vision that told me the tools were in Meshomah Falls."

  "Where Maeve died," Alyce remembered.

  "Yes."

  "How wonderful for you," Alyce said. "Everyone thought those tools were lost forever. I'm sure Maeve would have been so happy for her daughter to have them."

  I nodded. "I'm really glad about it. They're a link to her, to her clan, her family."

  "Have you used them yet?" she asked.

  "Um—I tried the athame," I admitted. Technically, since I was uninitiated, I wasn't supposed to do unsupervised magick or use magickal tools or even write in Cirrus's Book of Shadows. I waited for Alyce to chide me.

  But she didn't. Instead she said briskly, "I think you should bind the tools to you."

  I blinked. "What do you mean?"

  "Wait a minute."Alyce hurried off and soon came back with a think, ancient-looking book. It's cover was dark green and tattered, with stains mottling its fabric. She leaned the I book on a shelf and flipped through pages soft and crumbling I with age.