Awakening (12 page)

Behind his tortoiseshell glasses, Dad’s eyes were troubled. “I suppose so,” he said after a moment.

“Thanks.” I put a big bite of waffle into my mouth so I didn’t have to say anything else. Since discovering Wicca, my relationship to Catholicism was changing, like everything else in my life. Though I still found the services beautiful, they didn’t speak to me in the way they once had. I was pleased, though, that my parents were at a point where they accepted my ambivalence, despite the worry it caused them.

I spent most of the rest of the day tucked away in my room, studying the books Hunter had lent me. I copied spells and lessons into my Book of Shadows and even, feeling a little silly, made myself a set of rune flash cards. I wasn’t going to leave Hunter any room to reprimand me for being lax in my studies.

As if he’d heard me thinking, Hunter called to suggest that I come over Tuesday afternoon for some more lessons. I couldn’t think of a legitimate excuse, so I agreed.

That night I had trouble sleeping again. I was troubled by Hunter’s suggestion that dark magick had anything to do with Stuart Afton’s change of heart regarding Practical Magick. I couldn’t believe that David would be involved in anything like that. How would I know for sure? It wasn’t as if I could just go up to him and ask him.

I could scry, I realized. Maybe I’d find the proof I needed for Hunter to back off on this crazy idea. I hated that he could make me suspicious of my friends.

I peered out into the hallway. The light in my parents’ room was out and so was Mary K.’s. Quietly I took the candle from the altar in my closet, set it on my desk, and lit it.

I stared into the flame, burning bright yellow with streaks of orange and blue. It seemed so insignificant. One breath could annihilate it. When I’d scryed before, I’d done it with a full, blazing fire, but in theory there was no reason why a candle shouldn’t work just as well. Fire was fire, wasn’t it? And right now the thought of any fire greater than this one made me shudder.

I closed my eyes and began to clear my mind. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. I was aware of my pulse slowing, my muscles relaxing, the tiny fibers smoothing themselves into shining ribbons.

Fire, help me to see the truth. I am ready to see what you know, I thought, and opened my eyes.

The small flame of the candle had blazed up into a molten, white-hot teardrop. From its brilliant center, a face gazed back at me: a familiar nose and mouth, smooth skin, dark, thick hair, and golden eyes. That isn’t David, I thought stupidly.

I stared, frozen, as Cal’s image floated before me. His lips moved, and then I heard his voice.

“Morgan, I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll love you forever. We’re soul mates.”

“No,” I breathed, feeling my heart implode. It wasn’t true. We weren’t destined to be together. I knew that now.

“Morgan, forgive me. I love you. Please, Morgan . . .”

The last word was a whisper, and I struck out blindly with my hand and brought it down on the candle flame. There was a hiss and a faint, charring smell. And I was alone in the darkness.

12

Ugly

I don’t know how long I sat there, shaking, too shocked even to cry. Goddess, help me, I thought desperately.

Cal. Oh, Cal. Tears began to rain down my cheeks, scalding and salty. I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked back and forth, keening quietly, trying to smother the sound. My palm throbbed where I’d crushed the candle flame, and as I sat there, the pain seemed to spread until my whole body was one pulsing, raw wound.

After a while Dagda mewed and tapped me tentatively with one paw. I looked at him numbly.

At some point my brain began to work again. How had that happened? How had Cal gotten into my vision? Was it his dark magick? Or had I summoned him somehow—had my own subconscious betrayed me?

He’d said he still loved me. He’d said he’d love me forever. Wasn’t that truth I’d heard in his voice?

I gasped and squeezed my head between my hands. “Stop it. Stop it!” I muttered.

I sat there for another few minutes. Then I forced myself to climb into bed. Dagda sprang up and curled himself into a ball on my stomach. I lay there, staring blindly at the ceiling as tears ran down the sides of my face to soak my pillow.

 

I went through school the next day like an automaton. The burn on my palm had swelled into a shiny blister that burst halfway through the day. It hurt to write, so I just sat in class, not bothering to take notes. Not that my notes would have been much good, anyway. For all I got, my teachers might as well have been speaking Swahili. All I could think was: Cal. He had spoken to me.

What did it mean? Did he still hope to convince me to join him and Selene? Or was this some cruel plan to make me go crazy? If that was it, it was working. I’d never experienced such a horrible mixture of longing and revulsion. I felt like I was going to split apart.

When I got home from school, I had a message from Bob Unser, saying that Das Boot’s parts had come in and asking me to drop off the car tomorrow morning. I could pick it up again on Wednesday morning, he said. Perfect, I thought. I couldn’t possibly go to Hunter’s on Tuesday since I wouldn’t have transportation. I knew I was being incredibly stupid, not telling him about seeing Cal, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t share it, especially with him. Not yet, anyway.

I shot off an e-mail to Hunter, saying I had to cancel tomorrow because I would be vehicularly challenged. I also told him what David had told me about how he hurt his hand.

Then I sat at the kitchen table, drumming my fingers on the Formica surface. I had to do something to distract myself. I knew Aunt Eileen and Paula were moving in all week; some manual labor would be just what the doctor ordered. So I set off for Taunton.

Taunton was a smaller town than either Widow’s Vale or Red Kill. Both Widow’s Vale and Red Kill had had their town centers “revitalized,” but Taunton was more mainstream America. There were the usual strip malls with the predictable fast-food joints, auto supply places, megastores, and video and drugstore chains.

Eileen and Paula’s neighborhood was older. Although each house was different, they fit together harmoniously. Huge old trees shaded the lawns and arched out over the center of the street. The neighborhood had a nice, settled feel to it.

Paula and Eileen’s house was at the very end of the street. I wanted to surprise them, so I parked at the other end of the block. I started walking.

As I got closer to the end of the block, I saw three teenage boys standing in front of one of the houses. Two of them wore parkas with shiny reflective tape on the seams. The third wore a loose camouflage jacket over camouflage pants. At first I thought they were having a snowball fight with some other kids I couldn’t see; then I realized that they were throwing
rocks
at Paula and Eileen’s house. My mouth dropped open, and I froze in my tracks.

“Queer!” one of them shouted.

“We don’t need dykes in this neighborhood!” called another.

In one instant I got it, and then I was running hard toward the house, anger coursing through my veins like alcohol.

“Come on out, bitch!” one of the boys yelled. “Meet your neighbors! We’re the welcome wagon!”

I heard the sound of glass shattering as at least one of the rocks connected. The boy closest to me looked up, his alarm quickly replaced by naked aggression.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, breathing hard. “Get out of here, and don’t come back!”

The boy couldn’t be older than me, I saw. He had a shaved head, a nose that was nearly flat, and pale blue eyes. “Who are you?” He sounded amused. “One of their dyke friends? You don’t know what you’re missing, baby.”

“Get. Out. Of. Here,” I said, my voice vibrating with only marginally controlled fury. I felt on fire with rage.

The guy with the shaved head advanced on me, and his two friends closed in behind him. “Or what?” he said nastily. “You’ll hit me with your purse?” He turned around to his friends, and the three of them laughed. My hands were trembling, clenched into fists, and I felt almost ill.

“Leave,” I said, eerily calm. My voice didn’t sound like my own. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

He burst into laughter. “Baby, maybe what you need is a man. Like those other dykes.” He opened his arms wide. “Let me show you how it’s supposed to be.”

One of his friends laughed.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” I almost whispered.

Grinning, Flat Nose reached out to grab my arm, but before he touched me, I shot out my hand and sent a burning, crackling ball of blue witch fire at his throat. I didn’t even think about it—I just unleashed my fury. The fire hit him so quickly, he had no time to react. His hands went to his throat, and he dropped to his knees. He doubled over, making little whimpering sounds of pain.

I felt encased in ice, completely calm, ready to annihilate them all. I began to call on my power.
“An di allaigh, re nith la,”
I murmured.

The two friends were staring at Flat Nose and then back at me as they tried to figure out what happened. Flat Nose was gagging and retching on the cold sidewalk. He glared up at me and tried to climb to his feet. I pushed the air and he sank, crumpled, to the cement. I used my power to pin him like a bug without even touching him. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I felt unbelievably powerful.

“Shit,” said the second guy. He and the third guy stared fearfully at each other. Then they turned and pounded down the street, looking back over their shoulders.

I leaned over the worm who lay writhing and frightened on the sidewalk. He was getting just what he deserved, I gloated with satisfaction. I felt filled with power, and I liked it.

I took a deep breath and stepped back, smelling the acrid scent of his fear. “Go,” I whispered, and released him with my mind.

Clumsily he scrambled to his feet and backed away from me. Then he spun around and ran off. It was over, and I had won.

I felt dizzy, a little nauseous, the way I sometimes felt in circles when power rushed through me. I took a few moments to ground myself, then I looked up at the house.

The bay window was smashed, as well as another one on the first floor. Where were Eileen and Paula? I wondered. Were they hurt? Or had they seen what I’d done?

Wondering how I would explain it, I walked up to the door and rang the bell. Winter-bare rosebushes in front of the house were sparkling with shards of glass.

No one answered. I cast my senses and felt both Eileen’s and Paula’s familiar energy inside the house. They were okay. They were just afraid to answer the door, and I felt angry all over again. Prisoners in their own house. It was disgusting!

“Aunt Eileen, it’s me, Morgan!” I called through the broken window.

“Morgan?” A minute later the door opened, and my aunt swept me into her arms. “Are you okay? There were these idiot boys outside—”