Moon White: Color Me Enchanted with Bonus Content (19 page)

Then I just stand there for a few seconds, listening to what sounds like a steamy scene from a sleazy movie. I’m so astounded that this is happening right here in my own house. And I can’t imagine how this is going to hurt my dad. He went for several years without dating, and I really didn’t think he’d ever get seriously involved with anyone, and then along came Augustine. I couldn’t believe it when they actually connected online. I mean, I’d just assumed the online matchmaker thing might be a good distraction for my dad, a way to get him back into the conversation at least. But then they kept writing each other, and they seemed to really hit it off when they met last winter. After that, it all happened so fast, but Dad seemed so sure, so happy, like a new man.

And now this. I feel sick.

I back up and tiptoe down the hall and into my room, silently closing then locking the door. I set my bag down, then fall across my bed. I want to cry, but it feels like the tears are stuck deep inside me. It feels like everything in me is stuck. And then those words hit me again,
“Give up. Give up. Give up.”
Such a sense of hopelessness, like what’s the use? Why keep trying? To my amazement, this is followed by the strongest impulse I’ve ever had to take my own life. Really, it seems the only answer. Suddenly I can think of
numerous ways to do it. Like magic, the possibilities flash through my mind. And yet I know that’s crazy. Why would I do something so insane? For a few minutes, I wonder if perhaps I am actually losing my mind. I know it could happen. And it seems perfectly logical that it could happen to me. Still, I’ve heard that the last person to know she’s losing her mind is the one going crazy. That should give me hope, but it doesn’t.

If only there was someone I could talk to. In the old days, Lucy would’ve been a good listener. Oh, sure, she sometimes had canned responses like “just pray about it,” or “trust God,” or “you need to go to church.” But even then I found some comfort in knowing that she cared. And, always, she’d end our talks by saying she was going to be praying for me. I’m half tempted to call her and ask her to pray now. But what would she think? That I’d made another stupid mistake? That, just like giving up being vegan, I was now giving up Wicca? Would she say, “I told you so” or “What took you so long?”

I have to ask myself, do I truly want to give up Wicca? I mean, just because I met some strange people this weekend and some weird things happened, and just because the seminar wasn’t all that I’d hoped it would be, does that make everything about it all wrong? Didn’t I have some honest breakthroughs before? Why am I so willing to toss it all aside now? Isn’t that pretty flaky? Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough. Maybe I need to be tougher, like, when the going gets tough the tough get going. I need to make this work!

So I slip on up to the attic and light some candles and do some centering and focusing exercises. And slowly I feel a small sense of power returning to me. And I tell myself that, yes, it’s possible to get control again. The magic is in me. It’s right at my fingertips. I just need to reach for it. Let the energy flow, breathe it in, breathe it out.

After a while, I hear the sounds of voices and footsteps downstairs, and then I hear the front door close, and I look out the tiny window in time to see Jonathon ducking into his little blue BMW and pulling quickly away. Like they think they’re fooling me. Yeah, right.

I’m furious. No, not just furious, I’m enraged. I’m on fire! I feel like I want to kill Augustine, like I could slice her up into little pieces and bury her in the backyard. But then I realize how stupid that is, not to mention a violation of the Rule of Three. No, that would
not
be good. I take in some steadying breaths, recenter myself, and then, when I think I’ve got some control, go downstairs. I am ready to confront my cheating stepmother. Maybe I’ll tell her to pack her bags. I envision myself throwing her paintings and personal things out into the driveway.

“Oh, Heather,” she says in a falsely cheerful voice. “I thought I saw your car out there. What brings you home early?” She leans over to put a dish in the dishwasher.

“Never mind that,” I say calmly. “What I want to know is why are you cheating on my dad? And why were you and Jonathon
doing it
in my dad’s bedroom?”

She blinks and then turns back to the dishwasher. “That’s ridiculous, Heather. You must be imagining things. Furthermore, that’s my bedroom too.”

“That’s not the point,” I say a bit too loudly.

She stands up straight now, turning to look me in the eyes. “What
is
the point, Heather?” she asks in a very cold voice.

“The point is you’re cheating on my dad, Augustine. And I know it!”

She waves her hand. “You just don’t understand, that’s not what was — ”

“I
do
understand,” I shout at her. “You and Jonathon were
doing it
in my dad’s bed. How can you deny that?”

“I’m just saying you don’t understand everything, Heather.” Her voice softens now. “I’d think you were more highly evolved than this. You’re not a child. You should know that things aren’t always as they seem. Sometimes you have to go beneath the surface to get to the truth of things. Can you understand that?”

“What you and Jonathon were doing wasn’t beneath the surface,” I tell her. “Well, unless it was beneath the surface of my dad’s comforter.” I make a disgusted face at her as the reality of this hits me full force again. “You make me so sick!” Then I turn and storm off to my bedroom.

She follows me and even knocks on my door. But it’s securely locked and I ignore her. Really, what can she possibly say that will change any of this? Even if she goes on about situational ethics, or even if she managed to convince me that something was wrong with her relationship with my dad, it still wouldn’t change how I feel. What she did today was wrong. Pure and simple, it was wrong. Not only was it wrong, but I think it was totally premeditated and calculated on her part. I think she jumped on the possibility of Dad and me being gone on the same weekend. She was so eager to get Dad on board for the seminar to get me out of the house. She did all that just so she and Jonathon could have their little tryst, a secret weekend without anyone knowing. She really does make me sick. I can’t believe I’ve ever trusted her with anything.

I can hear her banging away downstairs, slamming doors as she cleans up the kitchen. What on earth does she have to be angry about? Dad and I are the ones who’ve been betrayed here. Suddenly I feel trapped in my room. But that seems all wrong. She’s the one who’s done this horrible thing. Why am I the one in prison?

I wish there was somewhere I could go, someone to talk to. I know that Lucy’s not an option. And I’ve pretty much burned my bridge with Liz, not that I’d want to speak to her anyway. I remember Sienna and how hurt she was when Willow said those things to her today. And I still don’t get that. Why was Willow being so harsh? Was it like Sienna said? Were they really in some kind of power struggle? And if that’s true, wouldn’t my allegiance lie with Sienna? I decide to go visit her. Maybe I can encourage her. Maybe she can help me with this new problem.

I wait until it gets quiet on the first floor, then I slip downstairs and out the front door and into my car, driving away as fast as I can and not looking back. I wish I could just keep going and going. Instead, I drive downtown, park at the dance studio, and quietly go up the stairs to Sienna’s apartment. But then I hear the sound of piano and I think she must be playing for a class. This surprises me because I thought she had the whole day off to teach at the seminar. But when I stick my head into the dance studio, there she is, plunking away on the piano. She notices me, nodding solemnly, and I just wave and leave. I know that lessons will go until around five. Maybe I can kill time for a couple of hours.

I start to drive up to my favorite beach spot, then realize that the weather is really not compatible to beach walking, and so I head back to town. I drive through town, where it’s beginning to rain, finally deciding to go to the WC, where I can get a cup of Chai tea. I’m longing for something, anything, that feels even close to “normal” right now.

I get my tea and go to a table in the back of the room. I still have my Book of Shadows in my bag and I’m thinking I might be able to strengthen myself by reading and writing in it, but when I open it up to the latest spot, I’m taken aback. The handwriting is someone
else’s. Someone has gotten ahold of my book and written horrible, mean, gross, and vulgar words in it. And there is even some nasty-looking artwork. I feel sickened just looking at it. Who could’ve done —

“Heather,” says a girl’s voice. I look up to see Lucy standing in front of me.

I slam the book shut and stare at her.

“Are you okay?” she asks with a creased brow.

My hands are shaking and I feel like I could actually throw up. That’s how vile the writing in my book was just now. And I still can’t figure out who did it.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says, seriously concerned. “Are you okay?”

I consider this. Maybe that’s exactly what happened. Maybe I did see a ghost. Of course, I can’t say this. Especially not to Lucy. “I’m just upset,” I say, pushing the book back into my purse.

“Is that a witch’s book?” she asks.

I shrug.

“Can’t you see that’s your problem?” she says. “That stuff is evil, Heather. It’s going to mess you up.”

I sit up straighter now. “That’s
not
what’s messing me up, Lucy,” I say in a stiff voice. “Not that you’d care. But, for your information, I have way worse problems to think about right now.”

“Like what?” she says with interest.

“What difference does it make?” I just shake my head. “I mean, you’d probably try to pin everything on witchcraft anyway. What’s the point in talking about it?”

She actually seems to consider this. “Maybe you’re right. I probably would connect your problems to the sin of witchcraft, which is probably totally accurate. But you would simply deny it. So, really,
I guess there isn’t any point in talking.” Her brows draw together. “Sorry to bother you, Heather.”

I shrug. “Seems more like I bothered you.”

Then she just walks away. Honestly, I can almost see her shaking the dust off her feet as she goes. Like I might’ve exposed her to something evil and contagious. Whatever.

I wait until she leaves the WC before I retrieve my Book of Shadows. Something occurred to me when she said it looked like I’d seen a ghost. I got to thinking perhaps a ghost wrote in my book. I do remember writing in it last night, and how the pen raced over the pages, and how I was almost unconscious of what was being written, but how I was so exhausted when I was done. Perhaps a spirit was writing a message through me. So I go back to the words, but once again, I feel assaulted by the words there. And confused by the lack of meaning. I hate to admit it, but it really does seem evil. Perhaps even demonic. I remember Caroline’s night terrors. Perhaps we were both attacked by the same spirit. I glance at the clock and see that it’s nearly five. I gather my things, go out into the wind and rain, race to my car, and then drive it around the block, where I park it in back. I go upstairs, taking my time as I use the bathroom, slowly washing my hands, waiting for the last song of the day to end. If only my troubles could end as simply as that. The haunting echo of the last note, hanging in the air . . . then gone.

“S
IENNA
,” I
SAY WITH RELIEF WHEN SHE FINALLY TRUDGES UP THE STAIRS TO
where I’m waiting like a stalker halfway up the stairwell. “I really need to talk.”

She nods and continues slowly plodding up as if her legs were made of lead. “I thought so,” she says breathlessly when we reach the top.

“My life is falling apart.”

“Uh-huh.” She removes a key from her sweater pocket. Then she opens the door and waves me inside her apartment.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say as she turns on a light. “I thought maybe you took the whole day off.”

“So you left the seminar?”

“Yes.” Then I tell her about my roommate’s weird nighttime antics and even show her the writing in my book.

She nods. “Yes, this is definitely the work of a bad spirit, Heather.”

“A bad spirit?”

“Yes. I know you’re a novice, but you need to understand that when you’re dealing with the powers of the universe, there are both good and evil. You have to respect both equally.”

“But why did the bad spirit write in my book?” I ask.

She closes the book and hands it back to me. “I don’t know. Perhaps you have that answer hidden inside of you.”

“Was it related to Caroline?” I persist. “I mean, she was saying some pretty nasty stuff last night. It reminded me of some of this.”

She shrugs. “It’s surprising how uncreative the evil spirits can be. I’ve seen this exact same thing time and time again.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Sad but true. Do you want a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” I follow her over to an area that serves as a small kitchen. I sit on a stool by a little table and watch as she fills a teakettle, then turns on the gas. “So is there anything you can do about it? Is there a way to keep the evil spirits away?”