Rite of Passage (20 page)

“Sorry, Robbie,” she continued. “You know Churchill. He hears a noise and he’s off to the races.” She laughed softly.

I pictured her standing in the narrow, paneled living room of the austere Mount Vernon Street townhouse our family had occupied since before the Civil War, shaking her fist at her precious pet.

“That’s fine, Mom. I’d love to tell you everything,” I assured her.
I’ve fallen in love with a beautiful witch, and I’m about to save the world but of course it all involves an ancient wedding ritual!
I smiled envisioning that conversation.

“Robbie,” she said quietly. “If you want to spend more time up there, it’s fine.”

I was about to launch into my elaborate set of excuses. Michael was sick and needed my help, my car had to be repaired. I hated lying, but I had a litany of stories prepared. Her nonchalance caught me off guard.

“Really?” I said, still in shock. “That’s funny. I was going to tell you I wanted to stay for a few more days, but I’d have to miss your dinner party.”

I waited for the explosion, the next shoe to drop, something. Instead she offered, “Come back when you can. And tell Jon and Gretchen I said hello.”

“Mother, did you hear what I said? I’ll be away on Friday evening.”

“Yes, I did, dear. Do what you have to, Robbie.”

I sat amazed, letting her reaction sink in.

I decided to pursue a more sensitive subject. “Mother, do you remember Gretchen’s sister Ellen?”

“Of course, dear. Poor thing died in a dreadful riding accident.”

“Yes.” I paused, not sure whether to continue. Why not? My brother was a witch and the world had been turned upside down. “Well, she had a daughter named Courtney.”

“Yes, that’s right, Robbie. Do you…like her?”

I hesitated. “We’ve become good friends.”

“Really. How’s she dealing with her mother’s death?”

“Remarkably well.”

“Let’s see, Courtney would be about…”

“Almost twenty-one, Mother.”

There was a pause. I could hear her breathing into the phone. “You’ve become good friends?” she asked. “I met Courtney once or twice. What a beautiful child.”

I held the phone, knowing she was putting the pieces together. “Yes. She still is,” I agreed.

“Does she have something to do with your staying, Robert?”

She was using my full name. This was serious.

“Robert?” she repeated.

“You’d make a fine detective,” I whispered.

“Sounds like you have some thinking to do.”

“Mother,” I began.

“I trust you, son. Follow where your heart leads you.” She hung up the phone.

I walked out to the courtyard, trying to understand my mother’s reaction. If Michael and I were witches then it stood to reason that my mother knew of the family. Was she a witch? Was it possible I’d been living in a fog for twenty-three years?

I checked my watch. I was a few minutes early, so I wandered to the garage. I had no idea why, but I had a colossal knot in my stomach. It had nothing to do with the talk with my mother. No. This was vague, an undefined sense of tension.

As I walked inside, I noticed a large yellow convertible parked in the door leading to the driveway—the Packard Victoria that Courtney and Mrs. McPherson were going to take. It was handsome; long, low, and sleek, it stood, adorned with silky ribbons of chrome and brown leather upholstery. The top was lowered, covered by a gleaming boot that matched the dark interior.

“Quite the ride, eh, McGregor?” Courtney asked, coming up behind me. She’d changed from her riding clothes into another of her wonderful outfits. Everything looked expensive and fit her to perfection. She wore the multicolored silk scarf. Tied loosely around her neck, it camouflaged the familiar pendant. Sunglasses rested atop her head.

I nodded in agreement. “I love my Jag, but this is spectacular.”

“Robbie, is everything all right? You seem troubled.”

“Courtney, try to imagine learning everything I have in the last”—I checked my watch—“twelve hours. Everything I believed has been thrown in the trash! You’re a witch. My brother is a witch. And even I’m…” I gestured, unable to finish the thought.

She took my arm and squeezed it gently. “A witch, too?” Hearing the words still sounded strange, otherworldly. She nodded, searching my eyes. Hers stared back, full of sympathy, velvet-brown and large as saucers.

“We explained that last evening. But why don’t you ask Simon about it.”

I intended to but there was something else I had to ask her. “Courtney,” I began. “Is Mrs. Mac a witch?”

“No. I told you that.” She shook her head. “Of course, she must suspect what we are. But no, she is not a witch.”

I accepted that. But there was something about the woman. I had no way of guessing what caused my discomfort, but I felt uneasy, as if she knew far more than Courtney gave her credit for.

“When you sensed evil last night, she was the only one around.”

She raised her dark eyebrows. “Robbie, what is it? You said that last night. I can’t accept that someone who’s been so kind and caring could have any evil intentions. Besides, if that was the case, how is it I never noticed it in all the years she cared for me?” She shook her head. “And point of fact, Gretchen was nearby. Do you think she’s evil? No one’s been kinder or more supportive.”

“No, of course not,” I agreed, but remained unconvinced.

Courtney squeezed my arm and nodded in the direction of the courtyard door. I turned. Mrs. McPherson approached. She smiled and raised her hand. Limping across the cement floor, her cane rattled with each step. Courtney met her and took the old woman’s arm, helping her cross the final few feet.

I walked with the two of them to the Packard, making conversation. I helped Mrs. McPherson into the passenger seat. Courtney hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Did you speak to
her
?” Courtney asked, studying the upholstery.

“She has a name. It’s Rachel, and no, she wasn’t home.” I was flattered by the show of jealousy. I closed the door. Courtney turned, giving me an I’m-sorry look.

“Have a wonderful time,” I called as Courtney adjusted the seat and threw in the clutch to start the powerful six-cylinder engine.

“We will.” Courtney put her hand out, adding, “Robbie. Be careful.” Mrs. Mac smiled broadly.

“I’m always careful,” I told her, not sure what she meant. “I’ll see you at dinner,” I told them, trying to shake my anxiety.

I looked at my watch. Exactly 10:30. Heading across the garage and out into the courtyard, I kept looking back until the large convertible was out of sight. As I got to the courtyard, Gretchen passed me dressed in her riding clothes. “Headed out for a ride?” I asked.

“Yes. I haven’t had much chance lately, but I think I can sneak away for a couple of hours. Nothing like a brisk gallop on a sparkling day. Enjoy the morning and your talk with Simon.” She waved and gave me a bright smile as she headed toward the stables. Apparently in the world of witchcraft everyone knew everything!

Chapter Thirty

“Simon.”

He smiled as we shook hands.

“Take a walk with me?” He pointed to a path leading away from the courtyard and around the cove.

I nodded and fell into step. We walked up the inclined gravel path.

“You must be confused.”

I nodded again. “That’s an understatement. This is so much to believe.” I felt exhilarated, alive in a strange new way. “To discover that witches exist. That I’ve fallen in love with one. That I’m one. That there are forces in the world that could destroy it.” Fear and fascination mixed in equal parts. My adrenaline surged as I thought about the infinite possibilities.

“Sit down, please.” He stopped and patted a large fallen log, overlooking the green of the surrounding grove and the gray-blue of the cove below. “Robert, witches have existed for thousands of years. Tens of thousands. Perhaps longer. I can’t say who the first witch was. No one can. Cave paintings show ancient people engaged in spells and rituals. Scientists tell us those paintings are more than 25,000 years old.”

I nodded. Simon had a soft, lyrical voice in counterpoint to his massive stature. He could read the dictionary backwards, and I could listen to him all day.

“Who the first witch was, none of us can say. There are many theories on what and who we really are, on how we came to be. Some say that our development was accidental. Two individuals with physical and mental powers beyond those of ordinary humans mated. Their children found others and did the same. Over many generations through a process akin to evolution we grew in number and strength, refining our special skills and abilities. Others say that we’re descended from a powerful race that came here thousands of years ago and blended into the Earth’s population.” He raised his eyebrows as he smiled. “All I know is that we’re different and very powerful.”

I sat, listening in awe.

“Many centuries ago shamans and priests formed the basis for the belief system—the religion—that we practice today. Ancient Greeks and Romans practiced something called ‘the mysteries.’”

“I remember studying that.”

He nodded and continued. “Many sites have been excavated showing where rituals or ceremonies were performed. And most ancient religions worshipped many gods and goddesses. The female was usually the most important deity.”

“Michael told me that you don’t believe in monotheism.”

“No. I know it’s difficult for someone who’s been taught that concept, but we don’t believe divinity is restricted to one omniscient being. We think it exists in everything around us: the trees, the clouds, the mountains. Everything in nature, all of us, are interconnected in a divine, infinite way. Harm one”—he stared deeply into my eyes—“and you harm us all.”

“I understand the concept. Sounds kind of…” I searched for the right word.

“Pagan,” he said, looking amused again.

I nodded.

“Are you a student of Latin?”

“Three years in high school. Why?”

“Then perhaps you know the word, ‘
pagani
’?”

“Not really.” I shrugged.

“It means ‘one who lives in the country—a peasant’ in Latin. No indication of evil or Satan. It’s the word from which pagan is derived.”

I shook my head. “Etymology wasn’t my specialty.”

“How about ‘
heathen
’?”

“Of course I’ve heard the word.”

“It meant someone who dwelled on the heath, country folk, farmers, peasants. Another word used to misrepresent its original meaning and portray those being labeled into something mysterious and sinister.”

“By who?”

He sighed and looked away. “The early Christian church. And sadly, most of it had to do with power and money. Our ancestors were persecuted because we were the competition. The church’s practices were strict and frightening. They used fear and intimidation. We offered a more attractive alternative.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“The history of our persecution is long and dark. Witchcraft never has been the evil or satanic ideology that’s been portrayed in books or movies. There’s nothing mysterious about the tenets we follow. Like every other belief system, we have our rituals, but when you understand them, they’re no different than those practiced by Catholics or Jews.”

“All right.” He made it sound simple, almost pleasant. I nodded again. “But if that’s the case, why this mysterious ceremony? What’s the threat?”

He turned toward me again. “What’s different about many who practice the craft is their innate ability to control and manipulate fellow beings and the surroundings.” He stood and faced me. “That’s what makes some pagans so dangerous. Evil does exist. I promise you. And there are those who’ve chosen to use their abilities for a dark purpose—to corrupt, control, or destroy mankind. Courtney’s ascendance—her embodiment as a goddess—will prevent that.”

“You keep referring to these special powers and abilities, Simon.”

“Yes,” he continued. “As I said a moment ago, we learned to develop and use our minds in ways that most people would find extraordinary. Courtney is still young, but she’s incredibly powerful. She can call forth spells, create hallucinations, transmit her thoughts, make you do and say things you could never imagine.”

He must have seen the look of concern cross my face.

Simon held up his hand. “No, Robert. I promise. She never used her powers on you.”

“You read my thoughts?”

“It was a combination of reading your face and what I assumed would come to the mind of a young man in love. I’ve been doing this a very long time. The old adage is ‘practice makes perfect.’ Courtney would never use any of her powers to enlist your help,” Simon continued. “She insisted. She genuinely loves you, Robert.”

I felt my face flush.

“There’s something I want to show you.” He approached me and opened his shirt. My stomach churned.

“Simon,” I began to protest as he pulled the material down below his left shoulder.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he assured me. When I saw what he revealed, I understood. It was a duplicate of my half-moon birthmark. He raised his thick eyebrows. “Does this answer why you were chosen for the ceremony?”

“What about Michael? He and Courtney are close. Is he one of the chosen ones?” I asked.

“I thought you’d ask that.” He straightened his shirt and resumed his seat. “Actually yes, but you’ve seen Michael without his shirt on?”

“Of course.”

“Does he bear the special birthmark that you and I do?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“And even if he did, there’s something else.” He exhaled deeply. “My son, Courtney, was very powerful. He was strong, self-willed, very handsome. But he was also cruel and vicious. Even the most powerful of us has weaknesses. Courtney’s was women.” Simon drew teeth over his lower lip. “He used his powers to manipulate them.”

“But I still don’t understand.” Suddenly it struck me. “Do you mean that Michael is…?”

He nodded. “Yes, Michael is one of his children. Courtney’s half brother.” He looked at me and smiled, lowering his eyes. “He was the son of Courtney and a woman who lived in Cornwall. A sad, sweet beauty, she died while giving my son’s offspring birth. But my son wanted nothing to do with caring for a child, so for a time our family looked after the child. Your father and mother, who were dear friends and family members, had never been blessed with children. They took Michael in. As the gods and goddesses often do, they amused themselves by bringing them a second beautiful child. One of their own conception, Robert—you.” He looked up at the high blue sky, his face a troubled mask. “So you see that would eliminate Michael as a potential mate for my granddaughter.”