Changeling

2. Alone

Brother Colin, I shall not prevaricate to you, who are my flesh and blood as well as a fellow servant of God. I have only begun my work here and shall be content if it takes me until the end of my days to reach the people of Barra Head. But it has been a surprise to discover how the populace resists the Good Word. There is a handful of devout souls, to be sure, but everywhere the old religion pervades. Where I look, I see ancient Sigils chipped into rock faces, painted on the crude sod and stone houses: even herb gardens grown in heathen patterns. Surely God has sent me here to save these people, these so called Wodebaynes.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to his brother Colin, November 1767

Hours later I lay in bed, watching the interplay of shadows on my recently painted bedroom walls. I'd thought I was exhausted, but sleep hadn't come. Now I let my senses float out into the house. Mary K., separated from me by a bathroom, was deeply asleep. She's come home shortly after my parents had, completely excited by the prospect of eleven days at her friend Jaycee's house: an uninterrupted slumber party. Her three suitcases were already packed and by the front door.

My parents, too, where asleep: my mother lightly, fitfully, my dad more deeply. They where nervous about the trip, about being away from us.

I turned on my side. Tonight I'd made objects levitate. It had been amazing and even a little frightening. If I weren't so distraught, it would have been joyful, beautiful. Well, that was Wicca: light and dark at the same time and part of the same thing. Day turning into night. Beauty and ugliness, good and bad. The rose and the thorn.

Morgan. As the voice echoed in my head, I blinked, sending my senses out more strongly. Oh my God, Hunter was right outside the front door: It was one-thirty in the morning. I had two thoughts: I can't face him. And: I hope he doesn't wake my parents.

Morgan. I bit my lip and got of bed, knowing I had no choice. Despite my unhappiness, my traitorous heart skipped a beat in anticipation of seeing Hunter. Very quietly I pushed my feet into my bear claw slippers and padded downstairs as silently as I could.

He stood there, his fine hair glinting with winter moonlight. His face was in darkness, but I saw the hard line of his jaw, the sculpted curve of his cheekbone. It had been only a few days, but I longed for him with a physical ache.

"Hi," I said, looking away from him. My hair was unbrushed, and my face felt tired and drawn.

"You missed a circle," he said evenly, tilting his head back to see me. The cold January air made his words come out like a dragon's breath. "Why?"

Experienced witches can lie and deceive each other fairly successfully. But if I lied to Hunter, he would know it. "I didn't want to see you." I tried to sounds strong, but I'm sure my body language was screaming anguish.

"Why?" His expression didn't change, but I could sense the hurt and anger I caused him. "Am I repellent now?"

I shook my head. "Of course not," I said. "But I wanted more time alone since we just broke up."

"Part of Wicca is making the commitment to observe the turning of the Wheel," Hunter said. "The weekly circle is just as important as your personal life."

Count to ten before you speak, I reminded myself. He made it sound like I missed the circle because I had a zit. But he had seen how upset and shocked and freaked out I had been after what had happened in New York—after finding out that my father wasn't gentle Angus Bramson, the man who had loved and lived with my mother for several years, but Ciaran MacEwan, the evil and destructive witch who had eventually killed her. Hunter had seen for himself how ruthless Ciaran was, so much a pure Woodbane, dedicated to acquiring power at any costs. With a father like that, did I have a chance of turning out okay? I was pure Woodbane myself. Was it just a matter of time before I was lured by dark magick? And how could I stand to see the look on Hunter's face if and when I finally went bad? His horror and disillusionment?

"I know the circle is important," I said stiffly. "But I wanted some time alone."

"I guess it's a matter of priorities," he said in a tone he knew infuriated me.

Knowing that he was trying to goad me didn't stop me from reacting as if he had thrown a match onto a puddle of gasoline.

"My priorities are to keep you and everyone else in Kithic away from a potentially evil influence!" I hissed into the night air.

"Funny how you can decide what's best for us all." Hunter, of all people, knew exactly how to get to me. "You'd do well to remember just how little training you have. Perhaps we can make our own decisions about who we want to associate with. Who we want to make magick with."

I looked at Hunter, trying to control my anger. I knew that he was angry with me for missing the circle, but it was infuriating that he could ignore what had happened between us so easily—that my being a powerful witch meant I wasn't allowed to have human emotions. I had spent the last few days in absolute misery; how could I just go back to the circle like nothing had happened to me?

"Plus there's the fact that I don't love you," I said finally, praying for the conversation to end. "That had something to do with it."

Hunter's green eyes were shaded gray by the pale light. But they seemed to look right through my eyes into me psyche, into the innermost me. He knew I was lying.

"We should be together." His words sounded like they cost him.

"We can't." My throat felt thick.

He looked up at the night sky. "You should come to the circles. If not with Kithic, then with another coven.

My heart hurt. I wanted so much to tell him about my levitating experience. But it was better for him if I didn't share myself with him at all. Suddenly exhausted, I turned to the front door:

"Goodnight Hunter."

"So you say."

His voice rang in my ears as I slipped into the house.

"Morning!" Mary K. sang, unnaturally perky as usual. All of the Rowlandses were morning people, wide awake with the sunrise and ready to go long before my natural biorhythms had kicked me into a vertical position. Before Mary K. and I knew I was adopted, it had been a family joke that I stood out so much. No one mentioned it anymore.

"Morning Honey," my mom said briefly, then turned to me. "Morgan, Dad and I are still concerned about you staying in the house alone. But I understand that if you stayed at Eileen's and Paula's, you would have a longer commute to and from school."

"Much longer," I said. "like forty-five minutes."

"Not that it would kill you to get up earlier," Mom went on. "But your father and I have discussed it, and we trust you to stay here because we know that you would never want to let us down or make us feel that trust was misplaced."

"Uh-huh," I said. Behind Mom, Mary K. watched us with interest.

"But to be on the safe side," Mom went on, "I've jotted down a few house rules. I'd like you to read them and make sure you understand everything."

My eyes went wide as she handed me a sheet of notepaper. I took it from her and slowly read it while Mary K. hovered, barely disguising her curiosity.

It was about behavior they expected me to display while they where out of town. Display? I thought. As if I would be doing everything out on the front lawn. I read further. It basically said no boys in the house, I couldn't miss school, I had to do my homework, call Aunt Eileen every day and check in, I couldn't have parties…

My response was crucial here—I was awake enough to recognize that.

"Well, it looks like you covered everything," I began.

My dad came in then and headed for the coffeemaker. He glanced over at us and made the strategic decision to take his coffee into the living room.

"I mean, it seams fair," I told her. "Pretty much common sense."

"So all this seems okay?" Mom asked.

"Well, sure," I said. "I mean, I wouldn't be having parties anyway."

"Or boys in the house? Hunter?"

I tried not to wince. "We broke up remember?"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry for mentioning it." Mom said, looking concerned. "Will you be all right alone?"

"Of course I will, Mom. I'm fine."

She hesitated, but I waved her off, plastering a cheerful smile in my face. After Mom went upstairs, I sat with my tea while Mary K. perched on a chair across from me, her big brown eyes asking for details. "What were all those rules about?"

"Oh, about being straight and narrow while they where gone, like a saint."

"Really? So no orgies?"

I groaned. "So funny."

She giggled. "I can't believe they gave you a list of rules. It's not like your Bree."

Bree Warren had been my best friend for eleven years, until Cal Blaire had moved to Widow's Vale. When she first laid eyes on Cal, she knew that she wanted him, but he wanted me, and Bree did not take that well. The story got more complicated from there. She and Cal had slept together before Cal became my boyfriend, and Cal tried to kill me when I refused to practice dark magick with his mother's coven. It had all come to a close one horrible night in his mother's library, when both Cal and his mother Selene, were killed as she tried to steal my powers. Bree and I had been trying to forge an new friendship, but we were moving slowly.

Mary K. was referring to the fact that Bree's parents were divorced, and she lived with her dad. Mr. Warren was a lawyer with tons of money and not much time for Bree. She often stayed by herself in their big house for weeks at a time, which gave her a lot of opportunity to experiment. Bree wasn't really wild, but she was rich and unsupervised.

"No, I'm not Bree," I agreed.

"Are you going to follow the rules or blow them off?"

My sister's sweet expression and innocent demeanor always made me forget that she was very shrewd for a fourteen-year-old.

"Ugh." I put my head down on the table. "They make me feel like I'm ten years old."

Mary K. giggled and put down her mug. "It'll be good for you, Saint Morgan," she said, standing up. "Like penance."

"Good-bye, honey," my mom said an hour later. "Be careful. And if you need anything, call Eileen."

"Sure," I said. "Don't worry."

"I will worry," she said, looking into my eyes. "That's what mothers do."

All at once I got that awful feeling in my throat that signaled that I was about to cry. I reached over and hugged the only mother I had ever known, and she hugged me back.

"I love you," I said, feeling embarrassed and sad. I realized I would miss them while they were away.

"I love you too, honey." Then she turned and got into Dad's car, and Mary K. waved at me from the backseat. I waved back and watched the car until they went around the corner and I couldn't see it anymore. Then I realized I was freezing, standing out here, and went into the house that would be mine alone for the next eleven days.

It was extremely quiet inside. Casting my sensed, I picked up only Dagda, sleeping deeply as usual. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen; the grandfather clock my dad had built from a kit ticked loudly. With irrational panic, I suddenly felt like every ax murderer in the area was picking up his ears, knowing he should home in on this address right away.

"Stop it," I told myself in disgust, plopping down in front of the TV.

When the doorbell rang half an hour later, I jumped a foot in the air. I hadn't perceived anyone coming up the walk, and that realization made my heart kick into overdrive.

I cast my senses strongly as I crept to peer through the peephole. I sensed a blood witch right before I saw the small, red haired woman on the front porch. A witch, but no one I knew. I didn't feel any danger, but I might not, if she was powerful enough.

I opened the door. A strong witch who wanted to come into the house could probably do it despite the ward-evil and boundary spells I had set all around the house.

"Hello Morgan," she said. Her eyes were a light, warm brown, like caramel. "My name is Eoife McNabb. I'm sub elder of the council. I want to talk to you about Ciaran MacEwan. Your father."