Strife

7. Danger

Today was Andrew Lewis’s funeral. Mother and Father didn’t want us to go, but Sam insisted and in the end our parents had to give in. I don’t often have a chance to go to a Catholic church for any reason, and I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the service. Sunlight streamed in the stained-glass windows, and the whole ceremony seemed very ancient and peaceful, even though it was a bit too solemn. I couldn’t help comparing it with the circle we’d held the night before at Patience Stamp’s house. She’s a potter, and her house is very simple but filled with beautiful handmade things. We’d held hands and had felt the magick flow between us, easing the pain we felt at losing our friends to the sea. I felt the same kind of magick in the church-a healing magick that exists between people. In the middle of the service I noticed that tears were streaming down Sam’s cheeks, and I handed him a tissue. But later I discovered he was feeling more than simple sorrow.

After the service Sam walked into my room and sat at the edge of the bed. When I saw that he was holding the Book-the Harris Stonghton book-I was afraid.

Then Sam told me that he’d tried a small spell-a weather spell-because it hadn’t rained for so long. He’d just wanted to see if he could call up a little rain, so about ten days ago, when the moon was waxing, he’d tried it. He hadn’t known what would happen, he said, so it couldn’t really be his fault, could it?

It took about half a minute for this to sink in. When I realized what he was telling me, I could hardly breathe. How could he? How? The storm that killed the crew of the Lady Marie was his fault. I grabbed him by the collar and started to shake him. “What have you done?” I was almost screaming, and Sam started bawling. The Book fell from is lap, and I dove for it. It felt warm in my hand, like something alive, and I wanted to throw it down, but I didn’t dare.

I must burn the vile thing before it destroys us all.

— Sarah Curtis

“Morgan!” I knew the voice was Bree’s, but I couldn’t reply or even turn my head because I was gripping a paper cup of tea in my teeth as my cold fingers fumbled to lock the door of my car. Plumes of steam rose from the hot liquid and combined with my breath, dissipating quickly.

“Here,” Bree said as she reached for the paper cup.

I released it gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Got a minute?” Bree asked.

“Sure,” I said, taking the tea back from her. “What’s up?”

“Robbie and I broke up.”

I choked on the sip of tea I’d just taken. “What?” I looked at Bree more closely. Her face was ashen, and her eyes were red-rimmed. She wasn’t kidding.

Bree glanced at my car. “Can we—?”

“Of course.” I put my tea on the roof of the car and unlocked the door. A quick glance at my watch told me that we had ten minutes until the first bell. “What do you mean, you broke up? What happened?” I asked when we were seated inside the car.

“Just what I said. Robbie and I talked last night.” Bree gave a small half shrug, lifting only one shoulder. “He said he needed space.”

I waited a moment. “And—?” I prompted.

“That’s it.” Bree gazed straight ahead. The parking lot was filling up as teachers and students hurried to class.

“Bree,” I said, “that doesn’t necessarily mean that Robbie wants to break up.” I didn’t think it did, anyway. If it did, I was going to have to have a long talk with Robbie.

Bree flashed me an oh-grow-up glance. “Spare me. I know what it means.” Raking her fingers through her hair, she added, “Not that it really matters, anyway. I mean, the relationship was getting a little old. I’ve been thinking about dating other people.”

“Bree,” I said gently, “it’s me. Don’t.”

She turned toward me, and her facade broke. Her eyes welled up, tears ran down her cheeks, and she looked like the same Bree whose heart was broken by Todd Hall in the seventh grade. “I know. I just—I just needed to say something bitchy.”

I opened my mouth. But just then the first-period bell sounded, far away, and Bree opened the car door and stepped out.

“Bree,” I called after her, “talk to Robbie!” But she’d already slammed the door and was striding toward the school. I didn’t know whether she’d heard me, and I wasn’t even sure that it mattered.

“I should be home by six,” I said into a pay phone in the lobby of the public library later that day.

“Great,” my mom said at the other end of the line. “I was thinking for family night we could play some board games and make hot fudge sundaes.”

Even the faint crackle of static on the line couldn’t disguise my mom’s excitement. I got the feeling that she was trying to make peace after our argument the night before. “Sounds great, Mom,” I said, suddenly struck with a pang of guilt. I’d told my mom that I was at the library to study history and science—but I hadn’t mentioned it was witch history and magickal botany with Erin. And here she was, planning fun activities for the whole family. I was a terrible daughter. “See you at six.”

I hung up, feeling lousy.

“Everything all right?” Erin asked as I plopped down across from her.

I laced my fingers together and rested my chin on them. “Just parental stuff.”

Erin peered at me. As usual with her, I felt like I needed to explain myself. “It’s just—they’re Catholics. They don’t approve of witchcraft. And they’re threatening to send me to Catholic school.”

Erin nodded gravely. “I wonder what your mother would think of all this.”

For a moment I was confused—hadn’t we just been talking about my mother? Then I realized that Erin was talking about Maeve, my birth mother. My heart suddenly skipped a beat.

I had never known my birth mother. She was from Ireland and had come to America with her lover, Angus, only after their entire coven was decimated by the dark wave. Coming to America hadn’t saved her, though. Ciaran—her other, secret lover—caught up with her and killed her while I was still a baby.

“Did you know her?” I asked Erin. My throat was suddenly dry.

“I met her once, briefly, when she was about fifteen and I was twenty-one,” Erin said. “My dearest friend, Mary, married a Belwicket man.” Her eyes clouded.

Belwicket was the name of Maeve’s coven. “Your friend— did she—”

“Gone,” Erin said. “Like everyone else.”

We sat together in silence for a moment.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, growing up in a house without magick,” she said. Her eyebrows were raised, and her face held a question.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I admitted. “I never knew anything else.” I paused. The next part was harder to talk about. “Until I met Cal.” I looked at Erin, unsure how much of the story she already knew.

Erin nodded. “Sgàth,” she said, using Cal’s witch name.

The word sounded like a low susurration, the voice of the wind in the trees. She knew who he was. Of course.

“Yes. He taught me about Wicca, and I started learning more on my own. I discovered that I had powers. And then I learned the truth. That my parents weren’t my birth parents. . and that I was Woodbane.”

“Morgan,” Erin said, leaning toward me. “You haven’t had an easy time of it. But that just means you have to be willing to work very hard—harder than most others have to. Are you willing to do that?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I said.

“Good.” Erin held up a small slip of paper. “I’ve checked the computer. The library has a number of fascinating books on witch history. We can start there.” She handed the paper to me. On it was a list of five books and their call numbers.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. As I headed over to the nonfiction section of the library, I passed a familiar auburn head bent over a notebook at a nearby table. Mary K. She had gotten a ride with Susan Wallace both before and after school—clearly avoiding me again. Alisa sat across from her, murmuring in a low voice. Whispering in my sister’s ear about my evil powers, no doubt.

A voice in my mind urged me to go and find the books. I knew it was the smart thing to do, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. There was something about the way Alisa looked, sitting there—I wanted to get her away from Mary K. Things were tense enough with my family. I didn’t want Alisa getting into the middle of it. I crossed the room in a few quick strides and stood next to my sister. “Hey, you guys,” I whispered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Mary K. looked up with a start and placed her hand casually over what she’d been writing. Alisa practically turned green.

“Uh, hi, Morgan,” Mary K. said. There was a thin edge in her voice. Was it anger, or fear? I couldn’t read her expression.

“What are you guys working on?” I asked.

“Oh,” Mary K. said, glancing down at her paper. “Just a writing assignment.” She shifted in her seat and glanced over my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

I lifted my eyebrows. “I’m studying.” I tried to get a better look at Mary K.’s notes. There seemed to be a lot of them. “You guys seem to be working pretty hard on this thing,” I pressed, trying to make conversation.

Mary K. looked really uncomfortable. I turned to Alisa, who was as still as a stone. “Is it a project for class?” I asked. Alisa didn’t respond. She stared down at the library table as if it were the most fascinating piece of wood in the universe.

I couldn’t imagine what they’d be hiding from me. “What’s going on?” I asked finally.

Mary K. stared helplessly at Alisa.

“Mary K. is helping me write a letter,” Alisa said without looking up from the table. Then she raised her head and looked me in the eye. “It’s to the town newspaper, and it’s about the dangerous witchcraft going on around here.”

She’s lying. That was my first thought: She’s lying—she’d never do that. And Mary K. would never help her. I turned to my sister. “Is this true?” I asked her.

Mary K. didn’t reply. "It was my idea,” Alisa said, still looking at me with that defiant gaze.

"Mary K.?” My voice was a whisper. Mary K. wouldn’t look at me.

“It was my idea,” Alisa repeated.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Have I done something to you?” I asked her.

Alisa looked startled. “What?”

“Have I made you mad or something? Or has someone in Kithic done something wrong?” I struggled to hold my anger in check. Why was she doing this? What did she have to gain? “Because you seem to have turned against us.”

“That—that’s not true,” Alisa insisted feebly.

“Isn’t it?” I demanded. “Then what’s the point of this letter?”

Alisa’s mouth opened and closed. “It’s just—it’s just—” She groped for words. Finally she shook her head. “Look, forget it. Forget the letter. I’m not sending it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I pressed.

"Morgan,” Mary K. said, “she just said that she isn’t sending the letter. Isn’t that enough?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I really didn’t. I wanted to understand what was going on inside Alisa’s head—but clearly she didn’t want to let me in.

I looked at Mary K. "I guess I’ll see you later.”

She gave a quick nod and looked down at her paper again. I didn’t say anything to Alisa, just turned and walked toward the stacks, fuming. Everything was skidding out of control lately—school, my family life, even my magick.

Just put it out of your mind, I told myself. You can always talk to Mary K. later. I checked the call numbers of the books Erin had listed and realized they were on one of the top shelves. Grabbing a library ladder, I stepped up to the top rung and began hunting for the first title.

“Legacies of the Great Clans,” I murmured to myself. “Legacies of—” My ladder tipped slightly, and I instinctively reached out and grabbed one of the shelves to keep myself from falling. It must be uneven, I thought as I wiggled myself gingerly to feel if the legs were stable. The ladder didn’t move.

I didn’t have time to think about that, though, because in a moment a book flew off the shelf, hurling itself against the books on the shelf across from it. Where have I seen that before? I wondered dimly as the entire bookcase began to rattle and shake. It gave a heavy groaning creak, and I looked back at it just in time to see it tip toward me.

I didn’t even have time to let out a cry—I jumped from the ladder as the bookcase toppled. With a fierce crash, it slammed into the shelf across from it, and books slid off the shelves and thudded to the floor. I landed on the floor in a heap, under the tilted shelf, and felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. Around me there were shouts, then scuffling noises as people ran toward me.

“Are you okay?” The gangly librarian leaned over and helped me to my feet. She stared at the bookcase and the mess of books on the floor. “You could have been hurt!”

Staring at the wreckage, I started to shake. It was true. The bookshelf was massive and loaded with heavy volumes. If it had fallen completely, it could have landed on me. And if it had toppled the shelf across from it, it could have landed on someone else. I shuddered.

A small group of people had gathered nearby, and Erin pushed her way through them to come over to me. “What happened?” Her tone was sharp, her forehead creased with worry.

I cast a sideways glance at the librarian, who was inspecting the shelf gingerly. “It was just like the other day at Hunter’s,” I whispered. “I saw a book fly off the shelf before the whole thing toppled.” Now I was shaking for real. Ciaran, I thought. It had to be him. Who else would—or could—do this? My birth father really was after me. Remembering what he had done to my mother, to her whole coven, I had to fight for breath. If Ciaran really was after me, how could I ever escape him?

I saw the muscles in Erin’s jaw start to work. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

I felt my shoulder where I’d landed on it. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just bruised.”

“No,” Erin said. “I mean, are you feeling lightheaded? Dizzy?” She frowned and passed a hand across my forehead. “Do you feel like you need to ground yourself?”

Suddenly I understood what she was saying. “You think I did this,” I murmured.

Erin looked calmly at me. “Who do you think did it?” she asked.

Fear shot through me like lightning. “Ciaran,” I said quickly.

“I don’t think so.” Erin’s voice was certain, and I felt a flash of doubt. Could I have been responsible for this? I didn’t think so. I would have felt the magick flowing through me, I reasoned.

“Do you have any idea how you summoned white witch fire when we were working together in Practical Magick?” Erin asked abruptly.

“No,” I admitted.

“Morgan?” said a voice behind me. “My God, Morgan— are you okay?” It was Mary K. Alisa was right behind her.

“I’m fine,” I said as Mary K. rushed over and gave me a hug. I winced at the pain in my shoulder but didn’t complain.

“What happened?” Mary K. said as she eyed the shelf. I turned and stared back at the wreckage. Someone could have been hurt, screamed a voice in my brain. Someone could have been killed! “What were you doing, leaning on it or something?”

I shook my head but didn’t say anything. Alisa was staring at Erin as if she were some kind of poisonous snake or tarantula. Her eyes darted from Erin to the shelf and finally settled on me. I felt I could almost see her mind working. She knows, I realized. She knows it’s another magickal aberration. “Freak accident,” Alisa said.

“Yes,” Erin agreed. She looked at Alisa more closely. “Don’t I know you?” she asked.

“We met last Saturday night,” Alisa replied coolly. “At Hunter and Sky’s.”

Mary K.’s glance went to Erin, and she took an awkward step backward. I could see her putting the pieces together. Saturday night plus Hunter’s house equals witchcraft. She looked back at me. “Aren’t you here to study?” she asked sarcastically. Then she spun and stalked out of the library.

I started to go after her, but Erin held my arm in an iron grip.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Alisa said quietly. Then she turned and went back to her table, where she started to gather her things.

I stared after her. “Morgan,” Erin said, giving me a gentle shake. I looked at her blankly. “Morgan, we need to have a circle. Right away.”

“Circle?” I repeated dumbly.

Erin’s face was pale and solemn. “This is becoming very serious,” she said, indicating the fallen shelf. “We can’t let it go on any longer.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I was afraid to hear the answer.

“I mean that we have to rein in your power right away,” Erin replied. “Once you’ve learned more—once you’re more in control of your magick—then we can do an unbinding spell. But right now, you’re dangerous.” She took my hand. “I’m sorry, Morgan.”

I felt the air rush out of my lungs. Dangerous. The word echoed in my mind. “No,” I wanted to say, “absolutely not.” I thought about the white witch fire I had called up the other day. Erin was right; I had no idea where that power and knowledge had come from. Though it was different—I had felt myself channel the energy. Then I remembered the night the candle went out and the lightbulbs exploded. There could have been a fire. And now this. Mary K. was here, I thought. Mary K. could have been standing underneath that shelf.

My chest was tight. Erin was looking at me expectantly. “Okay,” I said at last. “I’ll do it.”