Blood Witch (16 page)

There in the flames I saw my own face, looking back: the long sweep of brown hair, the kitten in my lap.

What do you want to know?
the fire whispered to me. Its voice was raspy and sibilant—seductive yet fleeting, fading away in acrid curls of smoke.

I don’t understand anything,
I answered. My face was serene, but my silent voice cried out in frustration.
I don’t understand anything.

Then in the fire a curtain of flame was drawn back. I saw Cal, walking through a field of wheat as golden as his eyes. He swept out his hand, looking beautiful and godlike, and it felt like he was offering the entire field to me as a gift. Then Hunter and Sky came up behind him, hand in hand. Their pale, bleached elegance was beautiful in its own way, but I felt a terrible sense of danger suddenly. I closed my eyes as if that might blot it out.

When I opened them again, I found myself walking through a forest so thickly grown that barely any light reached the ground. My bare feet were silent on the rotting leaves. Soon I saw figures standing in the woods, hidden among the trees. One of them was Sky again, and she turned and smiled at me, her white-blond hair glowing like an angel’s halo around her. Then she turned to the person behind her: it was Raven, dressed all in black. Sky leaned over and kissed Raven gently, and I blinked in surprise.

Many disjointed images flowed over one another next, sliding across my consciousness, hard to follow. Robbie kissing Bree . . . my parents watching me walk away, tears running down their faces . . . Aunt Eileen holding a baby.

And then, as if that movie were over and a new reel began, I saw a small, white clapboard house, set back on a slight rise among the trees. Curtains fluttered from the open windows. A neat, tended garden of holly bushes and mums lined the front of the house.

Off to one side was Maeve Riordan. My birth mother.

I drew in my breath. I remembered her from another vision I’d had, a vision of her holding me when I was an infant. She smiled and beckoned to me, looking young and goofy in her 1980s clothes. Behind her was a large square garden of herbs and vegetables, bursting with health. She turned and headed toward the house. I followed her—around the side, where a narrow walk separated the house from the lawn. Turning to face me again, she knelt and gestured underneath the house, pointing.

Confusion came over me. What was this? Then a phone began ringing from far away. Although I tried to keep concentrating, the scene began to fade, and my last image was of my birth mother, impossibly young and lovely, waving good-bye.

I blinked, my breathing ragged.

The sound of a phone still filled my ears. What was going on? Several seconds passed before I realized that it was
our
phone, not a phone in my vision. The images were all gone now. I was alone in our house again—and somebody was calling.

“Hello?” I said into the receiver. I realized that I had no sense of who it was, even though I usually did before I picked up the phone.

Silence.

“Hello?” I said again.

Click. Drone of dial tone.

Okay, I knew, of course, that people get wrong numbers all the time. But for some reason, maybe because I was still caught up in images, emotions, and sensations from the fire, this silent phone call unnerved me. Every spooky movie I had ever seen came back to haunt me:
Scream, Halloween, The Exorcist, Fatal Attraction, Blair Witch.
My only thought was: Someone was checking to see if I was home. And I was. Alone.

I punched in star sixty-nine. Nothing happened. Finally a computerized female voice told me that the number I was trying to reach was blocked.

Feeling tense, I slammed the phone down on the hook. Then I began to race around the house, locking the front and back doors, the basement door, locking windows that had never been locked in my memory. Was I being stupid? It didn’t matter. Better stupid and safe than smart and dead. I turned on all the outside lights instead of just the dim yellow glow of the front porch fixture.

I didn’t know why I felt so afraid, but my first sense of alarm was rapidly growing into pure terror. So I retrieved my trusty baseball bat from the mudroom, locked that door, scooped up Dagda, and scampered upstairs to my room, glancing over my shoulder. Maybe it was still the aftermath of the accident, but my hands were clammy. My breath came quickly. I locked my bedroom door, then locked the door that led from the bathroom to Mary K.’s room.

I sat down on my bed, clenching and unclenching my fists. Cal, was all I could think. Cal, help me. I need you. Come to me.

I sent the witch message out into the night. Cal would get it. Cal would save me.

But the minutes ticked by, and he didn’t come. He didn’t even call to say he was on his way. I thought about calling him, but then I remembered what he’d said about not answering the phone during the circle.

Didn’t he get my message? I wondered frantically. Where is he?

I tried to calm myself down. Mom and Dad would be home soon. So would Mary K. Anyway, it was just a phone call. A wrong number. Maybe it was Bree calling to apologize, and she’d lost her nerve.

But why would Bree’s number have been blocked? It could have been anyone, though: a prank call by some pimply sixth grader whose mom caught him just before he spoke. Or maybe it was a telemarketer. . . .

Calm down, calm down, I ordered myself. Breathe.

A faint prickling at the edge of my senses made me sit up straight. I cast out my senses, searching as hard as I could. Then I knew what it was. Someone was on the edge of the property. Fear oozed through me like burning lava.

“Wait here,” I whispered idiotically to Dagda.

I crept soundlessly to my darkened window and peered out into the yard. As I looked out, the outside lights all blinked off.
Shit.
Who had gotten to them?

I could make out the leaves of the shrubs, the swooping shadow of an owl, the crusts of ice hanging on our fence.

That was when I saw them: two dark figures.

I squinted, using my magesight to make out their features, but for some reason I couldn’t focus on their faces. It didn’t matter, though. For a moment the night’s cloud cover broke and allowed the not quite half-moon to appear. The glint of moonlight reflected off pale, shining hair, and I knew who was here. Sky Eventide. The person with her wore a dark knit cap and was too tall to be either Bree or Raven. Hunter. I felt sure it was Hunter.

Where was Cal?

I watched from my crouching position on the floor as they faded into the house’s shadows. When I could no longer see them, I closed my eyes and tried to follow them with my senses. I felt them moving around the perimeter of the house slowly, pausing here and there. Would they try to come in? My fingers tightened on the bat, even though I knew it would be of zero use against witches in full possession of their powers. And Sky and Hunter were blood witches.

What did they want? What were they doing?

And then it came to me: of course. They were putting a spell on my house, on me. I remembered reading about how Maeve and her mother, Mackenna Riordan, had put spells on people. They had often needed to walk around a house or a person or a place. To surround something with magick is to change it.

Sky and Hunter were surrounding
me.

They were circling my house, and I couldn’t stop them—I didn’t even have any idea what they were doing. It must have been one of them who had called earlier, to make sure I was home. And maybe they had blocked my call to Cal somehow. He might not be coming at all. . . .

I looked at Dagda to see if he was nervous or upset, if his senses had picked up on the vibrations of danger and magick.

He was asleep: tiny mouth slightly open, blue eyes shut, ribby little side rising and falling with sleep-slowed breaths. So much for the power of animals. I scowled, then looked out the window again. The shadowy figures were no longer visible but still present. Feeling terribly alone, I sat on my floor and waited. It was all I could do.

Three times Hunter and Sky moved around the house. I heard nothing and saw nothing, but I sensed them. They were there.

Almost half an hour later they left. I felt them leave, felt them close a circle behind them . . . felt them send one last line of magick out toward the house and toward me. Soon after that I heard the quiet purr of an engine as it faded down the street. The outside lights all flickered back on. But there was no way I was going outside to see what they had done. No. I was going to stay put.

With my baseball bat at my side, I went back downstairs and watched television until the tow truck driver showed up with Das Boot. Mom and Dad came home a few minutes later. I hurried upstairs to my room before they walked through the front door. I was too wrung out to act normal around them.

Cal never came.

 

“Hi, honey,” Mom said when I stumbled into the kitchen the next morning. “Sleep well?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, moving purposefully toward the refrigerator for a Diet Coke. But I was lying. The truth was, I hadn’t slept well at all. I’d dozed fitfully, my fleeting dreams filled with images from the fire and the silhouettes of Sky and whoever else had been on our lawn. Finally I’d given up on sleep altogether. I glanced at the kitchen clock. Only eight-thirty. I wanted to call Cal, but it was too early, especially for a Saturday morning.

“Does anyone have plans for today?” Dad asked, folding back the newspaper.

“Jaycee and I are going to Northgate Mall,” said Mary K. She fiddled with a box of Pop-Tarts, still in her pajamas. “The pre-Thanksgiving sales are starting.”

“I’m going to be getting ready for tomorrow,” said Mom. She flashed a meaningful smile at me. “Morgan, do you want an ice-cream cake this year?”

Suddenly I remembered that the next day was my birthday. Wow. Until this year I’d always eagerly looked forward to my birthday, anticipating it for months and months. Of course, until this year I’d had no idea that I was an adopted blood witch from the Woodbane clan. Nor, in previous years, was I being stalked by other witches. Things had changed a little.

I nodded and sipped my Diet Coke. “Chocolate cake on the bottom, mint-chip ice cream on top,” I instructed, summoning up a smile.

“And what do you want for dinner tomorrow night?” Mom asked, starting to make a list.

“Lamb chops, mint jelly, roasted potatoes, fresh peas, salad,” I rattled off. The same birthday dinner I always wanted. It was comforting somehow. This was my house, my family, and we were going to celebrate my birthday—same as always.

“Are you going to be busy tonight?” Mom asked, averting her eyes. She knew we usually had circles on Saturday nights.

“I’m seeing Cal,” I said.

She nodded and thankfully left it at that.

As soon as I was dressed, I went outside and walked around the house. As far as I could tell, I couldn’t feel the effects of a spell’s magick. Which could very well be
part
of the spell, of course. Slowly I circled our entire house. I saw no sign of anything. No hexes spray painted on the house, no dead animals hanging from trees. Then again, I knew the signs would be infinitely more subtle than that.