Blood Witch (8 page)

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You surprise me all the time,” he said out of the blue.

“How?” I was stroking Dagda’s soft triangular head, and he was purring and kneading my knees.

“You’re just—different than I thought you would be,” he said. He put his arm across the back of the couch and leaned toward me as if trying to memorize my face, my eyes. He seemed so serious.

I didn’t know what to think. “What did you expect me to be like?” I asked. I could smell the clean laundry scent of his shirt. In my mind I pictured us stretched on the couch, kissing. We could do it. I knew that Mary K. and Bakker were in the other room, that they wouldn’t bother us. But suddenly I felt insecure, remembering again that I was almost seventeen and he was the first boy who’d ever asked me out, ever kissed me. “Boring?” I asked. “Kind of vanilla?”

His golden eyes crinkled at the edges, and he tapped my lips gently with one finger. “No, of course not,” he said. “But you’re so strong. So interesting.” His forehead creased momentarily, as if he regretted what he’d said. “I mean, right when I met you, I thought you were interesting and good-looking and the rest of it, and I could tell right away you had a gift for the craft. I wanted to get close to you. But you’ve turned out to be so much more than that. The more I know you, the more you feel equal to me, like a real partner. Like I said, my
mùirn beatha dàn.
It’s kind of a huge idea.” He shook his head. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

I didn’t know what to say. I looked at his face, still amazed by how beautiful I found it, still awed by the feelings he awoke in me. “Kiss me,” I heard myself breathe. He leaned closer and pressed his lips to mine.

After several moments Dagda shifted impatiently in my lap. Cal laughed and shook his head, then drew away from me as if deciding to exercise better judgment. He reached down and pulled a pad of paper and pen out of his book bag and handed them to me.

“Let’s see you write your runes,” he said.

I nodded. It wasn’t kissing, but it was magick—a close second. I began to draw, from memory, the twenty-four runes. There were others, I knew, that dated from later times, but these twenty-four were considered the basics.

“Feoh,” I said softly, drawing a vertical line, then two lines that slanted up and to the right from it. “For wealth.”

“What else is it for?” asked Cal.

“Prosperity, increase, success.” I thought. “Things turning out well. And this is Eolh, for protection,” I said, drawing the shape that was like an upside-down Mercedes logo.

“It’s very positive. This is Geofu, which stands for gift or partnership. Generosity. Strengthening friendships or other relationships. The joining of the God and Goddess.”

“Very good,” said Cal, nodding.

I kept on until I had drawn all of them, as well as a blank space for the Wyrd rune, the undrawn one, the symbol that signified something you ought not know: dangerous or hurtful knowledge, a path you should not take. In rune sets it was represented by a blank tile.

“That’s great, Morgan,” Cal whispered. “Now close your eyes and think about these runes. Let your fingers drift over the page, and stop when you feel you should stop. Then look at what rune you’ve stopped on.”

I loved this kind of thing. I closed my eyes and let my fingers skim the paper. At first I felt nothing, but then I focused my concentration, trying to shut out everything except what I was doing. I tuned out the murmur of Mary K. and Bakker’s voices from the dining room, the ticking of the cuckoo clock my dad had built from a kit, the gentle hum of the furnace kicking in.

I don’t know how long it was before I realized that my fingertips were picking up impressions. I felt feathery softness, a cool stone, a warm prickle . . . were these the images of the runes? I let myself go deeper into the magick, losing myself in its power.
There.
Yes, there was one place where I felt a stronger sensation. Each time my fingers passed it, it called to me. I let my hand drift downward to rest on the paper and opened my eyes.

My fingers were on the rune called Yr. The symbol for death.

I frowned. “What does this mean?”

“Hmmm,” said Cal, looking at the paper, his hand on his chin. “Well, you know, Yr can be interpreted many different ways. It doesn’t mean that you or someone you know is going to die. It may simply mean the ending of something and the beginning of something new. Some sort of big change, not necessarily a bad one.”

The double-fishhook symbol of Yr shone darkly on the white paper. Death. The importance of endings. It seemed like an omen. A scary omen. A jet of adrenaline surged through me, making my heart thud.

All at once I heard the back door open.

“Hello?” came my mom’s voice. “Morgan? Mary K.?” There were footsteps in the dining room. My concentration evaporated.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said to Mary K. She paused. “Hello, Bakker. Mary K., is your sister here?” I knew she meant: For God’s sake, you’re not here alone with a boy, are you?

“I’m in here,” I said, tucking the paper of runes into my pocket. Cal and I walked out of the family room. Mom’s eyes flashed over us, and I could immediately see the thoughts going through her mind.
My girls, alone in the house with two boys.
But we were all downstairs, we had our clothes on, and Mary K. and Bakker were at least sitting at the dining room table. I could see Mom consciously decide not to worry about it.

“Are you baking potatoes?” she asked, sniffing.

“Yep,” I said.

“Do you think we could mash them instead?” she asked. “I’ve asked Eileen and Paula to dinner.” She held up a folder. “I’ve got some hot prospects for them housewise.”

“Cool,” I said. “Yeah, we can mash them, and then there’ll be enough. I’m making hamburgers, too, but there’s plenty.”

“Great. Thanks, sweetie.” Mom headed upstairs to change out of her work clothes.

“I’d better go,” I heard Bakker say reluctantly. Good, I thought.

“Me too,” said Cal. “Bakker, do you think you could give me a lift back to school? That’s where I left my car.”

“No prob,” said Bakker.

I walked Cal outside, and we hugged on the front porch. He kissed my neck and whispered, “I’ll call you later. Don’t get all bent about the Yr thing. It was just an exercise.”

“Okay,” I whispered back, although I still wasn’t sure how I felt. “Thanks for coming over.”

 

Aunt Eileen arrived first. “Hi!” she said, coming in and taking off her coat. “Paula called and said she was running a few minutes late—something about a Chihuahua having a difficult labor.”

I smiled awkwardly in the front hall. I hadn’t seen her since I had demanded to know why she hadn’t told me I was adopted, at a family dinner two weeks ago. I felt a little embarrassed to see her again, but I was sure Mom had been talking to her, keeping her up-to-date with everything.

“Hi, Aunt Eileen,” I said. “I . . . uh, I’m sorry about making a scene last time. You know.”

As if to answer, she swept me up in a tight hug. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispered. “I understand. I don’t blame you a bit.”

We pulled back and smiled at each other for a moment. I knew Aunt Eileen would make everything okay again. Then she glanced down and gasped, pointing urgently to my dad’s La-Z-Boy, where a small gray butt and tail were sticking out from under the skirt.

I laughed and scooped Dagda out.

“This is Dagda,” I said, rubbing him behind his ears. “He’s my new cat.”

“Oh, my goodness,” said Eileen, stroking his head. “I’m sorry. I thought he was a rat.”

“You should know better,” I joked, putting him back on the chair. “You
date
a vet.”

Aunt Eileen laughed, too. “I know, I know.”

Soon afterward Paula arrived, her sandy hair windblown, her nose pink with cold.

“Hey,” I greeted her. “Is the Chihuahua okay?”

“Fine, and the proud mom of two pups,” she said, giving me a hug. “Oh! What a beautiful kitten!” she said, spotting Dagda on Dad’s chair.

I beamed.
Finally!
Somebody who knew what a treasure Dagda was. I’d always liked Aunt Eileen’s new girlfriend, but now it struck me that they were a perfect match. Maybe Paula was even Eileen’s
mùirn beatha dàn
.

Thinking about it brought a smile to my face. Everybody deserved somebody. Not everyone was as lucky as I was, of course. I had Cal.

“I hope you know that you can’t trust Bakker,” I said to Mary K. the next morning. I tried not to sound snotty, but it came out that way anyhow.

Mary K. didn’t answer. She just looked out her car window. Frost covered everything in lacy, powdered-sugar patterns.

I drove slowly, trying to avoid the hard patches of black ice where the newly plowed roads had puddled and frozen. My breath came out in a mist inside Das Boot.

“I know he’s really sorry,” I went on, in spite of my sister’s stiff face. “And I believe he really cares about you. But I just don’t trust his temper.”

“Then don’t go out with him,” Mary K. muttered.

Alarm bells went off in my brain. I was criticizing him, and she was defending him. I was doing what I feared: pushing them closer together. I took a deep breath. Goddess, guide me, I said silently.

“You know,” I said finally, several blocks from school. “I bet you’re right. I bet it was just a onetime thing. But you guys have talked, right?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “And he
is
really sorry. I guess it will never happen again.”

Mary K. looked over at me suspiciously, but I kept my face neutral and my eyes on the road.

“He
is
sorry,” my sister said. “He feels terrible about it. He never meant to hurt me. And now he knows he has to listen to me.”

I nodded. “I know he cares about you.”

“He does,” said Mary K.

She looked transparently self-assured. Inside, my heart throbbed. I hated this. Maybe everything I had just said was true. But I couldn’t help fearing that Bakker would try again to force Mary K. into doing something she didn’t want to do.

If he did, I would make him pay.

 

I got to school early enough to see Cal before the bell rang. He was waiting for me by the east entrance, where our coven gathered during better weather.

“Hey,” he said, kissing me. “Come on, we found a new place to hang out. It’s warmer.”

Inside, we passed the steps leading to the second floor and turned a corner. There another set of steps led down to the building’s cellar. No one was supposed to go down here except the janitors. But Robbie, Ethan, Sharon, and Jenna were sitting on the steps, talking and laughing.

“Morganita,” Robbie said, using a nickname he had given me in fifth grade. I hadn’t heard it for years, and I smiled.

“We were just talking about your birthday,” said Jenna.

“Oh!” I said in surprise. “How did you know about it?”

“I told them,” said Robbie, drinking from a carton of orange juice. “Let the cat out of the bag.”

“Speaking of cats, how’s Dagda?” Jenna asked.

Matt’s long, black-jean-clad legs obscured my view for a moment as he came and sat on the step above Jenna. She gave him a faint smile but didn’t respond when he rubbed her shoulder.

“He’s great,” I said enthusiastically. “And he’s growing really fast!”

“So your birthday’s this weekend?” Sharon asked.

“Sunday,” I said.

“Let’s have a special birthday circle on Saturday, then,” said Jenna. “With a cake and all.”

Sharon nodded. “That sounds good,” she said.

“Um, I can’t make it Saturday night,” Matt mumbled. He ran a hand through his thick black hair, lowering his eyes.

We all looked at him.

“I’ve got family stuff to do,” he added, but the words were empty.

He is the worst liar in the world, I thought, seeing Jenna staring at him.

“Actually, could we do the birthday thing some other time?” Robbie asked. “I’m thinking I wouldn’t mind skipping Saturday night’s circle, too.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Bree’s been after me to come to one of their circles,” Robbie admitted. I was surprised by his honesty, not in a bad way—but I felt a renewed rush of anger toward Bree. Robbie shrugged. “I don’t want to join their coven, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to go to one of their circles, see what they’re doing, scope it out.”

“Like spying?” Jenna asked, but her tone was soft.

Robbie shrugged again, his hair falling onto his forehead. “I’m curious,” he said. “I care about Bree. I want to know what she’s doing.”

I swallowed and forced myself to nod. “I think that’s a good idea,” I said. I couldn’t believe that Bree would try to poach from our coven, but on the other hand, I was glad that Robbie wanted to keep an eye on her to make sure she wasn’t doing anything crazy.