The Coven (13 page)

“My asthma’s been acting up since it got colder,” Jenna said. I remembered her coughing but hadn’t known she had asthma. People like Jenna, Sharon, Bree—they ruled our school. I had never really considered that they might have problems and difficulties. Not until Wicca came into all our lives.

“Okay, Jenna’s asthma,” agreed Cal. “Anything else?”

None of us said anything.

Cal lowered his head and closed his eyes, and we did the same. The room was filled with our deep, even breathing, and little by little, as the minutes passed, I felt our breathing tune in to one another, becoming aligned so that we inhaled and exhaled together.

Then Cal’s voice, rich and slightly rough, said:

As we began to move deasil, the words rose and fell in a pattern so that it became a song. We half skipped, half danced in our circle, and the chant became a joyous cry that filled the room, filled all the air around us. I was laughing, breathless, feeling happy and weightless and safe in this circle. Ethan was smiling but intent, his face flushed and his corkscrew curls bouncing around his head. Sharon’s silky black hair was flying, and she looked pretty and carefree. Jenna looked like a blond fairy queen, and Matt was dark and purposeful. Robbie moved with new grace and coordination as we spun faster and faster. The only thing I missed was Bree’s face in the circle.

I felt the energy rise. It coiled around us, building and thickening and swirling in our circle. The living room floor was warm and smooth beneath my socked feet, and I felt like if I let go of Jenna’s and Sharon’s hands, I would fly off through the ceiling into the sky. As I looked above me, still chanting the words, I saw the white ceiling waver and dissolve to show me the deep indigo night and the white and yellow stars popping out of the sky so brightly. Awestruck, I gazed upward, seeing the infinite possibilities of the universe where before there had been only a ceiling. I wanted to reach out and touch the stars, and without hesitating, I unclasped my hands and stretched my arms overhead.

At the same instant everyone else let go and threw their arms overhead, and the circle stopped where it was while the swirling energy continued to coil around us, stronger and stronger. I reached for the stars, feeling the energy pressing against my backbone.

“Take the energy into you!” Cal called, and automatically I pressed my clasped fist against my chest. I breathed in warmth and white light and felt my worries melt away. I swayed on my feet and once again tried to touch the stars. Reaching overhead, I felt myself brush a tiny, prickly firelight that was hot and sharp against my fingers. It felt like a star, and I brought down my hand.

With the light in my hand I gazed at the others, wondering if they could see it.Then Cal was at my side because I always channeled too much energy and had to ground myself afterward. But this time I felt fine—not too dizzy, not too sick, just happy and lighthearted and full of wonder.

“Whoa,” Ethan whispered, his eyes on me.

“What is that?” asked Sharon.

“Morgan!” Jenna said in awe. Her breath sounded tight and strained, and she was breathing fast and shallowly. I turned to her. I felt like I could do anything.

Reaching out, I pressed the light against her chest. She gasped with a small “Ah!” and I traced a line from one side to the other beneath her collarbones. Closing my eyes, I flattened my hand on her breastbone and felt the starlight dissolve into her. She gasped again and staggered on her feet, and Cal put out his hand but didn’t touch me. Under my fingers I felt Jenna’s lungs swell as she sucked in air. I felt the microscopic alveoli opening to admit oxygen, tiny capillaries absorbing the oxygen; I felt it as, from the smallest veins to the thick, ridged muscles of her bronchial tubes, each one expanded in a domino effect, loosening, relaxing, absorbing oxygen.

Jenna panted.

My eyes opened, and I smiled.

“I can breathe,” Jenna said slowly, touching her chest. “I was starting to tighten up. I knew I’d need my inhaler after the circle, and I didn’t want to use it in front of everyone.” Jenna’s eyes sought Matt, and he came to put his arm around her. “She opened up my lungs and put air in with that light,” Jenna said, sounding dazed.

“Okay, stop,” Cal said, gently taking my hands. “Quit touching things. Like on Samhain, maybe you should lie down and ground yourself.”

I shook off his hands. “I don’t want to ground myself,” I said clearly. “I want to keep it.” I flexed my fingers, wanting to touch something else, see what happened.

Cal looked at me. Something flickered in his eyes.

“I just want to keep this feeling,” I explained.

“It can’t stay forever,” he said. “Energy doesn’t linger—it needs to go somewhere. You don’t want to go around zapping things.”

I laughed. “I don’t?”

“No,” he assured me. Then he led me to a clear place on the polished wood floor, and I lay down, feeling the strength of the earth beneath my back, feeling the energy cease its whizzing around inside me, being absorbed by the earth’s ancient embrace. In a few minutes I felt much more normal, less light-headed and . . . I guess, less drunk. Or at least, that’s what I imagined feeling drunk was like. I didn’t have much practice with it.

“Why can she do this?” Matt asked, his arm still protectively around Jenna. Jenna was taking deep, experimental breaths. “It’s so easy,” she marveled. “I feel so . . . so unconstricted.”

Cal gave a wry chuckle. “It freaks me out, too, sometimes. Morgan does things that would be amazing for a high priestess to do—someone with years and years of training and experience. She just has a lot of power, that’s all.”

“You called her a blood witch,” Ethan remembered. “She’s a blood witch, like you. But how is that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, sitting up. “I’m sorry if I did something I shouldn’t have—again. But I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I just wanted to fix Jenna’s breathing. I don’t want to talk about being a blood witch. Okay?”

Six pairs of eyes looked at me.The members of my coven nodded or said okay. Only in Cal’s face did I read the message that we would definitely have to talk about it later.

“I’m hungry,” complained Ethan. “Got any munchies?”

“Sure,” said Matt, heading toward the kitchen.

“Too bad we can’t go swimming again,” Jenna said regretfully.

“We can’t?” Cal asked with a wicked smile at me. “Why not? My house isn’t that far away.”

Cringing, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“No way,” Sharon scoffed, to my relief. “Even if the water is heated, the air’s way too cold. I don’t want to freeze.”

“Oh, well,” Cal said. Matt came in with a bowl of popcorn, and he helped himself to a big fistful. “Maybe some other time.”

When no one could see me, I made a face at him, and he laughed silently.

I leaned against him, feeling warm and happy. It had been an amazing, exhilarating circle, even without Bree.

My smile faded as I wondered where she and Raven were tonight and who they were with.

May 7, 1982

We’re leaving this soulless place. I’ve been working as a cashier in a diner, and Angus has been down in the meat district, unloading huge American cows and putting their carcasses on hooks. I feel my soul dying, and so does Angus. We’re saving every penny so we can leave, go anywhere else.

Not much news from home. None of Belwicket is left to tell us what happened, and what little bits and pieces we get aren’t enough to figure out anything. I don’t even know why I write in this book anymore, except as a diary. It is no longer a Book of Shadows. It hasn’t been since my birthday, when my world was destroyed. I haven’t done any magick since being here, nor has Angus. No more will I. It has done nothing but wreak destruction.

I am only twenty, and yet I feel ready for death’s embrace.

—M. R.

The next morning during church I suddenly had an idea. I glanced over at the dark confessionals. After the service was over, I told my parents that I wanted to make confession. They looked a little surprised, but what could they say?

“I don’t want to go to the diner today,” I added. “I’ll just see you at home later.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other, then Dad nodded.

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “Morgan—,” she began, then shook her head. “Nothing. I’ll see you later, at home.”

Mary K. looked at me but didn’t say anything. Her face was troubled as she left with my parents.

I waited impatiently in line as parishioners went in to confess their sins. I realized I could probably tune in to what they were talking about, but I didn’t want to try. It would be wrong. Father Hotchkiss heard some pretty steamy stuff sometimes, I’d guess. And probably some really boring, petty things, too.

Finally it was my turn. I knelt inside the cubicle and waited for the small grated window to slide open. When it did, I crossed myself and said, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been, um . . .” I thought back quickly. “Four months since my last confession.”

“Go ahead, my child,” said Father Hotchkiss, as he had all my life, every time I had confessed.

“Um . . .” I hadn’t thought ahead this far and didn’t have a list of sins ready. I really didn’t want to go into some of the things I’d been doing, and I didn’t consider them sins, anyway. “Well, lately I’ve been feeling very angry at my parents,” I stated baldly. “I mean, I love my parents, and I try to honor them, but I recently . . . found out I was adopted.” There. I had said it, and on the other side of the screen I saw Father Hotchkiss’s head come up a bit as he took in my words. “I’m upset and angry that they didn’t tell me before and that they won’t talk to me about it now,” I went on. “I want to know more about my birth parents. I want to know where I came from.”

There was a long pause as Father Hotchkiss digested what I had said. “Your parents have done as they thought best,” he said at last. He didn’t deny that I was adopted, and I still felt humiliated that practically everyone had known but me.

“My birth mother is dead,” I said, pushing on. I swallowed, feeling uncomfortable, even nervous talking about this. “I want to know more about her.”

“My child,” Father Hotchkiss said gently. “I understand your wishes. I can’t say that I would not feel the same, were I in your place. But I tell you, and I speak with years of experience, that sometimes it really is best to leave the past alone.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I hadn’t really expected anything else. “I see,” I whispered, trying not to cry.

“My dear, the Lord works in mysterious ways,” said the priest, and I couldn’t believe he was saying something so clichéd. He went on. “For some reason, God brought you to your parents, and I know they couldn’t love you more. He chose them for you, and He chose you for them. It would be wise to respect His decision.”

I sat and pondered this, wondering how true it was.Then I became aware that other people were waiting after me and it was time to go. “Thank you, Father,” I said.

“Pray for guidance, my dear.And I will pray for you.”

“Okay.” I slipped out of the confessional, put on my coat, and headed out the huge double doors into bright November sunshine. I had to think.

 

After so many gray days it was nice to be walking in sunlight, kicking through the damp, brown leaves underfoot. Every now and then a golden leaf floated down around me, and each one that fell was like another second ticking off on the clock that turned autumn to winter.

I passed through downtown Widow’s Vale, glancing in the shop windows. Our town is old, with the town hall dating back to 1692. Every once in a while I notice again how charming it is, how picturesque. A cool breeze lifted my hair, and I caught a scent of the Hudson River, bordering the town.

By the time I got home, I’d thought about what Father Hotchkiss had said. I could see some wisdom in his words, but that didn’t mean I could accept not knowing the whole truth. I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I would ask for guidance at the next circle.

Walking two miles had warmed me up nicely, and I tossed my jacket over a chair in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock. If I assumed my family followed their usual routine at the diner, they wouldn’t be home for another hour or so. It would be nice to have the house to myself for a while.

A thump overhead made me freeze. Weirdly, the first thought I had was that Bree was in my house, possibly with Raven, and they were casting a spell on my bedroom or something. I don’t know why I didn’t think of burglars or a stray squirrel that had somehow gotten in—I just immediately thought of Bree.

I heard scuffling sounds and the loud scraping noise of a piece of furniture being jolted out of place. I quietly opened the mudroom door and picked up my baseball bat. Then I kicked off my shoes and headed upstairs in my stocking feet.

By the time I reached the top of the landing, I could tell the sounds were coming from Mary K.’s room. Then I heard her voice, saying, “Ow! Stop it! Dammit, Bakker!”

I stopped, unsure of what to do.

“Get off me,” Mary K. said angrily.

“Oh, come on, Mary K.,” was Bakker’s response. “You said you loved me! I thought that meant—”

“I told you I didn’t want to do that!” Mary K. cried.

I flung open the door to find Bakker Blackburn entangled with my sister on her single bed. Her legs were kicking.

“Hey!” I said loudly, making them both jump. Their heads turned to stare at me, and I saw relief in Mary K.’s eyes. “You heard her,” I said loudly. “Get off!”