The Coven (8 page)

“Well, this is lovely news,” said Mom, although something in her face said that she thought it would be better if they had known each other longer.

Eileen popped the cork on the sparkling cider and poured it. Paula handed glasses around, and Mary K. and I immediately gulped down sips.

“Are you going to buy a house together or rent?” Mom asked.

“We’re looking to buy,” said Eileen. “We both have apartments now, but I want to get a dog, so we need a yard.”

“And I need room for a garden,” said Paula.

“A dog and a garden might be mutually exclusive,” said my dad, and they laughed. I smiled, too, but it all felt so unreal: as if I were watching someone else’s family on television.

“I was hoping you could help us with the house hunting,” Eileen said to my mom.

Mom smiled, for the first time since yesterday, I realized. “I was already running through possibilities in my head,” she admitted. “Can you come by the office soon, and we can set up some appointments?”

“That would be great,” said Eileen. Paula reached over and squeezed her shoulder. They looked at each other as if no one else was in the room.

“Moving is going to be insane,” said Paula. “I have stuff scattered everywhere: my mom’s, my dad’s, my sister’s. My apartment was just too small to hold everything.”

“Fortunately, I have a niece who’s not only strong but has a huge car,” Aunt Eileen offered brightly, looking over at me.

I stared at her. I wasn’t really her niece, though, was I? Even Eileen had been playing into this whole fantasy that was my life. Even she, my favorite aunt, had been lying and keeping secrets from me for sixteen years.

“Aunt Eileen, do you know why Mom and Dad never told me I was adopted?” I just put it out there, and it was as if I had mentioned I had the bubonic plague.

Everyone stared at me, except Mary K., who was staring at her plate miserably, and Paula, who was watching Aunt Eileen with a concerned expression.

Aunt Eileen looked like she had swallowed a frog. Her eyes wide, she said, “What?” and shot quick glances at my mom and dad.

“I mean, don’t you think somebody should have told me? Maybe just mentioned it? You could have said something. Or maybe you just didn’t think it was that important,” I pressed on. Part of me knew I wasn’t being fair. But somehow I couldn’t stop myself. “No one else seems to.After all, it’s just my life we’re talking about.”

Mom said, “Morgan,” in a defeated tone of voice.

“Uh . . . ,” said Aunt Eileen, for once at a loss for words.

Everyone was as embarrassed as I was, and the festive air had gone out of dinner.

“Never mind,” I said abruptly, standing up. “We can talk about it later.Why not? After sixteen years what’s a few days more?”

“Morgan, I always felt your parents should be the ones to tell you—,” Aunt Eileen said, sounding distressed.

“Yeah, right,” I said rudely. “When was that going to happen?”

Mary K. gasped, and I pushed my chair back roughly. I couldn’t stand being here one more second. I couldn’t take their hypocrisy anymore. I would explode.

This time I remembered to grab my jacket before I ran out to my car and peeled off into the darkness.

St. Patrick’s Day, 1981

Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’m so drunk, I can hardly write. Ballynigel just put on a St. Paddy’s party to end all parties. All the townspeople, everyone, gathered together to have a good time in the village. Human or witch, we all agree on St. Paddy’s Day, the wearing of the green.

Pat O’Hearn dyed all his beer green, and it was sloshing into mugs, into pails, into shoes, anything. Old Towson gave some to his donkey, and that donkey has never been so tame or good-natured! I laughed until I had to hold my sides in.

The Irish Cowboys played their music all afternoon right in the town green, and we all danced and pinched one another, and the kids were throwing cabbages and potatoes. We had a good day, and our dark time seems to be well and truly over.

Now I’m home, and I lit three green candles to the Goddess for prosperity and happiness. There’s a full moon tonight, so I have to sober up, dress warm, and go gather my luibh. The dock root down at the pond is ready for taking in, and there’s early violets, dandelions, and cattails, too, ready. I can’t drink any more beer until then, or they’ll find me facedown in the marsh, too drunk to pick myself up! What a day!

—BradhadairY

 

As I drove it occurred to me that there was nowhere to go at eight o’clock on a Monday night in Widow’s Vale, New York. I pictured myself showing up at Schweikhardt’s soda shop, on Main Street, with tears streaming down my cheeks. I pictured myself showing up at Janice’s the same way. No—Janice had no idea how complicated my life had gotten. Robbie? I considered for a second but shook my head. I hated going to his house, with his dad drinking beer in front of the TV and his mom all tight-lipped and angry. And of course Bree didn’t even enter into it—God, what a bitch she’d been today.

Cal? I turned and headed toward his neighborhood, feeling desperate and daring, brave and terrified. Was I being presumptuous by going to his house uninvited? There was so much going on in my mind: my birth parents’ story, my other parents’ refusal to tell me the truth about my past, Bree—it was all too much to think about. I felt like I couldn’t make any kind of decision about anything—even about whether it was okay for me to show up at Cal’s house unannounced.

By the time I pulled into the long, cobblestone driveway of Cal’s big stone house, I felt completely incoherent. What was I doing? I just wanted to drive off into the night forever, far away from everyone I knew. Be a different person. I couldn’t believe this was my life.

I cut the lights and the engine and hunched over my steering wheel, literally frozen with uncertainty. I couldn’t even start the car again to get out of there.

Who knows how long I huddled in the darkness outside Cal’s home. I finally looked up when strong headlights flooded the interior of my car, reflecting off my rearview mirror and shining into my eyes. An expensive-looking SUV pulled around my car and parked neatly, close to the house. Its door opened, and a tall, slender woman stepped out, her hair barely visible in the darkness. The house’s outdoor floodlights came on, bathing the driveway in warm yellow light.The woman walked to my car.

Feeling like an idiot, I rolled down my window as Selene Belltower approached. For long moments she gazed at my face, as if evaluating me. We neither smiled nor spoke to each other.

Finally she said, “Why don’t you come inside, Morgan? You must be chilled through. I’ll make some cocoa.” As if it was normal to find a girl in a car sitting in the dark outside her house.

I got out of Das Boot and slammed the door. We walked up the broad stone steps together, Cal’s mom and I, and through the massive wooden front door. She led me across the foyer, down a hall, into a huge French country-style kitchen I hadn’t seen on my other visit here.

“Sit down, Morgan,” she said, gesturing to a tall stool by the kitchen island.

I sat, hoping Cal was here. I hadn’t seen his car outside, but maybe it was in the garage.

I cast my senses out, but I couldn’t feel his presence close by. Selene Belltower’s head snapped up as she poured milk into a pan. Her brows came together, and she looked at me assessingly.

“You’re very strong,” she commented. “I didn’t learn how to cast my senses until I was in my twenties. Cal isn’t here, by the way.”

“I’m sorry,” I said awkwardly. “I should go. I don’t want to bother you. . . .”

“You’re not bothering me,” she said. She spooned some cocoa powder into the milk and whisked it smooth on the cooktop across from me. “I’ve been curious. Cal has told me some very interesting things about you.”

Cal talked to his mother about me?

She laughed, a warm, earthy laugh, when she saw the expression on my face. “Cal and I are pretty close,” she said. “For a long time it’s been just the two of us. His father left us when Cal was about four.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. She was speaking to me as if I were an adult, and for some reason this made me feel younger than sixteen.

Selene Belltower shrugged. “I was sorry, too. Cal missed his father very much, but he lives in Europe now, and they don’t see each other often. At any rate—you shouldn’t be startled that my son confides in me. It would be silly for him to try to hide anything, after all.”

I breathed in, trying to relax. So this was life in a blood-witch household. No secrets.

Cal’s mother poured the cocoa into two brightly colored hand-painted mugs and handed one to me. It was too hot to drink, so I set it down and waited. Selene waved her hand over her mug twice, then took a sip.

“Try this,” she suggested, looking up at me. “Take your left hand and circle it widdershins over your mug. Say, ‘Cool the fire.’”

I did, wondering. I felt warmth go into my left hand.

“Try the cocoa now,” she said, watching me.

I took a sip. It was noticeably cooler, perfect to drink. I grinned, delighted.

“Left hand takes away,” she explained. “Right hand gives. Deasil for increasing, widdershins for decreasing. And simple words are best.”

I nodded and drank my cocoa.This one small thing was so fascinating to me. The idea that I could speak words, make movements that cooled a hot drink to the right temperature!

Selene smiled, and then her eyes focused on mine sympathetically. “You look like you’ve had a rough time.”

This was an understatement, but I nodded. “Has Cal . . . told you about . . . anything?”

She put her mug down. “He’s told me you recently found out you were adopted,” she said. “That your biological parents must be blood witches. And this afternoon he told me you thought you were probably the daughter of two Irish witches who died here sixteen years ago.”

I nodded again. “Not exactly here—Meshomah Falls. About two hours away. I think my mother’s name was Maeve Riordan.”

Selene’s face became grave. “I’ve heard that story,” she said. “I remember when it happened. I was forty years old; Cal wasn’t quite two. I remember thinking that such a thing could never happen to me, my husband, our child.” Her long fingers played with the rim of her mug. “I know better now.” She looked up at me again. “I’m very sorry this has happened to you. It’s always somewhat difficult to be different, even if you have a lot of support. One is still set apart. But I know you must be having an especially hard time.”

My throat felt like it was closing again, and I drank my cocoa. I didn’t trust myself to agree. I distracted myself with pointless details: If she had been forty sixteen years ago, she would be about fifty-six now. She looked like she was about thirty-five.

“If you want,” said Selene, sounding hesitant, “I can help you feel better.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. For a wild moment I wondered, Is she offering me drugs?

“Well, I’m picking up waves of upset, discord, unhappiness, anger,” she said. “We could make a small, two-person circle and try to get you to a better place.”

I caught my breath. I had only ever made a circle with Cal and our coven. What would it be like with someone who was even more powerful than he was? I found myself saying, “Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”

Selene smiled, looking very much like Cal. “Come on, then.”

The house was shaped like a U, with a middle part and two wings. She led me to the back of the left wing, through a very large room that I figured she must use for her coven’s circles. She opened a door that set into the wall paneling, so you could barely see it. I felt a thrill of pure, childlike delight. Secret doors!

We stepped into a much smaller, cozier room furnished only with a narrow table, some bookshelves, and candelabras on the walls. Selene lit the candles.

“This is my private sanctuary,” she said, brushing her fingers over the doorjamb. For a fleeting moment I saw sigils glimmering there. They must be for privacy or protection. But I had no idea how to read them. There was so much I needed to learn. I was a complete novice.

Selene had already drawn a small circle on the wooden floor, using a reddish powder that gave off a strong, spicy scent. She motioned me into the circle with her and then closed it behind us.

“Let’s sit down,” she said. With us facing each other, sitting cross-legged on the floor, there was very little room inside the circle.

We each sprinkled salt around our half of the circle, saying, “With this salt, I purify my circle.”

Then Selene closed her eyes and let her head droop, her hands on her knees as if doing yoga. “With every breath out, release a negative emotion. With every breath in, take in white light, healing light, soothing and calming light. Feel it enter your fingers, your toes, settle in your stomach, reach up through the crown of your head.”

As she spoke her voice became slower, deeper, more mesmerizing. My eyes were closed, my chin practically resting on my chest. I breathed out, forcing air completely out of my lungs.Then I breathed in, listening to her soothing words.

“I release tension,” she murmured, and I repeated it after her without hesitation.

“I release fear and anger,” she said, her words floating to me on a sea of calm. I repeated it and literally felt the knots in my stomach begin to uncoil, the tightness in my arms and calves unravel.

“I release uncertainty,” she said, and I followed her.

We breathed deeply, silently for several minutes. My headache dissolved, my temples ceased throbbing, my chest expanded, and I could breathe more easily.

“I feel calm,” Selene said.

“Me too,” I agreed dreamily. I sensed rather than saw her smile.

“No, say it,” she prompted, humor in her voice.

“Oh. I feel calm,” I said.