I'd never liked coming here, which is why the three of us had usually hung out at Bree's house, our favorite, or my house, our second favorite. Robbie's house was to be avoided, and we all knew it. But for now, it was fine.
Robbie flicked on lights, illuminating the living room, its dingy floor, and the permanent odor of stale cooking and cigarette smoke.
"Where are your folks?" I asked as we walked down the hall to Robbie's room.
"Mom's at her sister's, and Dad's hunting."
"Ugh," I said. "I still remember that time I came over and you had a deer hanging from the tree in your front yard."
Robbie laughed, and we passed through his older sister Michelle's room. She was away at college, and her room was maintained as a kind of shrine in case she ever came home. Michelle was his parents' favorite, and they made no effort to conceal it. But Robbie didn't resent her. Michelle adored Robbie, and the two of them were very close. I caught a glimpse of a framed school picture of him up on her shelf, taken last year. His face was almost unrecognizable: his skin covered with acne, his eyes concealed by glasses.
Robbie flicked on a lamp. His room was less than half the size of Michelle's, more like a big closet. There was barely enough space for his twin-sized bed, which was covered with an old Mexican blanket. A large chest of drawers toped with bookshelves was wedged into a corner. The shelves were over flowing with books, most of them paperbacks, all of them read.
"How's Michelle?" I asked, setting the box carefully on his bed. I was nervous and took my time unbuttoning my coat.
"Fine. She thinks she'll be on the dean's list again."
"Good for her. Is she coming home for Christmas?" My pulse was racing again, but I tried to calm myself. I sat down on the bed.
"Yeah." Robbie grinned. "She's going to be surprised by my looks."
I glanced at him. "Yeah," I said soberly.
"Well, are you gonna open this thing?" he asked, sitting at the other end of his bed.
I swallowed, unwilling to admit how anxious I was. What if there was something awful in there? Something awful or—
"Do you want me to do it?" he asked.
I shook my head quickly. "No—no. I'll do it."
I picked up the box. It was about twenty inches long by sixteen inches wide and about four inches tall. Outside, the metal was flaking off. Two metal clasps held the box shut. They were rusted almost solid. Robbie jumped up and rummaged around in his desk for a screwdriver, then handed it to me. Holding my breath, I wedged it under the lid and pried the clasps free. The lid opened with a pop, and I dug my fingers underneath it and flung it open.
"Wow!" Robbie and I exclaimed at the exact same time.
Though the outside of the box was worn and rusted, the inside of the box was untouched by age or the elements. The interior was shiny and silver. The first thing I saw was an athame. I picked it up. It was heavy in my hand, ancient looking, with an age-worn silver blade and an intricately carved ivory handle. Celtic knots encircled the handle, finery carved but with the unmistakable look of handwork. This hadn't been made in a factory. Turning it over, I saw that the blade itself had been stamped with rows of initials, eighteen pairs of them. The very last ones were M. R. The ones above those were M. R.
"Maeve Riordan," I said, touching the initials. "And Mackenna Riordan, her mother. My grandmother. And me." I felt a rush of happiness. "This came to me from my family." A deep sense of belonging and continuity made me beam with satisfaction. I set the athame carefully on Robbie's bed.
Next I took out a package of deep green silk. When I held it up, it fell into the folds of a robe. "Cool," said Robbie, touching it gently.
I nodded in agreement, awed. The robe was in the shape of a large rectangle, with an opening for the head and knots of silk that held the shoulders together.
"It looks like a toga," I said, holding it up to my chest. I blinked, seeing Robbie's questioning face. I smiled at him, knowing that I would try on the robe—but at home, behind locked doors.
The embroidery was astounding: full of Celtic knots, dragons, pentacles, runes, stars, and stylized plants worked in gold and silver thread. It was a work of art, and I could imagine how proud Maeve would have been to inherit it from her mother, to wear it the first time she presided over a circle. As far as I knew, Mackenna had still been high priestess of Belwicket when it was destroyed.
"This is incredible," said Robbie.
"I know," I echoed. "I know."
Folding the robe gently, I laid it aside. Next I found four small silver bowls, embossed again with Celtic symbols. I recognized the runes for air, fire, water, and earth and knew that my birth mother had used these in her circles.
I took out a wand, made of black wood. Thin gold and silver lines had been pounded into the shaft, and the tip was set with a large crystal sphere. Four small red stones circled the wand beneath the crystal, and I wondered if they were real rubies.
Beneath everything, jumbled on the bottom, were several other large chunks of crystal as well as other stones, a feather, and a silver chain with a claddagh charm on it: two hands holding a heart topped with a crown. It was funny: Mom—my adoptive mom—had a claddagh ring that Dad had given her on their twenty-fifth anniversary, last year. The chain felt warm and heavy in my hand.
My gaze swept over all the tools. So much treasure, so much bounty. It was mine: my true inheritance, filled with magick and mystery and power. I felt full of joy but in a way that I could never explain to Robbie… in a way I couldn't explain even to myself.
"Two weeks ago I had nothing of my birth mother's," I found myself saying. "Now I have her Book of Shadows and all this besides. I mean, these are things she touched and used. They're full of her magick. And I have them! This is amazing."
Robbie shook his head, his eyes wide. "What's really amazing is that you found out about them by scrying," he murmured.
"I know, I know." Excitement coursed through my veins. "It was like Maeve actually chose to visit me, to give me a message."
"Pretty weird," Robbie acknowledged. "Now, did you say that they didn't do magick while they were in America?"
I nodded. "That's what I've gotten from her Book of Shadows. I mean, I haven't finished reading it yet."
"But she brought all of this with her, anyway? And didn't use it? That must have been really hard."
"Yeah," I said. An inexplicable sense of unease began to cloud my happiness. "I guess she couldn't bear to leave her tools behind, even if she couldn't use them again."
"Maybe she knew she would have a baby," suggested Robbie, "and thought that in time she could pass the tools on. Which she did."
I shrugged. "Could be," I said thoughtfully. "I don't know. Maybe I'll find some explanation in her book."
"I wonder if she thought not using them would protect her somehow," Robbie mused. "Maybe using them would have given away her identity or her location sooner."
I gazed at him, then back at all the stuff. "Maybe so," I said slowly. The unease began to grow. My brows came together as I went on. "Maybe it's still dangerous to have these things. Maybe I shouldn't touch them—or maybe I should put them back."
"I don't know," said Robbie. "Maeve told you where to find them. She didn't seem to be warning you, did she?"
I shook my head. "No. In my vision it felt positive. No warning signs at all." I carefully folded the robe and placed it back in the box, followed by the wand, the athame, and the four small cups. Then I closed the lid. I definitely needed to talk to Cal about this, and also Alyce or David, the next time I saw them.