When I am initiated in a few months, I will have access to the family library. Right now I don't even know where it is— it's carefully protected by layers of spells. Our store of knowledge is said to be most impressive of any coven in the area. Surely we must have something there that would help guide us and solve this problem? I feel strongly that this is so… I can barely explain it. My anticipation grows everyday.
— Aoibheann
Mary K. and I had settled ourselves in her bedroom after school (with a huge assortment of snacks, of course), she gave me all the latest on Mark, the current object of her affection. She'd finally worked up the courage to ask him out, and of course he had said yes. Mary K. is perky and adorable, and she drives the menfolk crazy, unlike myself. They had a date set up for Friday. I listened distractedly as she ran through all the possible options for the location of the big event.
"So," she concluded, "what do you think?"
Oh, man. I hadn't been paying attention. I vaguely remembered hearing something about going to Colonel Green's, the new there restaurant that had just opened near the mall. It was supposed to look like and old sportsmen's club, and it had a handful of little secluded tables with curtains around them, perfect for a first date.
"Dinner," I said, grabbing a handful of chips. "Good idea. Colonel Green's."
"You were completely tuned out," she said, but not angrily. "Weren't you?"
"Kind of," I admitted. I took a deep breath. "I need to talk to you about something."
"What's up?" she said, concerned.
"You asked me what's been going on recently, why I've been so distant."
"I've been worried about you," she replied, popping the top of a bottle of iced tea and setting the cap on the ground for Dagda, Morgan's kitten, to bat around.
Okay. Just come out and say it.
"I'm a witch," I blurted. "Just like Morgan."
Mary K. flinched just a bit, then seemed to try to ignore what I was saying by going through the contents of her bag. "I know you were in that thing she goes to… that Kithic thing."
"It's more than that," I explained. "My mother was a witch. I'm a blood witch."
She looked up at me, frozen.
"What do you mean, your mother was a witch? What's a blood witch?"
"Do you remember that book Morgan had here the other week?" I asked. "The one I kept staring at? That book was my mother's Book of… her diary."
"How could Morgan get your mother's diary?" she asked shortly. "That is ridiculous. Do you hear what you are saying?"
"I know what I'm saying," I said with a sigh, "and I know how it sounds. But it's true. My mother was a blood witch. I can… do things…"
"You're trying to tell my that you have magickal powers?" she said. "Is that it?"
Oh, God.
"You've been sick," she said agitatedly shaking out the entire contents of her baf onto the floor. "You're stressed out about what's happening with your dad."
"I wish that was it," I said. "I wish I was just imagining all of this. But I'm not. This stuff is real. It's not some dumb high school trend or some kind of Ren Faire spin-off club. Witches are real. I have the book here. I'll show you."
I reached into my bag to get my mom's Book of Shadows. I always carry it with me. She held up her hand, indicating that I shouldn't bother.
"I don't understand," she said, her brown eyes blazing. "We were going to write that letter to the paper. Now you're telling me that you're back into this witch stuff, just like that, and that somehow Morgan had a book that said your mother was a witch?"
"Look, I didn't mean to upset you." I hung my head. "I would give anything for this not to be true. It's not a choice."
We were both silent for a few minutes. The only noise came from Dagda trying to chomp in the bottle cap.
"Alisa," she said sadly. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do with this."
"Neither do I," I replied, running my finger along the seams of her lemon-colored comforter. She took a pretzel out of the bag and dropped it on the floor. Dagda pounced in excitement. "I should probably go," I said quietly.
Mary K. looked unhappy, but I think we both realized that our conversation was over. There was just a lot of dead air between us, and it was making both of us uncomfortable.
"My parents aren't home yet," she said. "Neither is Morgan."
"It's nice out," I said. "I'll walk home."
We looked at each other; then she turned her attention to her books, her face drawn. I quietly let myself out.
Morgan drives the weirdest car I have ever seen in my life, some kind of monster from the early seventies. It's huge and unbearably ugly, with a white body and a blue hood, and she treats it as if it were her very own child. She was docking this scary ship into the driveway when I came out of her front door. I stopped, and she stepped out of the car and looked at me.
"What's wrong, Alisa?" she said, eyeing my slumped shoulders.
"I just told Mary K. the truth," I said flatly. "That I'm a blood witch like you."
She exhaled loudly and leaned back against the car.
"How'd that go?" she asked.
"It sucked."
She frowned. At least she understood what it was like for me. I knew that when she'd told her family, it had ended up being a royal mess. Things had improved for her, though… maybe they would for me too.
"How about a ride home?" she asked. I nodded my thanks. She climbed back into the car, and I got in on the passenger's side.
"Mary K. will come around," she said, trying her best to cheer me up.
"No, she won't," I said, playing with the window crank. "You know as well as I do. This isn't something that people come around to."
"Want to have an informal circle?" she asked. "It might clear your mind a bit. How about we go to Hunter's?"
Morgan's boyfriend in Hunter Niall, the leader of Kithic. Hunter had really intimidated me until very recently. He's an imposing guy—very good looking and tall, with chiseled features and piercing green eyes. He's always, always serious. To top it all off, he's British, with this exacting accent. But I had gotten to know Hunter a bit better recently, and I'd seen that he wasn't so scary after all. Even if I'd wanted to go and have a circle with them, though, I couldn't.
"It's all right," I said wearily. "I have to pack up my room or I'll be grounded until I'm twenty."
"Pack up your room?"
I explained Hilary's master house-arranging plan, and Morgan gave me a sympathetic look.
"This hasn't been a great month for you," she said.
"For you, either."
"No," she agreed. In the process of dealing with the dark wave, Morgan had confronted her father—a very powerful, and apparently evil, witch named Ciaran. Morgan had assisted Hunter and some others in catching him and stripping him of his magickal powers. From what I'd heard, that had been pretty awful. "I guess not," she said with a sigh. "Maybe it's never easy to find out you're a blood witch. That's something Hunter and the other witches can't quite understand. They don't know what it's like to have a regular family members and witch blood. We're unique."
How about that? Morgan and I, two of a kind.
"So," she said, pulling up to my house, "see you on Saturday for the circle? I can pick you up at seven-thirty if you want."
"That would be great," I said. "Thanks."