I stepped inside the circle, and Hunter drew it closed. Each of us stood by one of the four corners—Hunter by earth, Sky by air, Erin by water, and I by fire.
In a low voice Erin began to chant. The words were Gaelic, strange and ancient-sounding.
The water in the basin began to shimmer and glow. For a moment it looked like a pool of liquid gold. Then a light flared from the center of it—small yet brilliant, like a lump of coal that burned as bright as the sun. I couldn’t look directly at it. After a moment the coal sent up a column of light bright enough to bathe the entire room in dazzling whiteness. The column was shot through with glowing sparks, specks of silver confetti.
I felt a similar spark rise in my chest—a brilliant light was growing within me. I felt wonderfully, powerfully alive. My heart leaped, and I wanted to shout, “It’s beautiful!” but in the next moment something happened that made my skin turn cold.
Ugly black smoke began to pour from the bottom of the basin. It was thick and heavy and rolled along the floor. It had gone no more than two feet in all directions from the basin when it slowly began to rise. But it didn’t rise the way normal smoke does, floating on the air through the room. Instead it rose like bars, or long wicked fingers, around the light. It rose until it reached the ceiling, then closed around the light like a dark clutching claw.
My lungs felt tight. I struggled for air. The brilliant light within me was dimming, held in the clutches of the horrible blackness. I fell to my knees.
Hunter, Sky, and Erin began chanting. After a moment the pain in my chest receded and I could breathe, although I felt very sick. The black fingers pulled the brilliant column of light down, slowly, into the bowl, until it was nothing but a swirling pool of gray streaked with flashes of light, like a tiny dark sky full of lightning. The chanting stopped, and I knew that Hunter, Sky, and Erin had done their best to help me. Still, my head was throbbing, and I had to choke down the bile that rose in my throat.
For a moment the room was completely still.
“Morgan.” Hunter strode over to me and tried to help me to my feet.
I shook him off. “I’m fine.”
A hurt look crossed his face, but I didn’t apologize. I stood up, my knees nearly buckling.
“Morgan, you should eat something,” Erin suggested.
The thought of food repulsed me. Besides, I was dying to get out of there. Right now I couldn’t look at any of them— not even Hunter. “I’ll eat at home,” I said weakly. I checked my watch and nearly gasped. Seven-thirty! Oh my God— family night was supposed to start at six! I remembered how excited my mother had been earlier that day, and a new wave of nausea rolled through me. I couldn’t believe I’d just let my mom down in order to participate in this horrible ceremony. “I have to go,” I said, and took a staggering step toward the stairs. Sky swooped toward me, but I held up my hand. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “Let me do this.”
I gritted my teeth and somehow managed to make it upstairs and change into my normal clothes. By the time I came back downstairs, I was feeling a bit clearer, although the headache was exquisitely painful.
“I’ll drive you,” Hunter offered, but I shook my head.
“I’ve got Das Boot,” I snapped. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it home fine.”
I turned to leave, but Hunter said, “Morgan.” The pain in his voice made me turn around, and I forced myself to face him. Hunter looked pale and worried, and I realized suddenly that he really hadn’t wanted to do this any more than I had.
“Call me later” was all he said. He put his hand on my shoulder.
“Okay,” I said, but our gazes remained locked for a moment longer. His green eyes communicated a world of thoughts and feelings. He loved me. He was afraid for me. He didn’t want anything to happen to me.
I held that look in my heart the entire drive home. It was the only thing that made me feel even a little bit better.
“Where have you been?” my mother demanded the minute I walked in the door. No “Hello,” no “Are you all right?” She was sitting on the couch with her arms folded across her chest. The headache threatened to split my skull in two.
I put my fingers to my left temple and rubbed it. “I’m sorry—” I began.
“Not good enough,” my mom snapped. “What is going on, Morgan?”
I didn’t know how to answer her. I just stood there, a lump in the living room.
My mom threw her hands up. “What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “What? You knew that family night was important to me—yet not only did you blow it off, you didn’t even phone to tell me you weren’t coming.” She pushed herself off the couch and faced me. “Tell me how to get through to you, Morgan,” she said. “What’s left?”
I didn’t know what to tell her. There was no way I could make her understand what had happened tonight, and I didn’t really even want her to know. The accident at the library, the reining of my powers—it was too scary for me to deal with, never mind my mom. “I don’t know,” I mumbled.
“Well, that makes two of us.” My mom sighed, then said, “I’m sorry, but I just can’t take much more of this. I’ve tried reaching out to you; now I’m going to try punishing you. You’re grounded.”
I opened my mouth to protest but thought better of it. She was right.
“Okay,” I said.
“I mean it, Morgan,” she went on. “No phone, no television, no going out—nothing but schoolwork for the next two weeks.”
I closed my eyes. I still felt thoroughly awful. “Okay.”
“Look at me,” my mom said, so I opened my eyes. “I love you,” she said. Her voice wasn’t sentimental—she was just stating a fact. “And I don’t understand what’s going on. But whatever it is, I’m not going to let it take my daughter away from me, is that clear?”
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. There was a beat of silence.
“I’m finished,” my mom said finally. “For now.”
I turned to go upstairs but stopped suddenly. “Mom?”
“Yes?” She sounded tired.
“I really am sorry,” I said. The words hung there a moment, but she didn’t reply. I trudged toward the stairs. Every muscle in my body—every fiber—ached. My head was pounding, and my heart was heavy. I pictured Hunter in my mind, tried to visualize the look he had given me just before I left. Only this time, instead of making me feel better, it made me feel worse. I wanted to call him. I needed to hear his voice. But now it was impossible—I was grounded.
I lay on my bed, and the pain in my head dulled a little. I wondered about the limits of my magick now that I was reined. Erin had said that I would still be able to do some small spells. Could I send him a witch message? I wondered. I decided to give it a try. Hunter, I thought, Hunter. I need you.
I felt echoing emptiness inside me and knew it wasn’t working. But I tried again, anyway. And again. And again. Even though there was no reply, I didn’t give up. I couldn’t.
I didn’t know what else to do.
9. Fear
I passed Bree in the hall today. I said hello, but she didn’t hear me.
At least, I think she didn’t hear me. She looked kind of preoccupied, but maybe that was just an act so that she could pretend not to notice me. I’m sure Morgan told her about my quitting Kithic.
I haven’t missed a circle yet, but already there are so many things I miss about the coven. I miss the energy I felt from being part of the circle. I miss the feeling when a circle goes well and you feel like there’s a greater power in the room with you. Like everyone’s energy has combined and formed this force that’s more powerful than the sum of its parts. I miss feeling like I have a family.