“Fine,” I said, my voice thick from sleep. “I just stayed up late last night. I had to hand in my history paper today.” Both of these things were true, although unrelated.
My mom nodded. “I made you some soup.” She placed the tray on the floor by my bed. “Lean forward.”
I obeyed, and she plumped up the pillows behind me. Then she placed the tray on my lap. The soup was minestrone—one of my favorites. “Delicious,” I said when I’d had a spoonful.
“I didn’t wake you because I figured you needed your rest,” my mom said. “Besides, Dad and I like to have a romantic dinner alone sometimes.”
“Where’s Mary K.?” I asked.
“She’s over at Alisa’s house.” Mom traced a finger over the edge of my afghan. “Apparently Alisa was out sick today. Mary K. went over to give her the Spanish assignment.” My mother studied the pattern in the blanket carefully. I knew she was holding something back. Almost as if she felt me looking at her, my mom leaned over and brushed my hair away from my face.
“I really don’t feel sick,” I assured her. “I was just tired. I feel better already.”
I think my mom could tell I was lying, but she didn’t press me. Instead, she just stood up. “Leave the tray by your bed when you’re finished,” she instructed. “I’ll come back and get it later.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said.
She nodded and closed the door behind her as she left. I had another spoonful of soup and realized that I really did feel better—a little better, anyway. For once my mom and I hadn’t argued about grades, or beliefs, or Catholic school. It had seemed, for a moment, almost like we were back to normal.
Almost.
13. Flame
I can’t write much—the pen feels like lead in my hand.
This morning I woke up feeling so sick that my sheets were actually hurting me. When Dad took my temperature, he flipped out—it was 103 degrees. He gave me some Tylenol and me drink some juice, then he took me to Dr. Hawthorne’s office. He took my blood and a strep cutture. But he didn’t really have any idea what was making me so sick. He seemed worried that my temperature had spiked so quickly but couldn’t explain it. He says it’s the flu. Doctors always say it’s the flu.
Mary K. came over for a while, which made me feel a bit better, but now I’m feeling worse again—feverish and nauseated. Nothing seems to help.
I’m scared. I wish I could call someone in Kithic. I miss it so much that I’m starting to think I made a mistake by leaving the coven. But I guess it’s too late to go back now.
— Alisa
By the time I stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen on Saturday morning, Mary K. was already dressed and stacking the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.
“Is Alisa there?” Mary K. asked, and I realized she was talking into the cordless as she straightened up and closed the dishwasher. “She is?” There was a long pause. “What’s wrong?” An even longer pause. “Oh. Okay.” Mary K. reached out and gripped the countertop. “Can she have visitors? ” she asked. “Well, thanks, Mr. Soto,” she said finally. “Tell her. . tell her I hope she gets better soon.” Mary K.’s eyebrows drew together in a worried frown as she clicked off the phone and placed it on the counter.
I was tempted to sneak away—this was none of my business—but Mary K.’s expression disturbed me. I cleared my throat to let her know I was there, and asked, “Everything okay?”
Mary K. turned to face me. Her eyebrows lifted, and for a moment I thought she was going to yell at me for eavesdropping, but she seemed to change her mind. “Alisa’s really sick,” she said finally. “She’s in the hospital.”
“Oh,” I said. A feeling of dread squeezed my lungs. “What’s wrong?”
Mary K.’s voice shook a little. “Nobody knows. All they know is that it’s serious. She’s. . she’s not even conscious. Her dad is really freaked out.”
“Oh my God, Mary K.” I went over to her and hugged her. “That’s horrible.”
Mary K. started to cry. I didn’t say anything. . I just rubbed her back the way I used to do when we were children. After a few moments she took a couple of shaky breaths. “It’s just scary,” she whispered into my shoulder.
“I know,” I replied. “But she’s in the hospital now. The doctors are there—they’ll figure out what’s wrong with her.” I rubbed her back again. “It’s going to be okay.” I hoped it was true.
Mary K. pulled away from me. “Morgan,” she said, and stopped.
“What?” I asked.
“Morgan, I’m sorry I told Mom and Dad about your friend.”
It took a minute for me to figure out who she was talking about. “You mean Erin?” I asked.
“I was just so s-s-scared.” Another tear squeezed out of the corner of Mary K.’s eye and trickled down the side of her cheek. I brushed it away.
“I know,” I said. “It’s okay.”
We looked at each other a moment. “I don’t want anything to happen,” Mary K. said.
“It won’t,” I assured her.
“How do you know?” she demanded. “I mean—why are you risking it?”
I sighed. “Mary K., magick isn’t just horrible, dangerous, dark things. It can also be beautiful and wonderful. It’s part of who I am. And I’m”—How could I put it? — “I’m strong. You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” The words were more forceful than I really believed, but saying them actually made me feel better.
They seemed to have the same effect on Mary K. She straightened up and passed her hands over her face, then she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Morgan—would you take me to see Alisa?”
“Of course,” I said quickly. I was about to ask whether she wanted to go right now, but then I remembered. “Oh, crap, I’m grounded. We’ll have to ask Mom and Dad if it’s okay.”
“They’re out running errands,” Mary K. said, “and visiting hours are only until three.”
“Can we go tomorrow?”
Mary K. nodded. “Sure. That would be great.” She started to head out of the room, then turned back. “Thanks, Morgan,” she said.
I nodded. “No problem.”
Mary K. smiled at me, and for a moment she looked just like the sister I knew—the one who loved me, no matter what.
That night I moped around the house for a couple of hours. The house was deserted—Mom and Dad were over at the Berkows’ for dinner, and Mary K. had gone over to her friend Susan’s house. My parents had given me permission to watch television, but there was nothing decent on any of the channels. My chest ached. I still felt awful from the previous night’s spell, but more than that, I was sad about tonight’s circle. It would be the last one with Sky, and I was missing it.
What I needed was magick, and if I couldn’t go to Sharon’s house along with the rest of Kithic, I could at least try to scry by myself. Maybe some of my power had returned.
Up in my room, the match hissed and flared as I lit my pillar candle. I breathed deeply and stared into the flame. I could feel the rays of warmth radiating off the candle. The heat sank into me, driving away the cold draft in my room. As my breathing grew more regular, I felt calm. . and after a while, happy. I looked into the depths of the small blaze. The graduated colors, the blue, orange, and yellow, of the fire seemed to swirl together and grow. They flared and changed color, first to red, then purple, then violet, then green. The green fire twirled slowly, like an eddy in the ocean, and I realized that the fire was showing me something and bent closer.