I really had no choice but to try to believe her. “Thanks,” I said as the first bell rang. I had the feeling it was going to be a very long day.
By the time I slid into my 1971 Plymouth Valiant—affectionately nicknamed Das Boot—my arms were practically shaking with exhaustion. I’d hidden Jenna’s notes behind my textbook in every class. Unfortunately, the cramming hadn’t helped. I’d wanted to tell Mr. Powell not to bother grading my exam. I knew I’d flunked.
I turned the key in the ignition and smiled as it turned over immediately. Old reliable. Mary K. was at cheerleading practice and had told me she’d catch a ride with one of her friends. It was the only thing she’d said to me all day.
Suddenly I didn’t want to go home. I could picture myself all alone in the quiet house. My parents wouldn’t be home for hours, and I had no one to talk to about my horrible day. Not that I wanted to tell my parents about flunking a test.
I started for Hunter’s house. Please be home, I thought, remembering the sense of calm I’d felt with him the night before.
Hunter was standing in the front doorway as I pulled into his driveway, gravel crunching beneath my tires.
“Rough day?” he asked, leaning in to kiss me as I climbed the front steps.
“Horrendous.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. His lips tasted like cinnamon tea.
He smiled. “Why don’t you come in and tell me about it?” The warm scent of cinnamon wafted past my nose as we stepped into the worn, comfortable living room. I knew without casting out my senses that Sky, Hunter’s cousin, was upstairs.
“Should I say hello?” I asked.
Hunter hesitated. “I think she’ll come down if she feels like it. She’s been pretty low lately.”
I nodded. Sky and Raven had been a couple for a while, but they’d recently broken up—thanks mostly to my half brother Killian. I wasn’t sure how Raven felt—it was hard to break through her tough-girl exterior—but I knew Sky was in a lot of pain. I felt a pang of sympathy as I imagined Sky going through a breakup halfway around the world from most of her friends.
I shrugged off my coat. Hunter took it and hung it up next to his in the hall closet. Then he came and pulled me down beside him on the threadbare couch.
“I spoke with Eoife again this morning,” he said. “She’s concerned about you. She would like for you to learn more about magickal defenses, and so would I.”
“What’s that?” I asked. “Like, self-defense for witches or something?”
Hunter nodded without humor. “That’s exactly what it is.” His green eyes seemed to deepen in color as he added, “Given your history, Morgan, it seems like a good thing for you to study. Also, it’s one of the topics covered in the preinitiation rites.”
“I thought I would be initiated as a witch a year and a day from the time of my first circle. I didn’t realize I had to prepare for it.”
“You don’t,” Hunter said. “That’s a simple ceremony. I’m talking about your initiation as a blood witch, which isn’t so simple. Once you’re initiated into the coven, then you begin preparing for your preapprentice rites, which are a series of magickal power and knowledge tests. They’re supposed to screen out blood witches who aren’t yet serious enough or in tune with their power enough for apprenticeships.” I stifled a groan at the thought of more tests as Hunter went on, “Once you pass those rites, you’ll be paired as an apprentice with a blood witch who will guide you until you’re ready for the full blood witch initiation.”
“How long will that take?”
Hunter shrugged. “It depends,” he said. “A few years.”
I struggled to hide my disappointment. A few years?
“Anyway,” Hunter said. “Eoife has found someone who can come here to tutor you in magickal defenses for two weeks. She’s going to stay with Sky and me. Her name is Erin Murphy, and she’ll be here this weekend.”
“Is she good?” I asked.
“The best,” he said. In his clipped English accent, the statement seemed to leave no room for doubt. “In the meantime Eoife asked me to show you the basics.” He stood up and crossed the room. There was a dinged-up sideboard along the wall leading to the kitchen, and Hunter pulled out a small bronze dish and a piece of chalk. He drew a small circle on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. I stepped inside, and he drew the last piece closed. Then he took a pinch of salt from the dish and sprinkled it around the circle. “With this salt I purify our circle,” he said.
We joined hands, closed our eyes, and breathed deeply for a few moments. With every breath I could feel my senses expanding. It was as if I was growing and reaching out, as if the house and everything in it was a living, breathing extension of myself. I felt myself draw power from the breath, and I sensed that Hunter was drawing the same power. Our bodies, joined at the fingertips, had become one, lost in the connection we felt with everything around us, including each other. Then we both dropped hands and found ourselves staring into each other’s eyes.
It was as if a window opened, and I could see the true depths of Hunter’s emotions—his fierce sense of protection, his trustworthiness, his love for me, and his appreciation for our connection. I also saw harsh and unyielding anger, and I knew that what I was seeing was the rage Hunter felt at what the dark forces had done to his family. Hunter’s parents, pursued by the dark wave, had left him at a young age. I saw that Hunter believed they were still alive and that he could help them. I also saw his frustration at not being able to do more, his stubborn belief that if only he tried hard enough, he could put everything right. I saw these things, and I sucked in my breath.
Suddenly the window closed, and he was simply Hunter again.
“The first lesson is in something called tàth meànma divagnth,” he explained.
“Is that like tàth meànma brach?” I asked, recalling the ceremony that I still thought of as the “Wiccan mind meld.” Tàth meànma was a ritual through which two people could look into each other’s minds and share thoughts, memories, beliefs. Tàth meànma brach was a sort of turbocharged version of regular tàth meànma, in which you exchanged basically everything that was in your brains. Alyce Fernbrake, a blood witch who ran an occult bookstore called Practical Magick, had gone through the ceremony with me.
“Not exactly,” Hunter said. “The object of the divagnth is to use someone’s power and divert it so that it can’t hurt you.”
“So it’s sort of like witch tae kwon do?”
Hunter smiled. Then he grabbed my wrist lightly with his right hand and pointed to the wall with his left. I felt a quick rush through my body, as if I had touched an electric current. A sizzling bolt of blue fire exploded from Hunter’s left index finger. It hit the wall and dissolved harmlessly.
I felt dizzy and struggled to suck oxygen into my lungs. “Are you all right?” Hunter asked, placing his hands on my hips.
I took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, but it kind of knocks the wind out of you.”
Hunter nodded. “It can be very effective when you’re dealing with an enemy.” His voice was grim, and as I felt his strong hands on my hips, I realized yet again that Hunter had years of training and knowledge that I could hardly even begin to imagine.
I looked him in the eye. “Teach me,” I said.
Hunter spent the better part of an hour showing me different techniques for deflecting power. Although he claimed that these were pretty basic self-defense moves, all of them were completely unknown to me. It was fascinating to realize that—even with all of Alyce’s knowledge, which was considerable—there were entire worlds left to learn.