Cate Tiernan - Seeker

She had Da sit down in a comfortable chair, then cast a circle around it, using twelve large amethysts. She invoked the Goddess and the God and dedicated her circle to them. Then she stood behind my father and gently laid her fingertips against his temples on either side. As soon as she started on the forms and opening chants, I realized I wasn’t familiar with it.

It went on for more than an hour. At different times Justine touched my father’s neck, the back of his head, his forehead, the base of his throat, his temples. Da seemed patient, tired, disinterested. I myself felt almost hypnotized by the warm crackling of the fire, the deeply felt purring of the apricot-colored cat who had finally settled on me, the soothing tones of Justine’s low-voiced singing and chanting.

At last I recognized the closing notes, the forms of completion, and I sat up straighter. Slowly Justine took her hands away from Da and stood back, seeming drained and peaceful. I looked at Da. He met my eyes. Was it my imagination, or was there more life in them?

He turned to find Justine. “I feel better,” he said, sounding reluctant to admit it. “Thanks.”

She smiled. “I hope it helped. I found it in a book I was cataloging last month, and I’ve been anxious to try it. Thank you for allowing me.” She took a deep breath. “Now, how about some tea? I’m hungry.”

Ten minutes later, watching Da tuck into his cake with the faint signs of an actual appetite, I smiled my gratitude to Justine. She smiled back. To me, this healing was one more indication that Justine was just misguided, overenthusiastic in her quest for knowledge, but basically good-hearted. There was no way someone like Selene could have performed that healing rite, not without my picking up on her dark underlying motives. I’d felt none of that with Justine. She seemed genuinely what she was.

“My son told me how impressed he was with your library,” Da said.

“Would you like to see it?” Justine asked naturally, and my father nodded.

I felt something like gladness inside—this was the first time he had called me his son, in front of another person, since we’d been reunited. It felt good.

Today is Saturday, but I feel so incredibly bizarre that I need to come up with a whole new name for this day. “Saturday” doesn’t cover it.

Last night, to take my mind off things, I agreed to go ice-skating with Mary K., Aunt Eileen, and Paula at the big outdoor rink outside of Taunton. I had’nt seen Eileen and Paula in ages—I’ve been busy saving my grades, and they’ve been fixing up their new house.

It was one of the last times we could go skating—spring is coming, and soon they won’t be able to maintain the outdoor ice. I felt like a little kid, lacing my skates. Mary K. bought a caramel apple. Eileen and Paula are happy and light-hearted, and all four of us were being incredibly silly and goofy. I felt happy, and I didn’t think about Hunter more than about a thousand times, so that was good.

Then Paula was zipping along backward when she lost her balance and went down hard. The back of her head slammed against the ice with a crack so loud, it sounded like a branch breaking. Immediately Eileen and I were there, and Mary K. rushed up a few seconds later.

I watched in horror as a spreading, lacy design of blood seeped across ice.

A little crowd had gathered around, peering over our shoulders, trying to see what was happening, and Aunt Eileen rose on her knees and shooed them back. I could tell she was starting to freak out, so I took hold of one of her shoulders and told her to go call 911.

Her eyes took a second to focus on mine, then she nodded, got shakily on her feet, and skated carefully to the side of the rink.

Mary K. was trying not to cry and failing. She asked me if Paula was going to be okay.

I told her I didn’t know and gritted my teeth at the amount of blood I was seeing. Paula’s eyes fluttered open once, and I took her hand, patting it and calling her name. She didn’t respond and closed her eyes again. I had seen that one of her pupils was tiny, like a pencil point, and one was wide open, making her iris look black. I didn’t know what that meant, but I had watched TV often enough to know it was bad. Crap, I thought. Double crap.

I stroked Paula’s cheek, cool beneath my hand. My hands felt so warm, even without gloves. My hands… a couple of weeks ago, Alisa Soto had been very ill. I had tried to touch her, and all hell had broken loose. Did I dare try to touch Paula now? The situation with Alisa had been really weird, way different from this one. But what if I made Paula worse?

Cautiously, I traced my fingers over Paula’s hair, now cold and wet. I hoped no one was paying attention to what I was doing. Beneath my fingers, I felt Paula’s life force pulsing unsteadily, becoming overwhelmed by a cascading flood of injuries it couldn’t recover from.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. It took me a moment to orient myself, to feel my consciousness blend with Paula’s. But then I was at home in her body, and I could tell what was wrong. There was bleeding inside Paula’s skull. The blood on the ice was from her skin being split, but there was also bleeding inside her skull, and it was pooling at the back of her head. It was compressing her brain, which had nowhere to go. Her brain was swelling dangerously, pressing against her unmovable skull, and it was starting to shut down. Paula was going to die before the ambulance got there.

My eyes blew open at this knowledge. Eileen was white-faced, crying, trying to be brave. I saw Mary K., stroking Eileen’s arm and weeping.

Very slowly and quietly, hoping no one would stop me, I closed my eyes again and rested my fingers lightly beneath Paula’s head. In moments I had sunk into deep meditation, had sent my senses into Paula again. Now I could see all the damage. Without having to search for them, ancient words came into my mind. It was a spell from Alyce, I realized. Silently I repeated them as they floated toward me, hearing their powerful, singsong melody. I pictured the pooled blood dissipating, seeping away; I thought about gently opening the collapsed veins, branching off smaller and smaller, ininitely delicate and perfect and beautiful.

As Paula’s system steadied—her breathing more even, her heart pumping more strongly, her brain returning to its pre-accident state—I felt a wave of exhilaration that almost took my breath away. This was beautiful magick, perfect in its intent, powerful in its form, and gracefully expressed by the ancient voices through me. There was nothing more wonderful, more satisfying, more joyful, and I felt my heart lighten and a smile come to my face.

Then Paula’s eyes fluttered open, and my happiness increased.

I sat back on my heels, exhausted, and glanced at my watch. My had was covered with blood; I wiped it hastily on my jeans. I had done everything in three minutes. Three crucial minutes that meant the difference between life and death for someone I cared about. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t even take it in.

The ambulance came almost ten minutes later. Paramedics raced out onto the ice, stabilized Paula’s neck and head, then moved her carefully to a stretcher. Aunt Eileen went with the stretcher, promising to call us later with news. I said I’d take her car back to my mom’s house, and she could come get it later. She tossed me the keys and then ran to catch up.

After the flashing red lights had disappeared and the crowd of anxious bystanders had drifted away, Mary K. and I got stiffly to our feet. We were chilled through and bought some hot chocolate from the stand, then walked back to Aunt Eileen’s car.