Cate Tiernan - Strife

I wish I had been there. As it is, I won’t get to say good-bye.

Hunter’s thoughts were gentle. Sky understands.

The darkness before my eyes grew even lighter—pinkish, like the inside of a conch shell. With the next breath I took, I had the sense that Hunter was in my room. His distinct odor of soap and clean laundry filled my nostrils. Still, I knew that he was in another house, halfway across town.

I feel like you’re here with me. The words were Hunter’s. I wondered if he was experiencing the same thing I was.

The spell, I asked, did it work?

According to the council, Ciaran hasn’t moved for twenty-four hours, Hunter replied. A Seeker will move in on him tomorrow. And then there’s the matter of our magick. Mine completely disappeared Thursday night….This is the first glimmer I’ve of it all day.

It feels wonderful. The words drifted through my mind, sending chills through my body. I wasn’t sure whether they were mine or Hunter’s. But it didn’t matter.

At the center of the pinkish void, a small ball of silvery flame flared and began to pulse. It flared brilliantly until the entire space was lit with dazzling whiteness. It warmed me, as if I were standing with my face to the sun.

You are so brave. The words, the words, mine or his? I love you.

I didn’t send any more thoughts. It seemed unnecessary. Hunter’s presence was all I had wanted. . and now I felt like I was surrounded by it, almost engulfed by it.

I knew what this light was. It wasn’t Hunter’s energy or mine. It was something beyond the two of us—something greater than the sum of two halves. This light was the energy between us, the power of mùirn beatha dàns , soul mates.

October 5, 1971

I tried to talk to Sam about what’s been happening, but I never got the chance. The minute I mentioned the Harris Stonghton’s book, ha became furious . He demanded to know whether I had destroyed it, and when I said I hadn’t, he started shouting.

I was already on the edge, and having him yell at me set me off. I told him that he should have burned the book himself. He was the one who stole it, he was the one who brought it home, he was the one who tried one of the spells even after I told him the book was evil. I was sick of trying to help him! As we stood there screaming at each other, I was suddenly struck with a splitting headache, a piercing, stabbing pain.

Sam threw up his hands and stormed out of my room. I followed him, still yelling—and so I saw what happened. As he reached the top of the stairs, the mahogany table in the hall gave a violent lurch. It slid as if the entire hose has tipped on its foundation and slammed into him.

“Sam!” I screamed.

Sam clawed at the banister, but he couldn’t stop himself from falling. He tumbled down the entire stair, head over heels. When he reached the bottom, he lay perfectly still for a moment, his leg twisted behind him. He looked up at me for a moment, then turned his head to the side and vomited.

“Sam!” I screamed again, then ran to call an ambulance. I knelt beside him while we waited for it to arrive, but he didn’t open his eyes again. I felt numb as I rode in back with him to the local hospital. Luckily the doctors say that he’s only got a broken leg and a mild concussion. He’ll be all right. With a fall like this, they said, things could have been much worse.

Much worse—if things had been much worse, he’d be dead.

This can’t go on. I know what happened with the table—I did it. I did it, and I can never do anything like that again.

I won’t let another person die because of the Curtis witchcraft.

— Sarah Curtis

I woke up feeling fully rested. My body no longer felt achy or tired—I hadn’t felt so alive in what seemed like weeks. I glanced at the clock, expecting it to read somewhere close to noon.

Seven-thirty A.M.

Just then I heard the gentle hiss of the shower, and I knew my sister was stepping into it. It was early Sunday morning. The pale light was just beginning to peek through my curtains. I could sleep as long as I wanted. Sighing happily, I lay back against my pillows and closed my eyes.

Then I opened them again. I was wide awake.

I thought about the night before—the beautiful, magickal way I’d been able to experience being with Hunter. It had felt so wonderful to have him with me that I would have thought the whole experience had been a dream, if it hadn’t seemed so real. Beyond real—almost more than real, if such a thing was possible.

Mary K.’s shower ended. I waited a few minutes, but she didn’t come into my room to wake me up for church. I thought of the smile she’d given me the night before.

I heard the familiar sound of my father’s slippers as he padded down the stairs into the kitchen. There, then, was another thing I had missed—my family.

I threw off my covers and walked over to my closet. I pulled out a gray flannel skirt and a red sweater. Quickly I pulled on my clothes and brushed my hair.

I was going to church.

“Hi,” I said as I walked into the kitchen.

My mother looked up from the paper she was reading. “Morgan,” she said, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. She took in my outfit from head to toe, then smiled. “You look very nice,” she said.

I grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator. “I thought I’d come with you to church this morning.”

My dad stared at me from where he was standing by the sink, his coffee cup lifted halfway to his mouth. He set it down on the counter. “Well, well.” A pleased grin spread across his face. Looking down at his bathrobe, he said, “I guess I’m lagging behind.”

Dad took his coffee and headed upstairs just as Mary K. came down. “What are you wearing?” she asked, staring at me.

“Morgan is coming to church with us this morning,” Mom said, as if it was the most obvious and normal thing in the world.

“Oh,” Mary K. said. Apparently this possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Great!” She grinned at me and went to the refrigerator. “You want toast?” she asked.

The normalcy of the question seemed like something from another time. “Sounds good,” I said, sitting down at the table. In fact, it sounded better than good. It sounded like the best thing in the whole world.

Stepping into the church was like visiting an old friend, welcoming and familiar. There was the spicy smell of the incense our church uses and the odor of faded roses as I passed by Mrs. Beacon’s pew. The strains of organ music drifted over the congregation. Mom’s friend, Mrs. Lu, turned and gave me a big smile as we slipped into the pew behind hers. I smiled back and waved to her three-year-old daughter, Nellie, who giggled.

When it came time to take communion, I leaned over to my mom and said, “I think I’m going to skip this.” I just didn’t feel right about it—somehow taking communion seemed like a definite commitment to Catholicism. Even though I appreciated the beauty of the service, I wasn’t about to stop practicing Wicca. I was glad that my family loved coming here, and I loved it, too—but Wicca had chosen me as much as I had chosen it, and I wanted to find a way to keep both of my religions in my life.

I half expected my mom to frown or look disapproving, but she just squeezed my knee and followed my sister and father to the front of the church. A short while later the service was over.

A new level of calm swept over me as my family and I stepped outside. The sky was a clear blue, and a few small clouds tumbled across it. I was glad I had come.