Cate Tiernan - Blood Witch

I blinked, my breathing ragged.

The sound of a phone still filled my ears. What was going on? Several seconds passed before I realized that it was our phone, not a phone in my vision. The images were all gone now. I was alone in our house again—and somebody was calling.

September 4, 1998

Uncle Beck hit me last night. Today I have a shiner and a split lip. It looks really impressive, and I'm going to tell people I got it defending what's left of Athar's honor.

Two years ago, on the dawn after my initiation, Uncle Beck told me why Mum and Dad disappeared. How Mum had seen the dark cloud coming when she was scrying, and how it had nearly killed her, right through the vision. And how, right after they escaped and went into hiding, their coven was wiped out. I remember all the witches in the coven, how they were like aunts and uncles to me. Then they were dead, and Linden and Alwyn and I came to live with Beck and Shelagh and Ather and Maris and Siobhan.

Since then I've been trying to find out about the dark wave, the force of evil that destroyed my parent's coven and made them go into hiding. I know it's got something to do with Woodbanes. Dad is—or was—Woodbane. The last time I was in London, I went to all the old bookshop where they sell occult books. I visited the circle of Morath, where they keep a lot of the old writings. I've been reading and searching for two years. Finally last night, Linden and I were going to try to call on the dark side, to get information. Since Linden's initiation last month, he's been pestering me to let him help, and I had to say yes, because they were his parents too. Maybe in two years, when Alwyn's initiated, she'll want to work with us. I don't know.

Anyways, Uncle Beck found us in the marshes a mile from the house. We hadn't even got far in the rite, and suddenly Uncle was storming up, looking huge and terrible and furious. He broke through our circle, kicked out our candles and our fire, and knocked the athame from my hand. I've never seen him so angry, and he hauled me up by my collar as if I was a dog and not sixteen and as tall as him.

"Call on the blackness, will you?" he growled, while Linden jumped to his feet. "You bloody bastard! For eight years I've fed you and taught you and you've slept under my roof, and you're out here dealing with blackness and leading your young brother astray?" Then he punched me, knocking me down, and I hit the ground like an unstrung puppet. The man has a fist like a ham—only harder.

We had words, we thrashed it out, and at the end, he understood what I wanted, and I understood that he'd rather kill me than let me do it, and that if I involved Linden again I would need to find another place to live. He's a good man, my uncle, and a good witch, though we ofter clash. Mum is his sister and I know now that he desires to right the wrong done to her as much as I. The difference is that I was willing to cross the line to do it, and Beck isn't.

— Giomanach

"Hello?" I said into the receiver. I realized that I had no sense of who it was, even though I usually did before I picked up the phone.

Silence.

"Hello?" I said again.

Click. Drone of dial tone.

Okay, I knew, of course, that people get wrong numbers all the time. But for some reason, maybe because I was still caught up in images, emotions, and sensations from the fire, this silent phone call unnerved me. Every spooky movie I had ever seen came back to haunt me: Scream, Halloween, The Exorcist, Fatal Attraction, Blair Witch . My only thought was: Someone was checking to see if I was home. And I was. Alone.

I punched in star sixty-nine. Nothing happened. Finally a computerized female voice told me that the number I was trying to reach was blocked.

Feeling tense, I slammed the phone down on the hook. Then I began to race around the house, locking the front and back doors, the basement door, locking windows that had never been locked in my memory. Was I being stupid? It didn't matter. Better stupid and safe than smart and dead. I turned on all the outside lights instead of just the dim yellow glow of the front porch fixture.

I didn't know why I felt so afraid, but my first sense of alarm was rapidly growing into pure terror. So I retrieved my trusty baseball bat from the mudroom, locked that door, scooped up Dagda, and scampered upstairs to my room, glancing over my shoulder. Maybe it was still the aftermath of the accident, but my hands were clammy. My breath came quickly. I locked my bedroom door, then locked the door that led from the bathroom to Mary K.'s room.

I sat down on my bed, clenching and unclenching my fists. Cal, was all I could think. Cal, help me. I need you. Come to me.

I sent the witch message out into the night. Cal would get it. Cal would save me.

But the minutes ticked by, and he didn't come. He didn't even call to say he was on his way. I thought about calling him, but then I remembered what he'd said about not answering the phone during the circle.

Didn't he get my message? I wondered frantically. Where is he?

I tried to calm myself down. Mom and Dad would be home soon. So would Mary K. Anyway, it was just a phone call. A wrong number. Maybe it was Bree calling to apologize, and she'd lost her nerve.

But why would Bree's number have been blocked? It could have been anyone, though: a prank call by some pimply sixth grader whose mom caught him just before he spoke. Or maybe it was a telemarketer….

Calm down, calm down, I ordered myself. Breathe. A faint prickling at the edge of my senses made me sit up straight. I cast out my senses, searching as hard as I could. Then I knew what it was. Someone was on the edge of the property. Fear oozed through me like burning lava.

"Wait here," I whispered idiotically to Dagda.

I crept soundlessly to my darkened window and peered out into the yard. As I looked out, the outside lights all blinked off. Shit. Who had gotten to them?

I could make out the leaves of the shrubs, the swooping shadow of an owl, the crusts of ice hanging on our fence.

That was when I saw them: two dark figures.

I squinted, using my magesight to make out their features, but for some reason I couldn't focus on their faces. It didn't matter, though. For a moment the night's cloud cover broke and allowed the not quite half-moon to appear. The glint of moonlight reflected off pale, shining hair, and I knew who was here. Sky Eventide. The person with her wore a dark knit cap and was too tall to be either Bree or Raven. Hunter. I felt sure it was Hunter.

Where was Cal?

I watched from my crouching position on the floor as they faded into the house's shadows. When I could no longer see them, I closed my eyes and tried to follow them with my senses. I felt them moving around the perimeter of the house slowly, pausing here and there. Would they try to come in? My fingers tightened on the bat, even though I knew it would be of zero use against witches in full possession of their powers. And Sky and Hunter were blood witches.

What did they want? What were they doing?

And then it came to me: of course. They were putting a spell on my house, on me. I remembered reading about how Maeve and her mother, Mackenna Riordan, had put spells on people. They had often needed to walk around a house or a person or a place. To surround something with magick is to change it

Sky and Hunter were surrounding me.

They were circling my house, and I couldn't stop them— I didn't even have any idea what they were doing. It must have been one of them who had called earlier, to make sure I was home. And maybe they had blocked my call to Cal somehow. He might not be coming at all….