Cate Tiernan - Blood Witch

"So, when are you going to tell me why we're here?" he joked.

"Uh…" I didn't know what to say. I guess I had been planning to pass this off as a simple joyride, just a chance to get out and do something. But Robbie knew me too well. "I'll tell you later," I whispered, feeling unsure and vulnerable. To tell him one part of the story would mean telling him everything—and I had yet to come fully to terms with that

"Have you ever been here before?" Robbie asked.

I shook my head. Most of the houses were pretty modest, but none was immediately recognizable as the house I'd seen in my vision. And they were fewer and farther between now; we were heading into the country again. I started to wonder what the hell I was doing. Why on earth did I think I'd be able to recognize Maeve's house? And if by some miracle I found it, what would I do then? This whole idea was stupid—

There it was.

I slammed on the brakes. Das Boot squealed to an abrupt halt. Robbie glared at me. But I hardly noticed. The house from my vision, my birth mother's house, stood right before my eyes.

January 12, 1999

I've been ill, apparently.

Aunt Shelagh says I have been out for six days. Raving, she told me, with a high fever. I feel like death itself. I don't even remember what happened to me. And no one will say a word. I don't understand any of it.

Where is Linden? I want to see my brother. When I awoke this morning, eight witches from Vinneag were around my bed, working healing rites. I heard Athar and Alwyn in the hall, sobbing. But when I asked if they could come in to see me, the Vinneag witches just gave each other grave glances, then shook their heads. Why? Am I that ill? Or is it something else? What is happening? I must know, but no one will tell me a thing, and I am as weak as a hollow bone.

— Giomanach

The house was on the right side of the road, and as I glanced through Robbie's window, it was as if a cool breeze suddenly washed across my face. I pulled up alongside it.

The walls were no longer white but painted a pale coffee color with dark red accents. The neat garden in front was gone, as was the large herb and vegetable patch to one side. Instead some clumpy rhododendrons hid the front windows on the first floor.

I sat there in silence, drinking in the sight of the place. This was it. This was Maeve's house, and my home for the first seven months of my life. Robbie watched me, not saying anything. There were no cars in the driveway, no sign that anyone was home. I didn't know what to do. But after several minutes I turned to Robbie and took a deep breath.

"I have something to tell you," I began.

He nodded, a somber expression on his face. "I'm a blood witch, like Cal said a couple of weeks ago. But my parents aren't. I was adopted."

Robbie's eyes widened, but he said nothing

"I was adopted when I was about eight months old. My birth mother was a blood witch from Ireland. Her name was Maeve Riordan, and she lived in that house." I gestured out the window. "Her coven was wiped out in Ireland, and she and my biological father escaped to America and settled here. When they did, they swore never to use magick again."

I took another deep, shaky breath. This whole story sounded like a movie of the week, A bad one. But Robbie nodded encouragingly.

"Anyway," I went on, "they had me, and then something happened—I don't know what—and my mother gave me up for adoption. Right after that, she and my father were locked in a barn and burned to death."

Robbie blinked. His face turned slightly pale. "Jesus," he muttered, rubbing his chin. "And who was your dad?"

"His name was Angus Bramson. He was a witch, too, from the same coven in Ireland. I don't think they were married." I sighed. "So that's why I'm so strong in Wicca, why that spell I did for you worked, why I channel so much energy at circles. It's because I come from a line of witches that's hundreds or thousands of years old."

For what seemed like a long time Robbie just stared at me. "This is mind-blowing," he mumbled finally.

"Tell me about it."

He offered a sympathetic smile. "I'll bet things have been crazy at your house lately."

I laughed. "Yeah, you could say that. We were all freaked out about it. I mean, my parents never told me, not in sixteen years, that I was adopted. And all my relatives knew and all their friends. I was… really angry."

"I'll bet," Robbie murmured.

"And they knew how my birth parents died and that witchcraft was involved, so they're really upset that I'm doing Wicca because the whole thing scares them. They don't want anything to happen to me."

Robbie chewed his lip, looking concerned. "No one knows why your birth parents were killed? They were murdered, right? I mean, it wasn't suicide or some ritual gone wrong."

"No. Apparently the barn door was locked from the outside. But they must have been scared about something because they gave me up for adoption right before they died. I can't find out why it happened, though, or who could have done it. I have Maeve's Book of Shadows, and she says that after they came to America, they didn't practice magick at all—"

"How did you get your birth mother's Book of Shadows?" he interrupted.

I sighed again. "It's a long story, but Selene Belltower had it, and I found it. It was all a bunch of weird coincidences."

Robbie raised his eyebrows. "I thought there weren't any coincidences."

I looked at him, startled. You're absolutely right , I thought.

"So why are we here?" he asked.

I hesitated. "Last night I had a dream… I mean, I had a vision. Actually, I scryed in the fire last night."

"You scryed?" Robbie shifted in his seat. Creases lined his forehead. "You mean you tried to divine information, like magickal information?"

"Yes," I admitted, staring down at my lap for a moment. "I know, you think I'm doing stuff I shouldn't be doing yet. But I think it's allowed. It's not a real spell or anything."

Robbie remained silent.

I shook my head and glanced out the window again. "Anyway, I was watching the fire last night and I saw all sorts of weird images and scenes and stuff. But the most realistic scene, the clearest one, was about this house. I saw Maeve standing outside it and pointing underneath it. Pointing and smiling. Like she wanted to show me something underneath this house—"

"Wait a second," Robbie cut in. "Let me get this straight. You had a vision, so now we're here, and you want to crawl under that house?"

I almost laughed. It didn't sound bizarre; it sounded utterly insane. "Well, when you put it that way …"

He shook his head, but he was smiling, too. "Are you sure this is the house?" I nodded.

He didn't say anything.

"So do you think I'm crazy, coming here?" I asked. "Do you think we should turn around and go home?"

He hesitated. "No," he said finally. "If you had that vision while you were actually scrying, then I think it makes sense to check it out I mean, if you actually want to crawl under there." He glanced at me. "Or… do you want me to crawl under there?"

I smiled at him and patted his arm. "Thanks. That's really sweet. But no. I guess I'd better do it. Even though I have no idea what I'm looking for."

Robbie turned to the house again. "Got a flashlight?"

"Of course not." I smirked. "That would make me too well prepared, wouldn't it?"

He laughed as I slid out of the car and zipped up my coat I hesitated only a moment before I unlatched the chain-link gate, then headed up the walk. Under my breath I whispered: "I am invisible, I am invisible, I am invisible," just in case anyone was watching from one of the neighboring houses. It was a trick Cal had told me about but I'd never tried it before. I hoped it worked.