Cate Tiernan - Blood Witch

On the left side of the house, past the shaggy rhododendrons, I found the place where Maeve had been standing in my vision. There was an opening between the low brick foundation and the floor supports. The opening was barely twenty inches high. I glanced back at the car. Robbie was leaning against it in case he suddenly needed to come to my aid. I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. He smiled back reassuringly. I was lucky. He was a good friend.

Crouching down, I peered underneath the house and saw only a dense, inky blackness. My heart was pounding loudly, but my senses picked up no people above or around me. For all I knew, I would find dead bodies and crumbling bones in there. Or rats. I would freak if I came face to face with a rat. I pictured myself screaming and scrambling to get out from under the house as fast as I could. But there was no sense in waiting. My magesight would guide me. I crept forward on my hands and knees. As soon as I had edged under the house, I paused to give my eyes time to adjust.

I saw a lot of junk, glowing faintly with time: old insulation foam, an ancient, dirt-encrusted sink, old pipes and chunks of sheet metal. I maneuvered my way carefully through this maze, looking around, trying to get some idea of what I could be looking for. I could feel the cold dampness seep through my jeans. I sneezed. It was dank under here. Dank and musty.

Again the questions festered in my mind. Why was I here? Why had Maeve wanted me to come here? Think, think! Could there be something about the house itself? I glanced upward to see if runes or sigils were traced on the bottom of the floor supports. The wood was old and dirty and blackened, and I saw nothing. I swept my gaze from side to side, starting to feel incredibly stupid—

Wait. There was something… I blinked, rapidly. About fifteen feet in front of me, next to a brick piling, there was something. Something magickal. Whatever it was, I could sense it more than I could see it. I crawled forward, ducking low under water pipes and phone wires. At one point I had to shimmy on my belly beneath a sewer line. I was going to look like hell when I got out of here—I could feel my hair dragging in the dirt and cursed myself for not tying it up.

Finally I slithered out and could crawl normally again. I sneezed and wiped my nose on my sleeve. There! Tucked between two supports, practically hidden behind the piling, was a box. In order to get to it, I had to stretch my arms around the piling; the supports blocked my path.

Tentatively I reached for it. The air around the box felt thick, like clear Jell-O. My fingertips pushed through it and reached icy cold metal. Gritting my teeth, I tried to pry it out of the dirt. But it wouldn't budge. And in my awkward position I couldn't get any leverage to give it a good wrench. Again yanked at it, scratching my fingers on its rusted, pitted surface. there was no use, though. It was stuck.

I felt like screaming. Here I was, on my hands and knees in the mud, under a strage house, drawn here—and I was helpless. I leaned forward and squinted at the box, concentrating hard. There, carved into the lid and barely visible under years of dust, were the initials M. R. Maeve Riordan. To me they were as clear as if I were seeing them in sunlight.

My breath came fast. This was it. This was why my mother had sent me here. I was meant to have it—this box that had remained hidden for almost seventeen years.

A memory suddenly flashed through my mind: that day not so long ago, right when we had all first discovered Wicca, when a leaf had fallen on Raven's head and I'd willed it to hover there with my thoughts. It had been nothing more than a flight of whimsy and a gesture of defiance against her for being cruel to me. But now it took on a deeper significance. If I could move a leaf, could I move something heavier?

I closed my eyes, focusing my concentration. Again I stretched forward and touched the dusty box with my fingertips. My mind emptied, all my thoughts vanishing like water down a drain. Only one thought remained: What had once belonged to my birth mother now belonged to me. The box was mine. I would have it.

It jumped into my hands.

My eyes flew open. A smile crossed my face. I'd done it! By the Goddess, I'd done it! Clutching the box under one arm, I scrambled out of there as fast as I could. Outside, the sunlight seemed overly bright, the air too cold. I blinked and stood, my muscles cramped, then stamped my feet and brushed off my coat as best I could. Then I hurried forward.

A middle-aged man was walking up the sidewalk toward the house. He dragged a fat dachshund behind him by a leash. As he caught sight of me coming around from the back of the house, he slowed and then stopped. His eyes were sharp with suspicion.

I froze for an instant, my heart thumping. I am invisible, I am invisible, I am invisible. I hurled the thought at him with as much force as I could.

A moment later his gaze seemed to lose its focus. His eyes slid aside, and he began walking again.

Wow. I felt a spurt of elation. My powers were growing so strong!

From his vantage point beside Das Boot, Robbie had seen it all. He opened the back door without a word, and I gently placed the box in the backseat. Then he slid smoothly behind the wheel, I got in, and we drove off. Over my shoulder I watched the little house grow smaller until finally we went around a bend and it disappeared from sight.

January 14, 1999

I am sitting up. Today I ate some broth. Everyone is tip-toeing around me, and Uncle Beck looks at me with a coldness in his eyes the likes of which I've never seen. I keep asking about Linden, but no one will answer. They finally let Athar in today, and I caught her hand and asked her, too, but she just looked at me with those deep, dark eyes. Then they let Alwyn in to see me, but she just sobbed and clutched my hand till they took her away. I realized she's almost fourteen-three months away from her initiation.

Where is Linden? Why has he not come to see me?

Council members have been in and out of the house all week. A net of fear is closing about me. But I date not name what I fear. It is too horrible.

— Giomanach

"What's in the box?" Robbie asked after a few minutes. He glanced at me. I had cobwebs in my hair, and I was filthy and smelled musty and dirty.

"I don't know," I said. "But it has Maeve's initials on it."

Robbie nodded. "Let's go to my house," he said. "My folks aren't there."

I nodded. "Thanks for driving," I said.

The drive back to Widow's Vale seemed endless. The sun dropped out of the sky shortly after four-thirty, and we drove the last half hour through chilly darkness. I was aching to open the box, but I felt I needed complete security to do it. Robbie parked Das Boot outside his parents' tiny, run-down house. As long as I had known Robbie, they had never repainted their house, or repaired the walk, or done any of the usual homeowner-type stuff. The front lawn was ragged and in need of mowing. It was Robbie's job and he hated it, and his parents didn't seem to care.

I'd never liked coming here, which is why the three of us had usually hung out at Bree's house, our favorite, or my house, our second favorite. Robbie's house was to be avoided, and we all knew it. But for now, it was fine.

Robbie flicked on lights, illuminating the living room, its dingy floor, and the permanent odor of stale cooking and cigarette smoke.

"Where are your folks?" I asked as we walked down the hall to Robbie's room.

"Mom's at her sister's, and Dad's hunting."

"Ugh," I said. "I still remember that time I came over and you had a deer hanging from the tree in your front yard."