Cate Tiernan - Book of Shadows

I picked up my backpack and headed for the door, followed by Robbie. Bree lingered behind, and I glanced back quickly to see her talking to Cal, her hand on his arm. Raven was watching them with narrowed eyes.

Dazed, I found my way to homeroom like a cow returning to the barn. My life seemed very complicated.

That afternoon I put my Wicca books in a paper bag and brought them to Bree's house. She had promised I could come over and read them whenever I wanted.

"I'll keep them safe for you," she said.

"Thanks." I pushed my hair over my shoulder and rested my head against her door. "Maybe I could come over tonight after dinner? I'm halfway through the history of witchcraft book, and it's pretty fascinating."

"Of course," she said sympathetically. "Poor baby." She patted my shoulder. "Look, just lie low for a while, let it all blow over. And you know you can come over and read or just hang out anytime. Okay?"

"Okay," I said, giving her a hug. "How's the thing with Cal going?" It hurt to ask, but I knew it was what she wanted to talk about.

Bree made a face. "Two days ago he was happy to talk for almost an hour on the phone, but yesterday I asked him to drive out to Wingott's Farm with me and he turned me down. I'm going to have to start stalking him if he doesn't give in pretty soon."

"He'll give in," I predicted. "They always do."

"True," Bree agreed, her eyes wistful.

"Well, I'll call you later," I said, suddenly eager for this conversation to end.

"Hang in there, okay?" she called after me as I escaped.

The next week I made a point of hanging out more with Tamara, Janice, and Ben. I went to math club and tried really hard to care about functions, but I longed to be learning about Wicca and especially to be near Cal.

When I told my mom I had gotten rid of the books, she was faintly embarrassed but mostly relieved. For a moment I felt guilty for omitting the fact that the books were only at Bree's house and I was still reading them in the evenings, but I chased the guilt away. I respected my parents, but I didn't agree with them.

"Thanks," she said quietly, and looked like she wanted to say more, but didn't. Several times that week I caught her watching me, and the weird thing was, it reminded me of the creepy clerk at the Practical Magick . She was watching me with an air of expectation, as if I were about to sprout horns or something.

All that week autumn moved in slowly, sweeping up the Hudson River into Widow's Vale. The days were noticeably shorter, the wind brisker. There was a sense of anticipation all around me, in the leaves, the wind, the sunlight. I felt like something big was coming, but I didn't know what.

On Saturday afternoon the phone rang while I was doing homework. Cal, I thought before I grabbed the upstairs extension.

"Hey," he said, and the sound of his voice made me slightly breathless.

"Hey," I replied.

"Are you coming to the circle tonight?" he asked straight-out. "It's going to be at Matt's house."

I had wrestled with this question for days. Granted, I was disobeying the spirit of my parents' orders by reading my Wicca books, but actually going to another circle seemed like a much bigger deal. Learning about Wicca was one thing; practicing it was another. "I can't," I said finally, almost wanting to cry.

Cal was quiet for a minute. "I promise you everyone will keep their clothes on." I could hear the humor in his voice, and I smiled. He paused again. "I promise I won't carry you into the water," he added so softly, I wasn't sure I'd actually heard it. I didn't know what to say. I could feel the blood racing through my arteries.

"Unless you want me to," he added just as quietly.

Bree, your best friend, is in love with him, I reminded myself, needing to break the spell. She has a chance. You do not.

"It's just that… I c-can't," I heard myself stammering weakly. I heard my mom moving around downstairs, and I went into my room and shut the door.

"Okay," he said simply, and let the silence, an intimate kind of silence, spread between us. I lay on my bed, looking at the flame-colored tree leaves outside my window. I realized I would have given up the rest of my life to have Cal lying there with me right then. I closed my eyes, and tears started seeping out to run sideways down my cheeks.

"Maybe another time," he said gently.

"Maybe," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Maybe though, I thought in anguish.

"Morgan—"

"Yeah?"

Silence.

"Nothing. I'll see you on Monday at school. We'll miss you tonight."

We'll miss you. Not I'll miss you.

"Thanks," I said. I hung up the phone, turned my face into my pillow, and cried.

Samhain is coming. Last night the circle was thin and pale without her. I need her. I think she's the one.

"You know, some kids actually get pregnant when they're sixteen," I muttered to Mary K. on Sunday afternoon. I couldn't believe my life had come to this: sitting in the back of a school bus packed with a bunch of jolly, devout Catholics on our way to Killburn Abbey. "They have drug problems and total their parents' cars. They flunk out of school. All I did was bring home a couple of books!"

I sighed and leaned my head against the bus window, torturing myself by wondering what had happened at the circle the night before.

If you've never spent an hour on a school bus with a bunch of grown-ups from your church, you have no idea how long an hour can be. My parents were sitting a few rows up, and they looked happy as pigs in mud, talking and laughing with their friends. Melinda Johnson, age five, got carsick, and we had to keep stopping to let her hang out the door.

"Here we are!" trilled Miss Hotchkiss at last, standing up in front as the bus lurched to a wheezy halt in front of what looked like a prison. Miss Hotchkiss is Father Hotchkiss's sister and keeps house for him.

Mary K. looked suspiciously out the window. "Is this a jail?" she whispered. "Are we here to be scared straight or something?"

I groaned and followed the crowd as they tromped off the bus. Outside, the air was chill and damp, and thick gray clouds scudded across the sky. I smelled rain and realized no birds were chirping.

In front of us were tall cement walls, at least nine feet high. They were stained from years of weather and dirt and crisscrossed by clinging vines. Set into one wall was a pair of large black doors, with heavy riveted studs and massive hinges.

"Okay, everyone," called Father Hotchkiss cheerfully. He strode up to the gate and rang the bell. In moments the door was answered by a woman wearing a name tag that said Karen Breems.

"Hello! You must be the group from St. Michael's," she said enthusiastically. "Welcome to Killburn Abbey. This is one of New York State's oldest cloistered convents. No nuns live here anymore—Sister Clement died back in 1987. Now it's a museum and a retreat center."

We stepped through the gates into a plantless courtyard covered with fine gravel that crunched under our feet I found myself smiling as I looked around but didn't know why. Killburn Abbey was lifeless, gray, and lonely. But as I walked in, a deep, pervasive sense of calm came over me. My worries melted away in the face of its thick stone walls, bare courtyard, and caged windows.

"This feels like a prison," said Mary K., wrinkling her nose. "Those poor nuns."

"No, not a prison," I said, looking at the small windows set high up on the walls. "A sanctuary."