Cate Tiernan - Book of Shadows

"So now you control the weather?" Bree said, hurt in her ice.

I winced. "I wasn't saying that"

"Obviously it's just some sort of weird coincidence," Bree said. "There's no way you could fix Robbie's skin, for God's sake. Cal, tell her. None of us could do something like that. You couldn't do something like that."

"No, I could," Cal contradicted mildly. "A lot of people could, with enough training. Even if they weren't blood witches."

"But Morgan hasn't had any training," Bree said, her voice strained."Have you?" she asked me.

"No, of course not," I said quietly.

"What we have here is an unusually gifted amateur," Cal said thoughtfully. "I'm actually glad this came up because we should talk about this stuff." He put his hand on my shoulder. "You're not allowed to perform a spell for someone without his or her knowledge," he said. "It's not a good idea, and it isn't safe. It isn't fair."

He looked uncharacteristically solemn, and I nodded, embarrassed.

"I'm really sorry, Robbie," I said. "I don't even know how to undo it. It was stupid."

"Jesus, I don't want you to undo it," Robbie said, alarmed. "It's just I wish you had told me first. It kind of spooked me."

"Morgan, I really think you need to study more before you start doing spells," Cal went on. "It would be better if you saw the big picture instead of just little parts of it. It's all connected, you know, everything is connected, and everything you do affects everything else, so you've got to know what you're doing."

I nodded again, feeling horrible. I had been so impressed that my spell had worked, I hadn't even thought through all the far-reaching consequences.

"I'm not a high priest," Cal said, "but I can teach you what I know, and then you can go on to learn from someone else. If you want to."

"Yes, I want to," I said quickly. I glanced at Bree's face and wanted to take back the speed and certainty of my words.

"Samhain, Halloween, is eight days away," Cal said, dropping his hand. "Try to start coming to circles if you can. Think about it at least."

"Pretty intense, Rowlands." Robbie shook his head. "You're like the Tiger Woods of Wicca."

I couldn't help grinning. Bree's face was stiff. My mom tapped on the window to tell me dinner was ready, and I nodded and waved.

"I'm sorry, Robbie," I said again. "I won't ever do anything like that again."

"Just ask me first," Robbie said, without anger. We walked across the yard, and I led my three friends through the house and out the front door. "See you," I called to them as Cal met my eyes again. Halloween was eight days away.

The signs are there. She must be a blood witch. Her skin is splitting, and white light is leaking through. It's beautiful and frightening in its power. I vow on this Book of Shadows that I have found her. I was right. Blessed be.

That night Aunt Eileen showed up unexpectedly for dinner. Afterward she hung out with me in the kitchen and helped me clean up.

Out of nowhere, as I was scraping plates into the disposal, I found myself blurting out: "How did you know you were gay?"

She looked as surprised as I felt. "I'm sorry," I rushed to add. "Forget I asked. It's none of my business."

"No, it's okay," she said, thinking. "That's a fair question." She considered her answer for a few moments. "I guess when I was growing up, I always felt kind of different somehow. I didn't feel like a boy or anything. I knew I was a girl, and that was fine with me. But I just didn't get the whole point of boys existing." Her nose wrinkled, and I laughed.

"But I don't think I really figured out I was gay until about eighth grade," she went on, "when I got a crush on someone."

I looked up. "A girl?"

"Yes. Of course the girl didn't feel the same way about me—and I never told her about it or acted on it. I was so embarrassed. I felt like a freak. I felt there was something terribly wrong with me, that I needed counseling or help. Even medicine."

"How awful," I said.

"It wasn't until college that I came to terms with it and finally admitted to myself and everyone else that I was gay. I had been seeing a therapist and he helped me see that there really wasn't anything wrong with me. It's just how I was made."

Aunt Eileen made a wry face. "It wasn't easy. My parents—your Grammy and Pop-pop—were so horrified and upset. They just couldn't deal with it. They were so disappointed in me. It's hard, you know, when the way you are, the way you were born, just totally bewilders and embarrasses your own parents."

I didn't say anything but felt a spark of recognition at what she was saying.

"Anyway, they gave me a really hard time. Not to be mean or because they didn't love me but because they didn't know how else to react. They're a lot better now, but I'm still not at all what they want me to be. They don't ever want to talk about my being gay or people I'm involved with. Denial." She shrugged. "I can't help that I've found that the more I accept it and accept myself, the less friction I have in the rest of my life and the less stressed and unhappy I am."

I looked at her in admiration. "You've come a long way, baby," I said, and she laughed. She put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

"Thank God for your mom and dad and you and Mary K.," she said with feeling. "I don't know what I would do without you guys."

For the rest of the night I sat on the carpet of my room, thinking. I knew I wasn't gay, but I understood how my aunt felt. I was beginning to feel different from my family and even my friends, strongly drawn to something they couldn't accept.

Part of me felt if I allowed myself to become a witch, I'd be more relaxed, more natural, more powerful, more confident than I'd ever felt in my life. Part of me knew that if I did, I'd cause pain to the people I loved most.

That night I had a terrifying dream.

It was nighttime. The sky was streaked with broad bands of moonlight highlighting clouds in shades of eggplant dove gray, and indigo. The air was cold and I felt the chilly breeze on my face and bare arms as I flew over Widow's Vale. It was beautiful up there, calm and peaceful, with the wind rushing in my ears, my long hair streaming out behind me, my dress whipping around my legs and molding to the outline of my body.

Gradually I became aware of a voice calling me, a frightened voice. I circled the town, wheeling lower like a hawk, circling and diving and floating on great strong currents of air that buoyed my body. In the woods at the north edge of town, the voice was louder. I went lower still until the tops of the trees practically grazed my skin. At a clearing in the middle of the woods I sank down, landing gracefully on one foot.

The voice belonged to Bree. I followed it into the woods until I came to a boggy area, a place where an underground spring seeped sullenly up through the earth, not flowing strongly enough to make a creek but not drying, either. It provided just enough moisture for breeding mosquitoes, for fungus, for soft green molds glowing emerald in the moonlight.

Bree was stuck in the bog, her ankle trapped by a gnarled root. Gradually she was sinking, being sucked under inch by inch. By the time the sun rose, she would drown.

I held out my hand. My arm looked smooth and strong, defined by muscles and covered with silvery, moonlit skin. I clasped her outstretched hand, slippery with foul-smelling mud, and I heard the suck of the bog around her ankle.

Bree gasped in pain as the root gripped her ankle. "I can't!" she cried. "It hurts!"