Blood Witch

CHAPTER 2 Picketts Road

What to write? The pressure inside me is building until my head pounds. Until recently I've always wanted to do what I needed to do. Now for the first time these two paths are diverging. She is blooming like an orchid: transforming from a plain plant into something crushingly beautiful, a blossom that cries out to be picked.

But now, somehow, the thought bothers me. I know it's right, it's necessary, it's expected. And I know I'll do it, but they keep hounding me. Nothing is turning out the way I had envisioned. I need more time to tie her to me, to join with her mentally, emotionally, so she'll see through my eyes. I even find myself liking the idea of joining with her. I'll bet the Goddess is laughing at me.

As to craft, I've found a variant reading of Hellorus that describes how sitting beneath an oak can bend the will of Eolh. I want to try it soon

— Sgath

Saturday morning I didn't exactly leap out of bed. I'd been up until the wee hours, reading Maeve's Book of Shadows. She'd started it when she was fourteen years old. So far, I couldn't figure out what Selene meant about finding out something upsetting. Aside from unpronounceable Gaelic words and lots of spells and recipes, I hadn't found anything really disturbing or strange. I knew that Maeve Riordan and Angus Bramson, my birth parents, were burned to death after they came to America. I just didn't know why. Maybe this book would explain it somehow. But I was reading slowly. I wanted to savor every word.

When I finally woke up and groped my way downstairs, my eyes were slits. I stumbled toward the refrigerator for a Diet Coke.

I was working on a couple of Pop-Tarts when Mom and Mary K. breezed in, having taken a brisk mother-daughter walk in the chill November air.

"Wow!" said Mom, her nose pink. She clapped her gloved hands. "It's nippy outside!" She came over and gave me a kiss, and I flinched as her icy hair brushed against my face.

"It's pretty, though," Mary K. added. "The snow is just starting to melt, and all the squirrels and birds are on the ground, looking for something to eat."

I rolled my eyes. Some people are just too cheerful in the morning. It isn't natural.

"Speaking of something to eat," Mom said, taking off her gloves and sitting down across from me, "can you two hit the grocery store this morning? I'm showing a house at ten-thirty, and we're out of almost everything."

Mentally I reviewed my blank calendar. "Sure," I said. "Got a list?"

Mom plucked it off the fridge and started adding items to it Mary K. put the last bagel in the toaster. The phone rang, and she whirled to get it.

Cal, I thought, my heart picking up a beat. Happiness washed over me.

"Hello?" answered Mary K., sounding perky and breathless at the same time. "Oh, hi. Yeah, she's here, just a sec." She handed the phone to me, mouthing, "Cal." I knew it. Ever since I'd discovered Wicca, since I'd discovered Cal, I'd always been able to tell who was calling. "Hi," I said into the phone.

"How are you?" he asked. "Did you stay up all night, reading?"

He knew me. "Yes… I want to talk to you about it," I said. I was very aware of my mother and Mary K. sitting right there, especially since Mary K. was patting her heart and making swooning gestures at me. I frowned.

"Good—I'd like that," Cal said. "Want to drive up to Practical Magick this afternoon?"

Practical Magick was a Wicca store in the nearby town of Red Kill, and one of my favorite places to spend a spare hour or two. "I'd love to," I said. My frown melted into a smile. All my senses were waking up.

"I'll come get you. Say, one-thirty?"

"Okay. See you then."

I hung up the phone. My mom lowered the newspaper and looked at me over her reading glasses.

"What?" I said self-consciously, a big grin on my face.

"Everything going all right with Cal?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," I said. I could feel my cheeks reddening. It felt weird to talk to my parents about my boyfriend—especially since he was the one who had introduced me to Wicca. I'd always been able to discuss my life with Mom and Dad, but Wicca was a part of it they wanted gone, forever. It had created a wall between us.

"Cal seems nice," Mom said brightly, trying to put me at ease and fish for information at the same time. "He's certainly good-looking."

"Um… yeah, he's really nice. Let me go take a shower," I mumbled, standing up. "Then we'll go to the store."

I fled.

"Okay, first stop, coffee shop," Mary K. directed a half hour later. She folded Mom's grocery list and stuck it in her coat pocket I wheeled Das Boot—my massive, submarinelike old car— into the parking lot of the small strip mall that boasted Widow's Vale's one and only coffee emporium. We dashed from the car to the cafe, where it smelled like coffee and pastry. I looked at the board and tried to decide between a grande latte or a grande today's special. Mary K. leaned over the glass case, gazing longingly at the bear claws. I checked my cash.

"Get one if you want," I said. "My treat. Get me one, too."

My sister flashed me a smile, and I thought again that she looked so much older than fourteen. Some fourteen-year-olds are so gawky: half formed, childlike. Mary K. wasn't. She was savvy and mature. For the first time in a long while, it occurred to me that I was lucky to have her as my sister, even if we didn't share the same blood.

The door swung open, bells jangling. Bakker Blackburn came in, followed by his older brother, Roger, who had been a senior at Widow's Vale High last year and was now at Vassar. My insides clenched. Mary K. glanced up, eyes wide. She looked away quickly.

"Hey, Mary K., Morgan," Bakker mumbled, avoiding my gaze. He probably hated me. About a week earlier, I'd kicked him out of our house in no uncertain terms when I'd found him pinning Mary K. down on her bed, practically raping her. He also probably thought I was an alien, since those terms had included hitting him with a ball of crackly blue witch fire—without even meaning to. I still didn't know how I'd done it. My own power constantly surprised me.

Mary K. nodded at Bakker. She clearly didn't know what to say.

"Hey, Roger," I said. He was two years older than me, but Widow's Vale is a small town, and we all pretty much know each other. "How's it going?"

Roger shrugged. "Not bad." Bakker's eyes remained glued to Mary K.

"We'd better go," I stated, heading toward the exit.

Mary K. nodded, but she took her time following me out the door. Maybe she secretly wanted to see if Bakker would say anything. Sure enough, he approached her.

"Mary K.," he began pleadingly.

She looked at him but turned and caught up to me without a word. I was relieved. I knew he'd been groveling hard since The Incident, and I could tell that Mary K. was weakening. I was afraid that if I spoke too harshly, it might drive her back to him. So I kept my mouth shut. But I had promised myself that if I got the slightest inkling of his forcing himself on her again, I would tell my parents, his parents, and everyone I knew.

And Mary K. would probably never forgive me, I thought as we got into the car.

I started Das Boot's engine and pulled out onto the street. Thinking about Mary K.'s love life made me think about my own. I started to smile and couldn't stop. Was Cal my muirn beatha dan—the Wiccan term for soul mate, life partner? He seemed to believe so. The possibility sent a shiver down my spine.

At the grocery store we stocked up on Pop-Tarts and other necessities. In the snacks aisle I lifted twelve-packs of Diet Coke into the cart while Mary K. piled bags of pretzels and chips on top. Farther down the shelf were boxes of Fudge Therapy, Bree's favorite junk food.

Bree. My former best friend.

I swallowed. How many times had Bree and I smuggled boxes of Fudge Therapy into a movie theater? How many boxes had we consumed during sleep overs as we lay in the dark, spilling our secrets to each other? It still seemed bizarre that we were enemies, that our friendship had broken up because she had wanted Cal and he had wanted me. In the past few weeks I had wished again and again that I could talk to her about all that I'd learned. Bree didn't even know I was adopted. She still thought I was a Rowlands by birth, like Mary K. But Bree was being such a bitch to me now, and I was being cold to her. Oh, well. For now, there was nothing I could do about it It seemed best not to dwell on what I couldn't change.

Mary K. and I checked out and loaded up the car. I stifled a yawn as we climbed back in. The gray, cheerless weather seemed to sap my energy. I wanted to go home and nap before Cal came over.

"Let's go down Picketts Road," said Mary K., adjusting the car's heater vents to blow right on her. "It's so pretty, even if it takes longer."

"Picketts Road it is," I said, taking the turn. I preferred this route, too: it was hilly and winding, and there weren't many houses. People kept horses back here, and though most of the trees were now bare, colorful leaves still littered the ground, like the patterns on an oriental carpet.

Up ahead were two cars parked by the side of the road. My eyes narrowed. I recognized them as Matt Adler's white jeep and Raven Meltzer's beat-up black Peugeot… parked right next to each other on a road few people used. That was odd. I hadn't even realized that they spoke to each other. I looked around but didn't see either one of them.

"Interesting," I muttered.

"What?" said my sister, fiddling with the radio dial.

"That was Matt Adler's jeep and Raven Meltzer's Peugeot," I said.

"So?"

"They're not even friends," I said, shrugging. "What are their cars doing out here?"

Mary K. pursed her lips. "Gosh, maybe they killed someone and are burying the body," she said sarcastically.

I smirked at her. "It's just kind of unusual, that's all. I mean, Matt is Jenna's boyfriend, and Raven…" Raven doesn't care if a guy is someone's boyfriend, I finished silently. Raven just liked to get guys, chew them up, and spit them out.

"Yeah, but they both do this Wicca stuff with you, right?" said Mary K., flipping down the sun visor mirror to check her appearance. It was obvious that she didn't want to look me in the eye. She'd made it very clear that she disapproved of "this Wicca stuff," as she liked to call it.

"But Raven's not in our coven," I said. "She and Bree started their own coven."

"Because you and Bree aren't talking anymore?" she asked pointedly, still looking in the mirror.

I bit my lip. I still hadn't explained very much about Bree and Cal to my family. They had noticed, of course, that Bree and I weren't hanging out and that Bree wasn't calling the house nine times a day. But I'd mumbled something about Bree being busy with a new boyfriend, and no one had called me on it till now.

"That's part of it," I said with a sigh. "She thought she was in love with Cal. But he wanted to be with me. So Bree decided the hell with me." It hurt to say it out loud.

"And you chose Cal," my sister said, but her tone was forgiving.

I shook my head. "It's not like I chose Cal over her. Actually, she chose him over me first. Besides, I didn't tell Bree she had to get out of my life or anything. I still wanted to be friends."

Mary K. flipped the visor back up. "Even though she loved your boyfriend."

"She thought she loved him," I said, getting prickly. "She didn't even know him, though. She still doesn't. Anyway, you know how she is about guys. She likes the thrill of the chase and the conquest much more than any long-term thing. Use them and lose them. And Cal didn't want to be with her." I sighed again. "It's complicated."

Mary K. shrugged.

"You think I shouldn't go out with Cal just because Bree wanted him?" I asked. My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

"No, not exactly," said Mary K. "It's just, I feel kind of sorry for Bree. She lost you and Cal."

I sniffed. "Well, she's being a total bitch to me now," I muttered, forgetting how much I had been missing Bree just minutes ago. "So she obviously isn't all broken up about it."

Mary K. stared out the window. "Maybe being a bitch is just how Bree acts sad," she murmured absently, watching the barren trees pass. "If you were my best friend for about twelve years and you left me for a guy you just met, maybe I would be a bitch, too."

I didn't answer. Just stay out of it, I thought. Like my fourteen-year-old sister knew anything. She'd allowed herself to get involved with a sleazebag like Bakker, after all.

But deep down, I wondered if I was irritated because Mary K. was right.