Blood Witch

CHAPTER 8 Muirn Beatha Dan

Ostara, 1993

Aunt Shelagh told me she saw someone under a braigh before, when she was a girl, visiting her granny in Scotland. A local witch had been selling potions and charms and spells to cause harm. When Aunt Shelagh was there one summer, the Seeker came.

Shelagh says she woke in the night to screams and howls. The whole village turned out to see the Seeker take away the herbwife. In the moonlight, Shelagh saw the glint of the silver braigh around the herbwife's wrists, saw how the flesh was burned. The Seeker took her away, and no one saw her again, though they whispered she was living on the streets in Edinburgh.

Shelagh doesn't think the woman was ever able to do magick again, good or bad, so I don't know how long she would have wanted to live like that. But Shelagh also said that one sight of that herbwife under the braigh was enough to make her promise to never ever misuse her power. It was a terrible thing, she said. Terrible to see. She told me this story last month, when the Seeker was here. But he took no one away with him, and our coven is placid once more.

I am glad he's gone.

— Giomanach

I drove home as quickly as I could, considering that the streets were basically one big ice slick. The temperature kept dropping, and the air was miserable with the kind of bone-drenching chill that Widow's Vale seems to specialize in.

"I thought Mary K. broke up with Bakker after what happened," said Cal.

"She did," I grumbled. "But he's been begging her to take him back, it was all a mistake, he's so sorry, it'll never happen again, blah blah blah." Anger made my voice shrill.

My tires skidded a bit as I turned into our driveway. Bakker's car was parked out front. I slammed the car door and crunched up our walk—only to find Mary K. and Bakker huddled together on the front steps, shaking and practically blue with cold.

"What are you doing?" I exclaimed, relief washing over me.

"I wanted to wait for you," Mary K. muttered, and I silently applauded her good sense.

"Come on, then," I said, pushing open the front door. "But you guys stay downstairs."

"Okay," Bakker mumbled, sounding half frozen. "As long as it's warm."

Cal started making hot cider for us all while I stayed outside and salted the front walk and the driveway so my parents wouldn't have a hard time when they got home. It was nice to get back inside, and I cranked up the thermostat, then headed to the kitchen. It was my night to make dinner. I washed four potatoes, stabbed them with a fork, and put them in the oven to bake.

"Hey, Morgan, can we just run upstairs for a sec?" Mary K. asked tentatively, clutching her mug. Since I'd met Cal, I'd begun drinking a ton of cider. It was incredibly warming on cold days. "All my CDs are in my room."

I shook my head. "Tough," I said shortly. I blew on my cider to cool it. "You guys stay downstairs, or Mom will have my ass."

Mary K. sighed. Then she and Bakker brought their stuff to the dining-room table and self-righteously started to do their homework. Or at least they pretended to do their homework.

As soon as my sister was gone, I waved my left hand in a circle, deosil, over my cider, and whispered, "Cool the fire." The next time I took a sip, it was just right, and I beamed. I loved being a witch!

Cal grinned and said, "Now what? Do we have to stay downstairs, too?"

I let my mind wander tantalizingly over the possibilities if I didn't practice what I preached but finally sighed and said, "I guess so. Mom would go insane if I was upstairs with an evil boy while she wasn't home. I mean, you've probably got only one thing on your mind and all."

"Yeah," Cal raised his eyebrows and laughed. "But it's one good thing, let me tell you."

Dagda padded into the kitchen and mewed.

"Hey, little guy," I crooned. I put my cider down on the counter and scooped him up. He began to purr hard, his small body trembling.

"He gets to go upstairs," cCl pointed out, "and he's a boy."

I grinned. "They don't care if he sleeps with me," I said.

Cal let out a good-natured groan as I carried Dagda into the family room and sat on the couch. Cal sat next to me, and I felt the warmth of his leg against mine. I smiled at him, but his face turned solemn. He stroked my hair and traced the line of my chin with his fingers.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You surprise me all the time," he said out of the blue.

"How?" I was stroking Dagda's soft triangular head, and he was purring and kneading my knees.

"You're just—different than I thought you would be," he said. He put his arm across the back of the couch and leaned toward me as if trying to memorize my face, my eyes. He seemed so serious.

I didn't know what to think. "What did you expect me to be like?" I asked. I could smell the clean laundry scent of his shirt In my mind I pictured us stretched on the couch, kissing. We could do it. I knew that Mary K. and Bakker were in the other room, that they wouldn't bother us. But suddenly I felt insecure, remembering again that I was almost seventeen and he was the first boy who'd ever asked me out, ever kissed me. "Boring?" I asked. "Kind of vanilla?"

His golden eyes crinkled at the edges, and he tapped my lips gently with one finger. "No, of course not," he said. "But you're so strong. So interesting." His forehead creased momentarily, as if he regretted what he'd said. "I mean, right when I met you, I thought you were interesting and good-looking and the rest of it, and I could tell right away you had a gift for the craft. I wanted to get close to you. But you've turned out to be so much more than that. The more I know you, the more you feel equal to me, like a real partner. Like I said, my muirn beatha dan. It's kind of a huge idea." He shook his head. "I've never felt this way before."

I didn't know what to say. I looked at his face, still amazed by how beautiful I found it, still awed by the feelings he awoke in me. "Kiss me," I heard myself breathe. He leaned closer and pressed his lips to mine.

After several moments Dagda shifted impatiently in my lap. Cal laughed and shook his head, then drew away from me as if deciding to exercise better judgment. He reached down and pulled a pad of paper and pen out of his book bag and handed them to me.

"Let's see you write your runes," he said.

I nodded. It wasn't kissing, but it was magick—a close second. I began to draw, from memory, the twenty-four runes. There were others, I knew, that dated from later times, but these twenty-four were considered the basics.

"Feoh," I said softly, drawing a vertical line, then two lines that slanted up and to the right from it. "For wealth."

"What else is it for?" asked Cal.

"Prosperity, increase, success." I thought. "Things turning out well. And this is Eolh, for protection," I said, drawing the shape that was like an upside-down Mercedes logo. "It's very positive. This is Geofu, which stands for gift or partnership. Generosity. Strengthening friendships or other relationships. The joining of the God and Goddess."

"Very good," said Cal, nodding.

I kept on until I had drawn all of them, as well as a blank space for the Wyrd rune, the undrawn one, the symbol that signified something you ought not know: dangerous or hurtful knowledge, a path you should not take. In rune sets it was represented by a blank tile.

"That's great, Morgan," Cal whispered. "Now close your eyes and think about these runes. Let your fingers drift over the page, and stop when you feel you should stop. Then look at what rune you've stopped on."

I loved this kind of thing. I closed my eyes and let my fingers skim the paper. At first I felt nothing, but then I focused my concentration, trying to shut out everything except what I was doing. I tuned out the murmur of Mary K. and Bakker's voices from the dining room, the ticking of the cuckoo clock my dad had built from a kit, the gentle hum of the furnace kicking in.

I don't know how long it was before I realized that my fingertips were picking up impressions. I felt feathery softness, a cool stone, a warm prickle… were these the images of the runes? I let myself go deeper into the magick, losing myself in its power. There. Yes, there was one place where I felt a stronger sensation. Each time my fingers passed it, it called to me. I let my hand drift downward to rest on the paper and opened my eyes.

My fingers were on the rune called Yr. The symbol for death.

I frowned. "What does this mean?"

"Hmmm," said Cal, looking at the paper, his hand on his chin. "Well, you know, Yr can be interpreted many different ways. It doesn't mean that you or someone you know is going to die. It may simply mean the ending of something and the beginning of something new. Some sort of big change, not necessarily a bad one."

The double-fishhook symbol of Yr shone darkly on the white paper. Death. The importance of endings. It seemed like an omen. A scary omen. A jet of adrenaline surged through me, making my heart thud.

All at once I heard the back door open.

"Hello?" came my mom's voice. "Morgan? Mary K.?" There were footsteps in the dining room. My concentration evaporated.

"Hey, sweetie," she said to Mary K. She paused. "Hello, Bakker. Mary K., is your sister here?" I knew she meant: For God's sake, you're not here alone with a boy, are you?

"I'm in here," I said, tucking the paper of runes into my pocket. Cal and I walked out of the family room. Mom's eyes flashed over us, and I could immediately see the thoughts going through her mind. My girls, alone in the house with two boys. But we were all downstairs, we had our clothes on, and Mary K. and Bakker were at least sitting at the dining-room table. I could see Mom consciously decide not to worry about it

"Are you baking potatoes?" she asked, sniffing.

"Yep," I said.

"Do you think we could mash them instead?" she asked. "I've asked Eileen and Paula to dinner." She held up a folder. "I've got some hot prospects for them housewise."

"Cool," I said. "Yeah, we can mash them, and then there'll be enough. I'm making hamburgers, too, but there's plenty."

"Great. Thanks, sweetie." Mom headed upstairs to change out of her work clothes.

"I'd better go," I heard Bakker say reluctantly. Good, I thought.

"Me too," said Cal. "Bakker, do you think you could give me a lift back to school? That's where my car is."

"No prob," said Bakker.

I walked Cal outside, and we hugged on the front porch. He kissed my neck and whispered, "I'll call you later. Don't get all bent about the Yr thing. It was just an exercise."

"Okay," I whispered back, although I still wasn't sure how I felt. "Thanks for coming over."

Aunt Eileen arrived first. "Hi!" she said, coming in and taking off her coat. "Paula called and said she was running a few minutes late—something about a Chihuahua having a difficult labor."

I smiled awkwardly in the front hall. I hadn't seen her since I had demanded to know why she hadn't told me I was adopted, at a family dinner two weeks ago. I felt a little embarrassed to see her again, but I was sure Mom had been talking to her, keeping her up-to-date with everything.

"Hi, Aunt Eileen," I said. "I… uh, I'm sorry about making a scene last time. You know."

As if to answer, she swept me up in a tight hug. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered. "I understand. I don't blame you a bit."

We pulled back and smiled at each other for a moment. I knew Aunt Eileen would make everything okay again. Then she glanced down and gasped, pointing urgently to my dad's La-Z-Boy, where a small gray butt and tail were sticking out from under the skirt.

I laughed and scooped Dagda out.

"This is Dagda," I said, rubbing him behind his ears. "He's my new cat."

"Oh, my goodness," said Eileen, stroking his head. "I'm sorry. I thought he was a rat."

"You should know better," I joked, putting him back on the chair. "You date a vet."

Aunt Eileen laughed, too. "I know, I know."

Soon afterward Paula arrived, her sandy hair windblown, her nose pink with cold.

"Hey," I greeted her. "Is the Chihuahua okay?"

"Fine, and the proud mom of two pups," she said, giving me a hug. "Oh! What a beautiful kitten!" she said, spotting Dagda on Dad's chair.

I beamed. Finally. Somebody who knew what a treasure Dagda was. I'd always liked Aunt Eileen's new girlfriend, but now it struck me that they were a perfect match. Maybe Paula was even Eileen's muirn beatha dan.

Thinking about it brought a smile to my face. Everybody deserved somebody. Not everyone was as lucky as I was, of course. I had Cal.