1. Moira

"So I said, 'Oh, Mum, don't get your knickers in a twist," Moira Byrne said, licking the steamed milk of her latte off the spoon. She smiled angelically at her friends and took a big, slurping sip. Finally the long «regular» school day was over, and she, Tess, and Vita had headed to Margath's Faire, on the outskirts of Cobh. The first floor was an occult book and supplies shop; the second floor was a cafe, where they sometimes had readings or music; and the third floor was for various Wiccan classes or study groups. The three girls had grabbed a table in the cafe, in the back corner.

"Away with ya," said Tess Summerall, laughing in disbelief.

"Right, I can see you being cheeky to Morgan of Belwicket, mum or no," Vita O'Shaunessy agreed, grinning. "Are you grounded, then?"

Moira took another sip and shook her head. Her light, reddish-gold hair, with its three green streaks on the left side, swung over her shoulders. "Amazingly, no," she admitted. "I turned on the famous Moira Byrne charm and convinced her it was for my spellcraft class."

Tess's blue eyes widened. "I can't believe your charm works on your own mum, and you know, spelling your initials with ladybugs on the garden wall was not what Keady meant for spellcraft class."

Moira laughed, remembering again how astonished she had been when her spell had worked. It had been the most complicated one she had ever tried, and watching the tiny, red-winged ladybugs slowly spell out MB had been incredibly satisfying. Until her mother had come home and caught her. "It was brilliant," she said. "I really should get top marks for it."

Vita rolled her eyes. "You probably will. Especially if you use the famous Moira Byrne charm."

Moira giggled. Keady Dove, their spellcraft teacher, was as traditional as her own mother. Admitting that she had toyed with the wills of ladybugs just for a lark would not go over well.

Standing, Tess asked, "Anyone want anything? I'm getting another espresso." At her full height, Tess was five feet two, six inches shorter than Moira and with all the fine-boned daintiness Moira felt she lacked. Tess's naturally black hair was cut short and spiky, with magenta-dyed tips. Much more daring than Moira's three green stripes, which were supposed to have been wash-out dye for St. Patrick's Day but had turned out to be permanent. She'd asked her mum to take them out with magick, and her mum had refused. Her dad had just laughed and hugged her. "It's not so bad, Daisy. It'll probably only take six or seven years to grow out."

Moira had moaned, allowing herself to be held by her dad, even though she was fifteen-too old to be cuddled or called Daisy, the pet name her father had always used.

"Think of it as character building," her mum had suggested, and her dad had laughed again. Her dad and mum had met eyes and smiled at each other, and Moira had known it was a lost cause. She'd called Tess and complained about the permanent dye being the "worst thing" to happen to her.

That had been seven months ago. One month later her dad had been killed in a car wreck in London, where he'd gone on business. Now she wished more than anything that the green streaks could really have been her worst problem-and that Colm Byrne was still waiting at home to back up her mum in a lecture about the latest trouble Moira had gotten into.

"Moira?" Tess asked, waiting for an answer.

"Oh, no thanks. I'm fine." Moira forced a thin smile.

"All right, then?" Vita asked once Tess had left. Her round face looked concerned.

"Oh, you know," Moira said vaguely. Vita nodded sympathetically and patted Moira's hand in an old-fashioned gesture Moira found touching.

"I know. I'm here, whenever you want to talk."

Moira nodded. "I'd rather be distracted, really," she said.

"Well, good," Vita said. "Because I was wondering if you could help me study for herbology. I got all the nightshades mixed up on the last test, and Christa was very disappointed." Vita lowered her voice to sound like Christa Ryan, one of their initiation-class teachers.

"Sure," Moira said. "Come over tonight or tomorrow and we'll go over everything. I'll share all the Moira Byrne wisdom with you."

Vita threw a paper napkin at her, and Moira laughed. "You mean the Moira Byrne wisdom that had you spelling your initials with bugs?" Vita asked dryly.

"Right! That wisdom!"

Tess came back and sat down, curling one leg neatly beneath her.

"You're so dainty," Moira said with a sigh, wishing the same could be said about her. Then she froze in her seat, her hazel eyes wide. One hand reached out to grab Tess's arm. "Goddess-I think he's here, downstairs," she whispered. She hadn't deliberately been casting her senses, but her neck had prickled, and when she concentrated, she thought she felt Ian’s vibrations.

Vita fluttered her eyelids. "Oh, no-I don't think I can take the excitement of seeing Ian Delaney. Someone help me. Fetch a cold cloth." She swayed in her chair while Tess broke up with laughter. Moira looked at her.

"I'll fetch you a cold cloth," she said, "for your mouth."

Vita and Tess laughed harder, and Moira narrowed her eyes. "Could we have more sympathy, please?" she asked. "How often do I fancy a lad?"

"Not often," Tess agreed, sobering. "Everyone, be casual."

This made Vita laugh again. Moira turned her attention to her latte as though it were all-absorbing. Come up here, she thought. Come upstairs. You're thirsty.

She wasn't putting a spell on Ian or sending him a witch message. She was just wishing hard. Ian Delaney had transferred to her regular school two years ago, and Moira had immediately developed a crush on him. He was gorgeous in a rough-cut kind of way, with thick brown hair that never looked quite tidy enough, deep blue eyes, and one dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. He'd been such a refresh- ing change from some of the more upper-class snobs who went to Moira's school-outspoken, funny in a cheeky way, and completely unable to be intimidated, either by teachers or students.

Best of all, he was a witch.

Unfortunately, all last year Moira had been invisible to him-not that she had even tried to get his attention. But this year… he had sat next to her in study hall. Lent her some graph paper in math class. Borrowed a quid from her-and paid her back. And just in the last month Moira had actually started trying to flirt with him, in a lame, inexperienced way, she admitted. But he seemed to be responding.

"I can't feel him," said Vita. "Is he coming up?"

"Not yet," said Moira. "He's still downstairs."

Tess grinned. "Shall I fetch him up here? I'll stand at the top of the stairs and yell, 'Oy! You there, boy. Up here! "

Moira's chest tightened. "If you do…" she breathed in warning, shaking her head. Tess was so much more confident about lads. It wasn't that Moira didn't have confidence-she knew that she was good at magick and that she had an ability to learn anything if she put her mind to it. She never questioned how much her family loved her. But where she did fall apart was with the whole world of boys, dating, and flirting.

Come upstairs, Ian. You're thirsty. Or hungry. Or you're looking for me.

"Does your mum know about Ian?" Tess asked.

Moira shook her head. "No. We're not dating-it's not like I've had him home to tea."

Two pairs of blue eyes looked at her. Tess's were expectant, shrewd. Vita's were politely disbelieving. "So you've not mentioned your unquenchable love for Ian Delaney, son of Lilith Delaney, high priestess of Ealltuinn," Vita stated. "Ealltuinn, who's been getting members of Belwicket up in arms because they don't seem to know the boundary of when it's not right to use magick?"

"It's not unquenchable love, and no, I've not mentioned it," Moira said pointedly. "Am I supposed to only date Belwicket lads, then? There's precious few. Or should I try a nonwitch?"

Half smiling, Tess held up her hands as if to say she gave up.

"Just wanted to ask," Vita murmured, shrugging. "I mean, everything aside, Ian’s deadly hot. No one says he isn't."

Moira paused. "Wait-he's coming up!" She bent over her latte, face carefully expressionless. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ian the second he passed the top step into the cafe. She looked anywhere but at him, shooting subtle but threatening looks at Tess and Vita, each of whom was trying to smother a smile.

"So," said Tess brightly. "You want to take in a film this weekend, then?"

Moira nodded as if it were a serious question. "Yeah, maybe so." Her eyes widened as she realized Ian was coming straight at their table, a mug in his hand.

"Moira!" he said.

She looked up with an Oscar-worthy expression of surprise. "Oh, hey there, Ian."

He smiled down at her, and she felt her heart give a little flip. That smile…

"'Lo, Ian," said Tess, and Vita smiled at him.

"Hi," he said, and Moira loved the fact that his gaze didn't linger on either of her (she thought) prettier or more feminine friends. Instead he looked right at her, his chestnut brown hair flecked with mist, his eyes dark blue and smiling. "I don't want to interrupt-I was just downstairs and fan-cied a drink. It's wet outside."

"Do you want to sit down?" Moira asked, mentally patting herself on the back for her boldness.

"Aye, sure," he said, pleased. He asked a neighboring table if he could take a chair, then pulled it over and wedged it right next to Moira's. She could hardly keep herself from wiggling with happiness. Cool. I'm very cool, she thought, feeling almost glad about her green-streaked hair.

"Oh! Look at the time!" Tess said in a non-Oscar-worthy performance, complete with wide eyes and O-shaped mouth. "I have to be getting off. Mum'll slay me if I'm late again." She stood and pulled on her suede jacket.

"I didn't mean to interrupt anything," Ian said again, concerned.

"Not at all," Tess assured him. "Pure coincidence. Come on, then, Vi."

"Why?" Vita frowned. "Your mum won't slay me if I'm late."

Tess just stared at her, and then Vita got it.

"Right. I'm late, too." She stood up and pulled on her plaid trench coat. "Later on, Moira. Nice seeing you, Ian."

"You too," he said.

Then they were gone, and Moira and Ian were sharing a table alone for the first time. Moira felt all quivery inside, happy and anxious at once. Her latte was ice-cold, and she quickly circled her hand over it, deasil, and murmured, "Heat within." Ian sipped his mug of tea. Just as Moira was starting to feel alarmed by the lingering silence, Ian said, "I was looking at books downstairs." "Oh?" Yes, that was witty. You go, Moira. "I've always liked the illustrated books-the ones with old-fashioned pictures of witches. Or the really pretty flower ones." Do I really sound this stupid?

Ian didn't seem to think so. He only said, "Yeah. I love the plant ones. I'm still taking private herbology lessons."

"But you got initiated last year, right?"

"Yeah, they usually do it at fourteen in my coven," he replied. "You're not initiated yet?"

"No. I'm aiming for next Beltane. Me and Tess and Vita."

"Well, you've got some time, then."

Moira nodded. "We're all taking classes-spellcraft, herbology, astrology, animal work. The usuals."

"What's your favorite?"

He's interested in me! "I like spellcraft." She couldn't help smiling, remembering her ladybug triumph. "Last weekend I wrote a new spell by myself. I spelled ladybugs to form my initials on my garden wall."

Ian laughed. "Did it work? Or did you just get a bunch of confused, ready-to-hibernate ladybugs? Or maybe bees?"

Grinning, Moira knocked her side against him, then was thrilled at the warm contact. "Yes, it worked." The truth was, she'd been pretty amazed herself-but she didn't want Ian to know that.

"Yeah? Ladybugs spelled out your initials? That's very cool," said Ian, looking impressed. "And you're not even initiated yet. But I guess you've got your mother's power, then."

Self-consciously Moira shrugged, although by now she was used to having a mother who was famous in Wiccan circles. All of Moira's life, she'd heard people speaking respectfully about Morgan Byrne of Belwicket-her powers, her incredibly strong healing gifts, the promise of her craft. Moira was proud of her mum, but at the same time it was hard, always wondering if she would ever measure up.

"With your powers, why weren't you initiated earlier?" Ian asked. "It seems like you would be amazing by now."

"You don't think I'm amazing?" Moira said teasingly, feeling incredibly daring. She had a moment of anxiety when Ian quit smiling and just looked at her thoughtfully. I went too far, I went too far-

"No," he said quietly. "I do think you're amazing."

Her face lit up, and she forgot to be cool. "I think you're amazing, too."

"Oh, yes, me," Ian said. "I can move forks. Look."

As Moira watched, Tess's leftover fork slid slowly toward her, about an inch. Moira grinned and raised her eyebrows at him, and he looked pleased.

"Pretty good," she said, an idea popping into her mind. Hopefully she could pull it off. "Watch this," she said boldly. "Look at everyone in the room who's reading"-which was three-quarters of the people there. Most tables seemed to have an open book or magazine or paper on them. Moira closed her eyes and pictured what she wanted to do, tamping down the mote of conscience that wairned her it was probably not a good idea. Right, then, I hope this works.

All the pages move as one, as if the story's just begun. I flip the pages lightly so, and my will tells them where to go.

Then, seeing it in her mind, Moira turned one page in each paper, book, or magazine throughout the cafe at Margath's Faire. In perfect unison, every piece of reading material in the room had one page turned. Most people noticed, and the witches in the room instantly looked up to see who had done it. Hearing that it had worked, Moira opened her eyes and carefully looked at no one besides Ian. She finished the last bit of her latte and gave Ian a private smile, thrilled that she'd really done it.

"That was bloody beautiful," Ian breathed, looking at her in a way that made her feel shivery. "So delicate and simple, yet so awesome." He took her hand, and Moira loved the feel of his warmth, their fingers intertwining. His hand was larger than hers, which made her feel better, because in fact Ian was only the same height she was.

I'm holding hands with Ian Delaney, Moira thought, letting happiness wash over her.

"I'm impressed, Moira of Belwicket," he said quietly, looking at her. "You are your mother's daughter."