Abruptly my vision changed. I saw an older me leaning over a cauldron, and I looked like a children's cartoon of a witch, with long, stringy hair, bad skin, sunken cheeks, hands like claws. It was so horrible, I almost giggled nervously. That other me was conjuring, surrounded by sharp-edged, dripping wet stone, as if I stood in a cave by a sea. Outside, lightning flashed and cracked into the cave, shining on the walls, and my face was contorted with the effort of working magick. The cave was glowing with power, that other Morgan was giddy with power, and the whole scene felt awful, bizarre, frightening, yet somehow seductive.
I swallowed hard and blinked several times, trying to bring myself out of it. I couldn't get enough air and was dimly aware that I was gaping like a fish, trying to get more oxygen to my brain. When I blinked again, I saw sunlight and another, older Morgan walking through a field of wheat, like one of those corny shampoo commercials. I was pregnant. There was no dramatic power around me, no ecstatic conjuring, just peace and quiet and calm.
Now I was breathing quickly, and every time my eyes closed, I alternated between the two images, the two Morgans. I became aware of a deep-seated pain in my chest and throat, and I started to feel panicky and out of control.
I want to get out of this, I thought. I want to get out. Let me out!
Somehow I managed to wrench my gaze away from the candle flame, and then I was leaning over, gasping on my carpet, feeling dizzy and sick. I was flooded with sensation, with memories and visions I couldn't interpret or even see clearly, and suddenly I knew that I was about to vomit. I staggered to my feet, breaking my circle, and lurched drunkenly to the bathroom. I yanked off my robe, slid across the tiled wall until I hovered over the toilet and then I threw up, almost crying with misery.
I don't know how long I was in there, but it was a long while, and finally I started to cry, aching, deep sobs. I sat there till the sobs subsided, then shakily got to my feet flushed the toilet, and crept to the sink. Splashing my face with cold water helped, and I brushed my teeth and washed my face again and changed into my pajamas. I felt weak and hollow, as if I had the flu.
Back in my room, Dagda sat in the middle of the broken circle, gazing meditatively at the candle. "Hi, boy," I whispered, then cupped my hand and blew out the candle. My hands trembling, I dismantled everything, storing the tools in their metal box, folding my mother's robe, which seemed alive, crackling with energy. The very air in my room felt charged and unhealthy. I flung open a window, welcoming the twenty-five-degree chill.
I vacuumed up my circle and hid the toolbox again, spelling the HVAC vent with runes of secrecy. Soon after that, the front door opened and I heard my parents' voices. The phone rang at the same moment. I sprang over to the hall extension and said breathlessly, "Hi. I'm glad you called."
"Are you okay?" Cal said. "I suddenly got a weird feeling about you."
He would not be thrilled to hear about my using my mother's tools in a circle. Lack of experience, lack of knowledge, lack of supervision. And so on.
"I'm okay," I said, trying to slow my breathing. I did feel better, though still a bit shaky. "I just—missed you."
"I miss you, too," he said quietly. "I wish I could be there with you at night."
A cool breeze from my room gave me a quick shiver. "That would be wonderful," I said.
"Well, it's late," he said. "Sleep tight. Think of me when you're lying there."
I felt his voice in the pit of my stomach, and my hand tightened on the phone.
"I will," I whispered as Mary K. started coming upstairs loudly.
"Good night, my love."
"Good night."
CHAPTER 8
Symbols
September 2000
I'm in Ireland. I went to the town of Ballynigel, where the Belwicket coven once was. It was wiped out around Imbolc in 1982, along with most of the town. So far it's the only Woodbane coven I've found that the dark wave has destroyed. But everyone knows Belwicket renounced evil back in the 1800s and had kept to the council's laws since the laws were first written. Did that have something to do with it? When I stood there and saw the bits of riven earth and charred stones that are all that's left, it made my heart ache.
Tonight I am meeting with Jeremy Mertwick, for the second ring of the council. I have written them a letter every week, appealing their decision. I still hope to make them see reason. I am strong and sure, and my pain has made me older than they know.
— Giomanach
"C'mon, last day before break," Mary K. coaxed, standing over my bed. She waved a warm Toaster Strudel under my nose. I sat up, patted Dagda, and then staggered unhappily to the shower.
"Five minutes," Mary K. called in warning. Then I heard her say, "Come on, little guy. Auntie Mary K. will feed you."
Her voice faded as the hot spray needled down my skin, making me feel semihuman.
Downstairs, my sister handed me a Diet Coke. "Robbie called. His car won't start. We need to pick him up on the way."
We headed out and detoured over to Robbie's house. He was waiting out front, leaning against his red Volkswagen.
"Battery dead again?" I greeted him as he climbed into Das Boot's backseat.
He nodded glumly. "Again." We drove on in companionable morning silence.
At school Mary K. was met as usual by Bakker.
"Young love," Robbie said dryly, watching them nuzzle.
"Ugh," I said, turning off the engine.
"Thanks for the ride," Robbie said. Something in his voice made me turn and look at him.
"So I kissed Bree on Monday," he said. I sat back, taking my hand off the door handle. I had been so wrapped up in my own misery that I had forgotten to check in with Robbie about Bree. "Wow, I said, examining his face. "I wondered what had happened. I, um, I saw her yesterday with Chip."
Robbie nodded, scanning the school grounds through the car window. He said nothing, and I prompted him: "So?"
He shrugged, his broad shoulders moving inside his army surplus parka. He gave a short laugh. "She let me kiss her. It blew my mind. She just laughed and seemed into it, and I thought, All right. And then I came up for air and said that I loved her." He stopped.
"And?" I practically screeched.
"She wasn't into that. Dropped me like a stone. Practically pushed me out the door." He rubbed his forehead, as if he had a headache. Silently I offered him my soda, and he finished it off and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Hmmm," I said. I didn't trust Bree anymore. Before, she might have done the same thing to Robbie, but now I couldn't help wondering how her involvement in Kithic had affected her actions.
"Yeah. Hmmm."
"But the making out worked?" I asked.
"Worked fabulously. Hot, hot, hot." He couldn't help grinning at the memory.
"Okay, I don't need to know," I said quickly.
I took a minute to think. Was Bree capable of using Robbie for some dark purpose, or was she just toying with him in her usual way? I didn't know. I decided to take a chance.
"Well, my advice to you is," I said, "just make out with her. Don't talk to her about your feelings. Not yet, anyway."
He frowned. Outside the car, we saw Cal crunching toward us through the leftover snow, his breath puffing like a dragon's. As usual, my heart lurched when I saw him.
"Hey, I love her. I don't want to use her like that."
"No. My point is, let her use you like that."
"Like a boy toy?" He sounded outraged, but I saw a fleeting interest cross his face.