Panting, Cal dropped my feet. He hovered over me, then narrowed his eyes and grabbed at the neck of my shirt. I tried to pull away, but it was too late.
"You took off my charm," he said, sounding amazed. "You don't love me at all."
"You don't know what love is," I croaked, feeling ill. I raised my hands over my eyes and clumsily brushed my hair out of the way.
For a moment I thought he was going to kick me, but he didn't, just looked down at me with the devastating face that I had adored.
"You should have trusted me," he said, sweat running down his face, his breathing harsh.
"You shouldn't have lied to me," I countered angrily, trying to sit up.
"Tell me where the tools are," he demanded. "The Belwicket tools."
"Screw you!"
"You tell me! You should never have bound them to you! How arrogant! Now we'll have to rip them away from you, and that will hurt. But first you tell me where they are—I didn't feel them in the car."
I stared at him stonily, trying to rise to my feet.
"Tell me!" he shouted, looming over me.
"Bite me," I offered.
Cal's golden eyes gleamed with hurt and fury, and he shot out his hand at me. A cloudy ball of darkness shot right at me, hitting my head, and I crashed headlong to the floor, sinking into a nightmarish unconsciousness, remembering only his eyes.
CHAPTER 18
Trapped
June 2001
Litha again. It's not fully ten years since my parents disappeared. When they left, I was a boy, concerned only with building a working catapult and playing Behind Enemy Lines with Linden and my friends.
At the time we were living in the Lake District, across Solway Firth from the Isle of Man. For weeks before they left, they were in bad moods, barking at us children and then apologizing, not having the time to help us with our schoolwork. Even Alwyn started coming to me or Linden to help her dress or do her hair. I remembered Mum complaining that she felt tired and ill all the time, and none of her usual potions seemed to help. And Dad said his scrying stone had stopped working.
Yes, something was definitely oppressing them. But I'm sure they didn't know what was really coming. If they had, maybe things would have turned out differently.
Or maybe not. Maybe there is no way to fight an evil like that.
— Giomanach
When I awoke, I had no idea how much time had passed. My head ached, my face burned and felt scraped from the gravel, and my knees ached from when I had fallen on them. But at least I could move my limbs. Whatever spell Cal had used on me, it wasn't a binding one.
Cautiously, silently, I rolled over, scanning the seomar. I was alone. I cast out my senses and felt no one else near. What time was it? The tiny window set high on one wall showed no stars, no moon. I crawled up on my hands and knees, then unfolded myself and stood slowly, feeling a wave of nausea and pain roll over me.
Crap. As soon as I stood, I felt the weight of the spelled walls and ceilings pressing in on me. Every square inch of this tiny room had runes and ancient symbols on it, and without understanding them, I knew that Cal had worked dark magick here, had called on dark powers, and had been lying to me ever since the day I met him. I felt incredibly naive.
I had to get out. What if Cal had left only a minute ago? What if even now he was bringing Selene and the others back to me? Goddess. This room was full of negative energy, negative emotions, dark magick. I saw stains on the floor that had been hidden by the futon the first time I was here. I knelt and touched them, wondering if they were blood. What had Cal done here? I felt sick.
Cal had gone to get Selene, and they were going to put spells on me or hurt me or even kill me to get me to tell them where Maeve's tools were. To get me to join their side, their all-Woodbane clan.
No one knew where I was. I had told Mom I was going for a drive more than six hours ago. No one had seen me meet Cal at the cemetery. I could die here.
The thought galvanized me into action. I got to my feet again, looking up at the window, gauging its height. My best jump was still two feet short of the window ledge. I pulled off my jacket, balled it up, and flung it hard at the window. It bounced off and clumped to the floor.
"Goddess, Goddess," I muttered, crossing to the door. Its edge was almost invisible, a barely seen crack that was impossible to dig my nails into. In the car I had my Swiss Army knife—patting my pockets quickly yielded me nothing. Still I tried, wedging my short nails into its slit and pulling until my nails split and my fingers bled.
Where was Cal? What was taking so long? How long had it been?
Panting, I backed up across the room, then launched myself shoulder first at the small door. The impact made me cry out, and then I slid down to the floor, clutching my shoulder. The door hadn't even shuddered under the blow.
I thought of how my parents had been so devastated when I took up Wicca, how afraid they had been for me after what happened to my birth mother. I saw now that they'd had good cause to worry.
An unwanted sob choked my throat, and I sank to my knees on the wooden floor. The back of my head ached sickeningly. How could I have been so stupid, so blind? Tears edged from my eyes and coursed down my bruised and dirty cheeks. Sobs struggled to break free from my chest
I sat cross-legged on the floor. Slowly, knowing it was pointless, I drew a small circle around myself, using my index finger, wetting the floor with my tears and my blood. Shakily I traced symbols of protection around me: pentacles, the intersected circles of protection, squares within squares for orderliness, the angular runic p for comfort I drew the two-horned circle symbol of the Goddess and the circle/half circle of the God. I did all these things with only the barest amount of thought did them by rote, over and over, all around me on the floor, all around me in the air.
Within moments my breathing calmed, my tears ceased, my pain eased. I could see more clearly, I could think more clearly, I was more in control.
Evil pressed in around me. But I was not evil. I needed to save myself. I was the Woodbane princess of Belwicket. I had power beyond imagining.
Closing my eyes, I forced my breathing to calm further, my heartbeat to slow. Words came to my lips.
"Magick, I am your daughter"
"I am following your path in truth and righteousness.
Protect me from evil. Help me be strong.
Moave, my mother before me, help me be strong.
Mackenna, my grandmother, help me be strong.
Morwen, who came before her, help me be strong.
Let me open the door. Open the door. Open the door."
I opened my eyes then and gazed before me at the spelled and locked door. I looked at it calmly, imagining it opening before me, seeing myself pass through it to the outside, seeing myself safe and gone from there.
Creak. I blinked at the sound but didn't break my concentration. I was unsure whether I had imagined it, but I kept thinking, Open, open, open, and in the darkness I saw the minuscule crack widen, just a hair.
Elation, as strong as my earlier despair had been, lifted my heart. It was working! I could do this! I could open the door!
Open, open, open, I thought steadily, my focus pure, my intent solid.
I smelled smoke. That fact registered only slightly in my brain as I kept concentrating on opening the door. But I realized that my nose was getting irritated, and I kept blinking. I came out of my trance and saw that the seomar was becoming hazy, and the scent of fire was strong.
I stood up within my circle, my heart kicking up a beat. Now I could hear the joyful crackling of flames outside, smell the acrid odor of burning ivy, and see the faint, amber light of fire reflected in the high window.