My fists were clenching, and my mouth felt tight. I realized I was surrounded by silence and looked up to see eleven pairs of eyes watching me. Nine pairs were surprised. Hunter was calm, accepting. Morgan looked understanding.
“Oh. Did I say that out loud?” I said, feeling embarrassed.
“It’s all right,” Hunter said. “Magick strikes everyone differently. I understand how you feel.” He turned to the others. “Now, since we have stones of protection, I won’t call on earth, air, fire, or water. But I do cast this circle in the name of the Goddess and the God and ask them to join us and bless our power tonight. Join hands.”
I took hold of Simon’s hand and Raven’s, feeling an impending sense of doom. If I was in this circle and it got all magicky, what would happen? What would I destroy?
Slowly we began to walk deasil, clockwise. Hunter started a chanting kind of song. It was incredibly pretty and easy to follow, and soon all of us were joining in. It was kind of like aural Prozac, because soon I began to feel calmer and more cheerful than I had in days. I felt like everyone here was my friend, that I was safe, that we were singing the most beautiful song, that I was filled with a light that made all my troubles seem bearable.
I was processing these feelings, and suddenly I realized that this was magick, too. This was a positive, gentle kind of magick. As the chant rose and grew, I felt better and better. It was like I was trying to worry about it being magick but just couldn’t. I knew it was weird, but it all felt okay. When we threw our hands apart and raised our arms to the sky, I was smiling widely, feeling loose and open instead of tight and upset.
Our circle broke apart then, and people were hugging and patting one another’s backs. Morgan came over to me and took my hand. She put her own palm on top of mine and held it there for a moment. She looked at her hand, and I felt a gentle heat. I took my hand away, and there was a rose-colored rune imprinted on my skin.
I grabbed her hand and looked at her palm. Nothing was there. I rubbed at my hand and realized that it was my skin, raised up, like a scar. I stared at it, and Morgan gave a little smile.
“That’s Wynn,” she said. “Happiness. Peace.” She caught my expression and added, “It’ll go away in a little while. It’s just something to take away from here.”
She went back to join Hunter, and I looked at my hand again. This was visible magick, right here on me. Peace, happiness. Did she just mean the rune or the actual feelings, too?
7. Morgan
“The first time I saw one was in Scotland. I didn’t take part, of course—I wasn’t strong enough yet. But I watched from a distance as it rolled across the countryside, purging the land of everything unclean. I almost wept with the glory of it.”
— Molly Shears, Ireland, 1996
On Sunday, I went to church with my family, despite feeling definitely ill. Afterward we went to the Widow’s Diner, where I could manage to choke down only a few bites of my BLT.
At home I tossed down some sinus/allergy stuff, then changed, grabbed my keys, and yelled that I was going to Hunter’s. When Sky had gone to France and then England, my parents had known that left Hunter with the house to himself. For a while they had given me squirrel eyes whenever I went there and again when I got back. Now that his father lived there, they were less suspicious. Of course, they hadn’t met Mr. Niall and had no clue as to how different he was from their vision of a father.
Fatherly or not, his presence was enough to make me feel weird about being alone with Hunter anywhere in his house. I sighed and got into Das Boot. Outside it was horrible—after a few misleading days of decent springlike weather, we had taken a big step backward, and it was in the mid-thirties, overcast, and smelling like snow. Before I reached Hunter’s, tiny, icy raindrops starting pinging against my windshield.
“Hullo, my love,” said Hunter as I approached the front door. He gave me a critical glance, then said, “How about some hot tea?”
“Do you have any cider?” I asked. “With spices in it? Or lemon?”
He nodded and I went in, glad to see the fireplace in the living room had been lit. I dropped my coat and stood before the fire, holding out my hands. The dancing flames were soothing. On his way to the kitchen, Hunter stopped in back of me, wrapped his arms around my chest, and held me close. I leaned back and let my eyes drift shut, feeling his warmth, the strength in his arms. One of his hands came up to stroke my hair, melting the few bits of ice crystal that lingered there. He leaned down and kissed my neck. I tilted my head to give him better access. Slowly he put careful kisses up my neck and across my jaw. I turned to face him and smiled wryly—he looked as bad as I felt. It seemed kind of pathetic, how bad we were both feeling, yet we still had such a strong desire to be in each other’s embrace. His lips were very soft on mine, moving gently, afraid to make either of us feel worse.
When I heard Mr. Niall’s footsteps on the stairs, Hunter and I untangled and headed toward the kitchen. Moments later Mr. Niall joined us, and Hunter started mulling cider on the stove. I sat glumly at the table, my pounding head resting in my hands.
“Why do we all feel so bad?” I asked. Mr. Niall looked pale and drawn.
“It’s the effect of an oncoming dark wave,” Hunter’s father said with little energy. “It isn’t even in force yet, but the spells to call it have been started and the place and people targeted. It isn’t going to be long now. A matter of days.”
“Oh, Goddess,” I muttered, a fresh alarm racing through my veins.
“We’ll feel sicker and sicker as the dark wave draws closer, and we’ll grow irritable. Which is unfortunate, because we’ll need to work with one another now more than ever.”
Hunter sighed. “You talked to Alyce this morning?” he asked his father, and Mr. Niall nodded.
“She and the other members of Starlocket have been holding power circles, aiming their energy at Widow’s Vale and at Kithic in particular. They’re hoping to help in any way they can, but there’s been so little documented evidence about anyone even trying to resist a dark wave.” He ran his long-fingered, bony hand over his face.
“Have you had any progress?” I asked.
He let out a breath heavily, and his shoulders sagged. “I’ve been working day and night. In some ways I’m making progress. I’m crafting the form of the spell, its order, its words. But it would be much stronger if I could give it more specificity. If only I had more time.”
I looked up and caught Hunter’s eye. I knew we were feeling the same desperation, the same frustration: If only we could help Mr. Niall or speed him along. But we were helpless; we just had to hope that his father was up to the task.
“What do you mean by specificity?” I asked as Hunter put a mug of cider in front of me, and I inhaled. The spices of ginger and cinnamon rose up to meet me. I drank, feeling its warmth soothing my stomach.
“The spell is basic,” Mr. Niall said, sounding frustrated. “It’s designed to cover a certain area, at a certain time, in a certain way. It’s designed to combat a dark wave, to dismantle it. But it would be so much more powerful if I could use something particular against its creator.”
“What would that do?” I needed a cold cloth for my forehead.
“Spells are just as personal as the way someone looks, like their fingerprints,” Hunter explained. “If you’re trying to dismantle or repel another witch’s spell, your own spell greatly increases in power if you can imbue it with something in particular that identifies the spellcrafter you’re working against. That’s why in spells, you so often need a strand of hair or an item of clothing of the person who’s the focus of the spell. It gives the spell a specific target.”