She was warming to her topic. I stared at this new Hilary in fascination, chewing my sandwich.
“You know what real life is?” she went on. “Knowing how to make change from a dollar. Knowing that virtually everything is alphabetized. That’s real life.”
“What about mortgages, life insurance, lawn care?” I asked.
“You pick that stuff up as you go along. They don’t teach that in school, anyway. Now, college was different, I have to say. College was cool. You could control what you wanted to study and when. You could decide to go to class or not, and no one would hassle you. I looooved college. I took tons of lit and art courses, and fun stuff like women’s studies and comparative religion.”
“What did you graduate with?”
“A basic liberal arts degree, a bachelor’s. Nothing useful for a job or anything.” She laughed. “It would have been better if I had studied to be an accountant.” She put her arms over her head and stretched. “Which is why I’m doing medical transcription from home. It requires knowing how to listen, read, and type. And I can set my own hours, and the money isn’t bad, and I’ll be able to do it after the baby’s born.”
“Is that what you’re doing on the computer all the time?” I had thought she was writing a romance novel or having an Internet relationship or something.
“Yeah. Which reminds me. I need to get back to it. Right after Life and Love. Want to watch?”
“Okay.” I felt compelled to follow this new, body-snatched Hilary. I wondered what they had done with the real Hilary and decided it didn’t matter. We sat on the couch in the family room together and she filled me in on her favorite soap.
I watched it mindlessly, enjoying having an hour from my life gone, an hour in which I didn’t have to think about magick and witches and breaking things and dark waves. I looked around the house, at Hilary, thought about my dad coming home. His face always lit up when he saw Hilary and me. That was cool. Thank God they weren’t going to get wiped out by magick anytime soon.
13. Morgan
“The thing about magick is: sometimes it looks like one thing, but it turns out to be something quite different.”
— Saffy Reese, New York, 2001
I slept all day but awoke at five in the afternoon, feeling just as crappy as when I’d gone to sleep. I heard Mary K. coming through the bathroom door and sat up to see her.
“Are you all right?” she asked, looking concerned. “Have you been in bed all day?”
I nodded. “I think I’ll get up and take a shower now.”
“Is this the flu or what? Alisa was out sick today, too.”
“I guess it’s just some bug that’s going around,” I said lamely. I didn’t know what Alisa had told my sister, if anything, and didn’t want to blow it for her.
“Well, come downstairs if you want dinner. It’s little steaks and baked potatoes. And Aunt Eileen and Paula are coming.”
I nodded, then pushed my way into the bathroom and shut both doors. I felt heavy and unrested, the knowledge of what I had done the night before weighing me down. My family was having one of my favorite meals, and I always loved seeing my aunt and her girlfriend. But right now the thought of food made my stomach roil, and I didn’t feel up to talking to anyone. Maybe I would just go back to bed after my shower.
I made the water as hot as I could stand it and let it rain down on my neck and shoulders. Quietly I started to cry, leaning against the shower wall, my eyes closed against the splashing water. Oh, Goddess, I thought. Goddess. Get me through this. What did I do?
I saved my family, my friends, my coven.
At the expense of my father.
I had seen Ciaran after the rite. He looked dead. And I knew him well enough to know that living without magick would surely drive him insane. I had heard that a witch living without magick was like a person living a half existence, in a world where colors were grayed, scents were dulled, taste was almost nonexistent. Where your hands felt covered by plastic gloves, so when you touched things, you couldn’t feel their texture, their vibrations.
That was what I had done to my father last night.
He killed your mother. He’s killed hundreds of people, witches and humans. Woman, man, and child. Just like Hunter said.
I doubted that Ciaran would be alive for long. As far as I knew, there was no rite to give him his magick back— it had been ripped from him forever. And without magick, I doubted Ciaran would feel that life was worth living.
Now he was virtually harmless, and the dark wave wasn’t going to come. Not this time. I hoped I would start feeling better soon, either physically or emotionally. I would take either one. My mind was bleeding with pain and guilt and relief, and my body felt like I had fallen on rocks, again and again and again.
After my shower, I got back into bed.
It wasn’t long before Mom came upstairs. She sat carefully on the side of my bed and felt my forehead. “You don’t feel hot, but you certainly look sick.”
“Thanks.”
“Does your stomach hurt?”
“No.” Just my psyche.
“Okay. How about I fix you a little tray and bring it up?”
I nodded, trying not to cry. Mom was still in her work clothes, and she looked tired. I was almost an adult, seventeen years old, yet all I wanted right now was for my mom to take care of me, to keep me safe. I never wanted to get out of of this bed or leave this house again.
After Mom left, Aunt Eileen and Paula came in. Paula had completely recovered from her nasty ice-skating accident and was back at work.
“Big test today?” Aunt Eileen inquired with a smile.
“O ye of little faith.”
Paula came over and felt my nose. “You’re fine.”
“Ha-ha.” She’s a vet.
“You look like death warmed over, honey,” said my favorite aunt. “You need anything? Can we bring you something?”
I shook my head, and then Mom was back with my tray. I looked at the food. It was all cut up into little pieces, and I started to cry.
“Morgan, can you talk on the phone?” Mary K. asked an hour later. “It’s Hunter.”
I nodded, and she brought the cordless phone in and gave it to me. “Hello, my love,” he said, and my heart hurt. “How are you doing?”
“Not great. How are you?”
“Bloody awful. Did you get any sleep today?”
“I slept, but it didn’t help.”
There were a few moments of silence, and I knew what was coming. “Morgan—I wish you had told me you knew his true name. I thought we trusted each other.”
Unexpectedly I felt a little spark of irritation. “If you’re pissed, say you’re pissed. Don’t try to make me feel guilty about my decisions.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” he said more strongly. “I just thought we had total trust and honesty between us.”
“The way I trusted you when you were in Canada?”
Long silence. “I guess we have a ways to go.”
“I guess we do.” I felt upset at what that implied, for both of us.
“Well, I want to work to get there,” he said, surprising me. “I want us to grow closer, to earn each other’s trust, to be able to count on each other more than we count on other people. I do want us to have total trust and honesty between us. That’s how I want us to be.”
You are perfection, I thought, calming right down. “I’d like that, too.”
For a moment I just basked in the glow of having Hunter. “It was just—he’s my father. I was probably the only person in the whole world who knew his true name, except him. And he knew I had it. I felt I had to keep it close to myself, in case I ever needed it, for me or for you. Not for the council.”