Hugh has settled on getting a house here in Gloucester. He loves it here, and it's close enough to Boston. He's also decided to take time away from his teaching to write another book. Naturally I'm pleased that all is going well. I have been a bit concerned about other things recently—father has been looking ill. Good to know that our wedding plans are coming together without incident.
— Aoibheann
"Don't worry about the lamp," Brigid said, backing her little Toyota out onto the street. "That was just the ghost."
"Ghost?" I said. She was kidding, right?
"We have a poltergeist problem," she said, as if she was casually telling me that the house was full of termites.
"Always have—it's just been getting worse recently. That's why everyone is so tense."
That did explain Sam's reaction to the branch. He had seemed concerned, more than he should have been by just a freak accident. At least he didn't suspect me, his creepy telekinetic niece who had just popped up out of nowhere—he just thought it was the house ghost. What the hell was happening to me? What had I gotten myself into?
At that moment I noticed I was in a very speedy car. Brigid drove through the streets at Mach 3, squealing around corners as she felt around the console, looking for something. I gripped the seat.
“Sarah’s daughter,” Brigid remarked with a shake of her head. “Who knew?” She successfully came up with a CD, which she slipped into the stereo.
“You know about my mom?” I asked.
Brigid nodded. “No one talks about her, really, but everyone knows.”
Her tone told me everything. My mother was the scandal of the century. The unmentionable. The dark blot on the family name.
At the rate Brigid was going, it only took about two minutes to drive to the town center. She pulled into a small seafood place called Take a Chowda.
“It looks cheesy,” she said with a smile, “but it's good. We’ll have lunch, then I’ll show you around the town.”
“Perfect,” I said, getting out. “That sounds great.”
Once inside, we seated ourselves. The place was an old diner, fill of booths with Formica tables. We started looking over the menu, which consisted mainly (as I might have guessed) of different kinds of chowder, served in all different sizes and different kinds of chowder, served in all different sizes and manners. If you weren’t a chowder fan, this would have been a bad place to come. Brigid recommended that I get something called chowda ‘n’ cheddar, which came in a bread bowl.
Over the top of the menu, I saw the door open. A guy came in the restaurant and scanned the people at the tables. He was tall, even taller than Hunter, which was why I could see him. I lowered the menu to get a better look. His hair was dark reddish brown with finger-length curled strands. He wore a pair of corduroy’s, a gray T-shirt with a pentagram design, and some kind of vintage tweed jacket. What really caught my attention, though, was his face. It was so expressive, with a full mouth and deep laugh lines that blossomed as he smiled. Something shot through me as he entered. It was an emotion, but it had an electric charge. There was something I immediately liked about him.
He was also just a little bit clumsy. As he passed through the door, he managed to get his jacket caught, which caused him to trip as he approached us. As he steadied himself, he caught my eye and smiled. I was amazed as he continued right toward us. I could see now that the had light freckles high on his cheeks and over his nose, and small peaks in his eyebrows. When he sat down with us, I knew it could mean only one thing—he was Charlie, Brigid’s boyfriend. He gave Brigid a light kiss. I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t disappointed.
“This is Alisa,” Bridig said, pointing at me.
“Hi,” he said, confirming my suspicions, “I’m Charlie.”
“I wrote you the e-mail,” I said quietly. “The one to Sam Curtis.”
“That was you?” he asked brightly in recognition. “I was so excited! No one ever looks at my site.”
“Here we go,” said Brigid, rolling her eye. “Charlie’s obsessed with this site.”
“Just trying to get some more business for the shop,” he said with a grin. “That’s why my boss loves me.”
“And how many people have looked at it?” Brigid asked, egging him on.
“Seven,” he said, “but I’m waiting for the big rush. It’s coming any day now.”
Even as he was speaking, Charlie looked me over, as if fascinated. While it would have been nice if he was doing so because he had fallen instantaneously in love with me, I knew the real reason: I give off a weird half-witch vibe. It must be like some high pitch that only full witches can hear. Brigid, though, didn’t seem to notice anything odd about me, which was kind of strange in itself.
I’m so terrible at small talk. I searched my mind for something else to say. “Do you guys, um, go to the same school?”
“Charlie doesn’t have to go to school anymore,” Brigid chimed in. “He finished after the fall semester. He’d taken the highest levels of everything. There was nothing left for him to do.”
She folded her arms and looked at him with pride, as if he was her blue-ribbon-winning entry in the state fair. He looked embarrassed.
“I’m taking some classes at the community college,” he explained. “It’s not like I’m just free to do what I want. But my schedule is a bit more open. I have a job at Bell, Book and Candle in the hours between class times. It works out pretty well. I might even be able to transfer some credits when I start college in the fall.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed.
“It’s just that, you know, we are Rowanwand.” He shrugged. “Academics is what we do best.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Brigid, flagging down the waitress.
“So,” he said, changing the subject. “You’re Sam’s niece? You got up here quickly. You just sent that note.”
“Right…,” I said. “You know, why wait?”
Fortunately the waitress came at that moment, preventing me from having to explain any further. Brigid and I ordered up our chowda ‘n’ cheddars. Charlie ordered something called a superchowda power hour.
“Sam and Alisa had an Oona moment when they came up to the house,” Brigid said. “A branch almost fell on Sam’s head.”
Charlie turned to me in concern. “Is he all right?” he asked.
“He’s okay,” I nodded. “But what’s an Oona moment?”
“I guess you wouldn’t know about Oona,” he said. “Have you explained, Brig?”
“I’d just started,” said Brigid. “I didn’t get that far. You can explain.”
“Oona,” Charlie said, slipping off his jacket, “is a relative of yours. I guess she would be your G5 grandmother.”
“G5?”
“Great-great-great-great-grandmother. That’s her relationship to Brigid, so it would be the same to you. It’s her ghost that they’re talking about.”
Ghosts. Uh-huh. What next? Did they have vampires in the cellar? Unicorns in the yard?
“You’re telling me that ghosts are real?” I said incredulously. “I’m still getting used to witches.”
“She’s an energy,” he explained, popping the wrapper off a straw. “A force. She’s been around for years, causing all kinds of little problems. She used to swat things off tables, break an occasional window, rip the curtains. That sort of thing. Now objects aren’t just moving or breaking—they seem to be attacking people.”
“Attacking people?” Huh. The good part of this story was that it didn’t sound like I was the one responsible for what had happened to Sam. At least, I didn’t think so. The bad part was that I seemed to be walking into another series of scary situations. The fun never stopped.
“The story goes like this,” he explained. “Oona’s husband, your G5 grandfather, and their two sons died in a flu epidemic in the mid- to late 1800s. Oona lost her mind. It’s bad when anyone loses his or her mind, but when it happens to a witch, it’s really bad. If the person can’t be healed, the person’s coven will perform a reining spell to protect everyone, including the afflicted. In really bad cases, the person will be stripped of power. That’s a horrible process. Máirin, her daughter, must not have been able to stand the thought of her mother going through it, so she tried to keep the illness hidden. It was a huge mistake. Oona ended up committing suicide.”