A half hour later a lonely cab happened to go past me, and I frantically waved it down. The driver looked at me a bit hesitantly—I guess high school kids don't usually hail cabs off the street in Gloucester—then took me in. I gave him the printout of the e-mail with Sam's address on it and settled back in the seat. We wound up and down the tight streets filled with colonial style houses, many marked with plaques commemorating the people who had lived there hundreds of years ago. The cab slowed at a neat little cape house, tucked tightly in a row of similar houses on one of the town's center streets. We stopped and the driver turned on me.
"It's all right," he said, eyeing me and my bag. "No charge."
"Are you sure?" I said, reaching into my pocket for my eighteen dollars. "I have money."
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm going off duty."
I must look lost, I thought. Or just really pathetic. Still, it was nice of the driver. I thanked him profusely and slid out of the car.
So there I was, standing on my uncle's doorstep at just before ten in the morning on a Sunday. I looked up above his door and saw a pentacle there—a little one, imprinted into a clay plate, and carefully hung above the entrance. This was definitely the right place.
It should have felt very strange and very scary. My uncle and I were strangers to each other. But I knew that it was going to be all right. There was something about his relationship with my mother, the tone of his note, and my dreams that told me he would welcome me. With a deep breath, I rang the bell.
Meowing from inside. Lots of it. I tightened my grip on the handle of the bag as I heard footsteps coming towards the door. "It's all right," a man's voice was saying. "Calm down, it's just the doorbell."
More frantic meowing.
"What, do you think it's a fish delivery for you guys?" he said. "Just calm down. Let me through.
The door opened.
The man who stood before me looked very boyish, though I knew he was in his forties. His hair was light brown, streaked through with golden blond and a few shots of gray. His blue eyes were framed by a stylish pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Obviously he had just been relaxing on a lazy Sunday morning, and was comfortably dressed in a Boston University T-shirt and a pair of running pants.
"Sam Curtis?" I asked.
"Yes?" he said, looking at me strangely. He became very still and seemingly tense as he studied me. It was as if he had found a mysterious package on his front step and was still trying to figure out if it was a clock or a bomb.
"I'm Alisa," I said, "Alisa Soto. Sarah's daughter."
"Goddess!" said Sam, gripping the door frame. I could tell he wasn't sure of he should hug me or shake my hand. As a compromise, he decided to grab my shoulder.
"I can't believe it!" he almost whispered, looking me over. "Alisa!"
I nodded shyly.
"How did you get here? It's what, ten in the morning?"
"I got your note," I said quickly evading his question, "and I thought it would be okay."
"Of course!" he said. "Of course! Let's get you inside."
7. Sam
Samhain, October 31, 1948
Máirin's Book of Shadows is missing. I was reading it all last night before going to sleep, and I left it on my desk. When I woke up, it was gone. I immediately ran to tell Mother. I was wild with excitement and fear, but she was very subdued when I told her that it was missing. She told me not to worry. The there was nothing that could be done. Control, she reminded me. Witches must always be master of themselves. Only clear thought can produce strong magick.
Still, I feel as though I had the answer in my hands, only to have it snitched away! Oh, Goddess, what can I do?
— Aoibheann
Inside Sam's house, I was met by the comforting witchy smell of lingering herbs and incense, particularly sage. Everything was made of wood and brick, and there was a fireplace with a little fire to take off the morning chill. Two Siamese cats padded up to me, chattering their greetings.
"Meet Astrophe and Mandu," he said, picking up one of the cats and handing him to me. The cat purred loudly and pushed his head under my chin in affection. "That's Mandu," Sam said. "He's a baby, loves to be picked up. Astrophe will get you when you sit down. He thinks every lap is his."
"Astrophe and Mandu?" I asked as the cat gave me little kisses with his wet nose. "Are those magickal names?"
"No," Sam laughed. "Cat-astrophe. Cat-mandu."
I groaned, remembering my mom's description of her brother in her Book of Shadows. She'd said he was a real joker. Actually, she'd said he was asinine. I knew they played practical jokes on each other all the time.
"It's so early," he said. "When did you leave to get here?"
He cast a slightly strange look over his shoulder at me, but I kept my focus on Mandu, who was swatting my hair.
"Sorry," I said. "I thought I'd take the earliest train. You know. Get a jump on things."
Lame. Obvious. But what was I going to say?
"Wait a minute," he said, "let me change into some proper clothes, and I'll make us some breakfast. I'll be right back. Make yourself at home."
With one cat in my arms and another wrapped around my ankles, I took a walk through Sam's living room. The wood floor was covered with a large Turkish rug colored in browns and oranges. On one side of the room there was a small altar, with some candles, seashells, fresh flowers, a cup and a beautiful black-handled athame. He seemed to have about a million representations of the moon, in pictures, tiles and masks.
Bookshelves took up most of the wall space. (Rowanwands are famous for collecting, and sometimes hoarding, knowledge. I wasn't sure if I'd gotten much of that particular family trait.) Sam's collection covered an incredible array of subjects, from physics to literature to art. There were volumes on herbs, magick, Wiccan history, divination, Celtic Gods and Goddesses, tarot, and hundred other witch-related subjects. Two shelves were devoted to volumes on astronomy. Three more were occupied by books on yoga, meditation, charka's, and Indian religion.
I noticed a few shelves that were devoted to the history of homosexuality and some current books on gay politics and culture. I was paused on these when I realized that Sam was back. He was casually dressed in a maroon short-sleeved shirt and tan pants.
"I have a lot of books, I know," he said. "Such an Rowanwand. This is nothing. You should see the family library. I think we have more books then the town library."
He noticed what shelf I was looking at and smiled.
"Oh," he said, nodding. "I'm gay."
I didn't know much about my uncle, so the fact he was gay was just one item on a very long list. I liked his ease with the fact. I figured it had something to do with being Wiccan. I supposed they were a lot more open and well adjusted when it came to that subject. So I had a gay uncle. That was kind of cool.
"Okay," he said, directing me to the kitchen, "let's get some food for you. I can tell you're starved."
There's no use hiding anything from witches. They always seem to know. I set Mandu down on the ground and followed Sam into the kitchen.