"Are you coming tonight, or are you just dropping me off?" I asked quickly. He looked up with interest.
"I could come," he said. "Why? Can't get enough of my amazing company?"
"Sort of," I laughed. "It's just that Evelyn… my grandmother… she doesn't seem to like me. She seems angry that I'm there. It would be nice to have a friendly face."
This didn't seem to shock Charlie.
"Sure," he said, "I'd be happy to come. I'll help you get through it."
Though I must have looked like hell, I felt about a million times better as we headed back toward the house.
11. Shatter
Juli 30, 1951
Father died of a heart attack five days ago. It came on suddenly, and no one was at home. Nothing could be done.
Hugh and I have stopped looking for a house. We will live here. Mother will need support and help with Tioma. To make matters worse, this has stirred up Oona. She shredded the curtains in the living room and broke the panes of glass in our front door. Mother and I watched as it happened. She wept endlessly. I need to be strong.
Goddess, I know you give, and you must take. I revere you, though my heart is broken.
— Aoibheann
"I came along," Charlie said, peeling off his sopping jacket as we stepped into the foyer. "I hope that's all right."
"Of course," Ruth said with a smile. "Always. I'll set another place."
"I'll get it," he said, slipping back toward the kitchen. "Don't worry about it, Ruth."
Ruth nodded, looking at me kindly. "Alisa, the bathroom is right by the front door. You can wash your hands and dry off a bit there."
"Thanks," I said. Ruth returned to the kitchen, and I found the powder room, which was just big enough to fit a toilet and a very small sink. I looked like a drowned rat. My hair was completely soaked, and it clung to my head. My clothes were getting really swampy. There were beeswax soap and a jar of salt crystals for washing hands. I used both, rubbing the crystals into my skin anxiously, as if I could impress my grandmother by having the cleanest hands of anyone she'd ever met. By the time I came out, I'd turned my hands red from the effort, and everyone was gathered in the dining room, waiting for me.
The room was filled with a long oval-shaped table and a massive sideboard, both of which looked like they were probably well over a century old. The table was heavy with food, served up on delicate pieces of blue and white china. There was an incredible-smelling roast, with big bowls of fluffy potatoes, asparagus, and roasted carrots. The gravy was so thick and aromatic that it had to be completely homemade, and the soft biscuits were already dripping with butter. From what I'd seen so far, the Curtises were very good cooks.
We all sat down. I had been put next to Sam. Charlie set his place next to Brigid. Evelyn and Ruth gad the opposite ends. With a snap of her fingers Evelyn lit the two tall taper candles in silver candlestick. I had a feeling that little trick was for my benefit.
"When are you returning home, Alisa?" Evelyn asked me, rather properly, as she passed Ruth the potatoes. Nice. I'd just gotten here, and she wanted to know when I was leaving.
"In… a few days." I said. "It's my spring break."
"Well," said Sam, "I hope you stay for our circle on Wednesday. It's our annual celebration of the founding of Ròiseal. We're getting together the night before as well, for Ruth's birthday. It's a big week."
"Yeah," Brigid agreed. "You have to come."
"I'd like that," I said, not really sure if that was true. Sam, Charlie, Brigid, and Ruth were great—but Evelyn was so seriously scary that I had to wonder how long I really wanted to stay here. Well, at least the circle on Wednesday gave me something to plan around.
Evelyn said nothing, just eyed the progress of the food around the table. When everyone had filled their plates, she nodded, and I saw others take up their silverware. I followed suit. My mother hadn't mentioned how formal the family dinners were. She probably hadn't noticed. Unlike me, she'd had no Hilary leaving the table to barf every fifteen minutes. She had no basis for comparison.
Evelyn started talking again but to everyone but me. She asked Charlie about school, his job, his father, and his plans for college. She asked Brigid if anything interesting had happened at the shop and how her training was going.
"Brigid has been training with a healer," Sam explained to me, attempting to include me into the converstation.
"That's great," I said to Brigid, who smiled proudly. "Do you need to do a lot of studying?"
"Some," she said. "A lot of it is exercises in channeling energy. Then you add the herbs and the oils, but only after you learn to feel out the problem or injury."
"You wouldn't understand, Alisa," Evelyn said, turning to me. "It involves magick."
Charlie looked at me meaningfully. I could tell he was wondering of one of us should tell them about my powers. I shook my head quickly. I really didn't want to get into it with them. He got the message and opted to change the course of the conversation.
"So," he said, "you're from Texas, right?" I'd just told him that this afternoon.
"That's right," I said, breaking open a steamy biscuit. "That's where I was born. We lived there until recently."
"How do you like the winters up here?" Sam asked cheerfully.
"I don't," I said with a smile, "except for the snow. I like snow, but my father can't drive in it. He never learned how. So if it even flurries, my future stepmont—mother has to drive. If she's not home, we're stuck."
A polite chuckle from everyone but Evelyn, who was communing with her roasted carrots. Sam, Ruth, Charlie, and Brigid continued to ask me questions about my life. For the most part they were just making polite conversations, not going into anything too deeply. Evelyn pointedly said nothing. I noticed all of the others giving her sideway glances, but these didn't seem to penetrate her steely exterior. She wasn't interested in talking to me. Period.
I had just finished telling them a bit about my dad's job and my grandparents in Buenos Aires when Evelyn suddenly lifted her head and focused on me, hard and fast.
"How does your father feel about the craft?" she said.
"The craft?" I repeated. "You mean Wicca?"
"I do."
"I don't think he's happy about my involvement with it," I answered honestly. "But he doesn't really know that much about it. I think he assumes it's a fad at our high school."
"A fad at your high school?"
"A lot of my friends are in my coven." I explained, gripping my silverware fearfully. "He just knows that's where I go on Saturday's. We rotate hosting the circle, although I probably wont be hosting one. I bring snacks though."
"Snacks are good," Sam said with a nod. "Witches love snacks, especially sweets."
"So you contribute snacks at Wicca circles," she said.
This was a blatant twisting of my words, designed to make me look like a fool. I couldn't believe it. It was so unnecessary, this quiet violent behavior. She was so composed, passing around her roast and her gravy and just stinging the hell out of her granddaughter. Around me I felt these little tendrils of emotions as the others reached out to me. That was nice of them, but it didn't really take away the painful reality of the situation.
Then, in with those gestures of sympathy, something else came along. It wasn't in sound—but somehow it was as clear to me as if someone was shouting in my ear.
Something is wrong.