Da looked taken aback by my question and sat in silence for a moment.
Changing the subject, giving him time to think, I repeated Justine Courceau’s offer of letting Da see her library. “It’s quite amazing,” I said. “I think you’d be very interested in it. Come with me tomorrow and see it.”
“Maybe I will,” Da muttered, tapping his fork against the tablecloth.
It wasn’t a total victory, but maybe it was a step forward. I sighed and decided to let it go for the present.
On Tuesday, I called Kennet and gave him a preliminary report. I had more background checks to do on Justine and more interviewing, but so far I hadn’t turned up anything of great alarm.
“No, Hunter, you misunderstand,” Kennet said patiently. “Everything she’s doing is of great alarm. Under no circumstances should any witch have written lists of living things’ true names. Surely you see that?”
“Yes,” I said, starting to feel testy. “I understand that. I agree. It’s just that you made Justine sound like a power-hungry rebel, and I don’t see that in her. I feel it’s more a matter of education. Justine’s quite intelligent and not unreasonable. I feel that she needs reeducation; she needs to be made to understand why what she’s doing is wrong. Once she understands, I think she’ll see the wisdom in destroying her lists.”
“Hunter, she needs to be shut down,” Kennet said strongly. “Her reeducation can come later. Your job is to stop her, now, by any means necessary.”
I tried to keep my voice level. “I thought my job was to investigate, make a report, and then have the council make a judgment. Have you already decided this matter?”
“No, no, of course not,” Kennet said, backpedaling at the implication of my words. “I just don’t want you to be swayed by this witch, that’s all.”
“Have you known me to be easily swayed in the past, by man or woman?” I asked with deceptive mildness. Deceptive to most people, but not to Kennet. He knew me very well and could probably tell I was working hard to keep anger out of my voice.
“No, Hunter,” he said, sounding calmer. “No. I’m sure we can trust your judgment in this matter. Just keep reporting back, all right?”
“Of course,” I said. “That’s my job.” After I hung up, I sat on my twin bed for a long time, just thinking.
That afternoon I brought Daniel to Justine’s cottage. As before, she was welcoming, and though I detected her shock at my father’s haggard appearance, she made no mention of it.
“Come in, come in,” she said. “It’s gotten a little warmer, hasn’t it? I think maybe spring is on its way.”
Inside, Da instinctively headed for the fireplace and stood before the cheerful flames, holding out his hands. Back at the cabin, it had been as though the fire hadn’t existed, so I was interested to see his reaction to this one.
“Are you warm enough, Mr. Niall?” Justine asked. “I know it can be chilly in these stone cottages.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” said Da, turning his back to the fire but keeping his hands behind him, toward the heat.
Justine and I talked for a while, and she told us stories about growing up with Avalen Courceau, who sounded like an intimidating figure. But Justine spoke of her with love and acceptance, and again I was impressed by her maturity and kindness. She got even Da to smile at the story of when she had built a house of cards out of some important indexed notes her mother had made. Apparently sparks had flown for days. Literally.
“Mr. Niall,” said Justine, “I wonder if you could do me a favor?” She gave him a charming smile, sincere and without guile. “I don’t get many opportunities to try new magick— no one around here knows I’m a witch, and I want to keep it that way. I was wondering if you would consent to be a guinea pig for a spell I’ve just learned.”
Da looked concerned but couldn’t think of any reason not to and didn’t want to refuse in the face of her hospitality. “What for?”
She smiled again. “It’s a healing spell.”
Da shrugged. “As you wish.”
“It’s all right with me,” I said, and she turned to give me a teasing look.
“It’s not your decision,” she pointed out. Feeling like an overbearing clod, I sat down on the sofa, relaxing against the plump pillows, waiting for some cat to realize I was there.
She had Da sit down in a comfortable chair, then cast a circle around it, using twelve large amethysts. She invoked the Goddess and the God and dedicated her circle to them. Then she stood behind my father and gently laid her fingertips against his temples on either side. As soon as she started on the forms and opening chants, I realized I wasn’t familiar with it.
It went on for more than an hour. At different times Justine touched my father’s neck, the back of his head, his forehead, the base of his throat, his temples. Da seemed patient, tired, disinterested. I myself felt almost hypnotized by the warm crackling of the fire, the deeply felt purring of the apricot-colored cat who had finally settled on me, the soothing tones of Justine’s low-voiced singing and chanting.
At last I recognized the closing notes, the forms of completion, and I sat up straighter. Slowly Justine took her hands away from Da and stood back, seeming drained and peaceful. I looked at Da. He met my eyes. Was it my imagination, or was there more life in them?
He turned to find Justine. “I feel better,” he said, sounding reluctant to admit it. “Thanks.”
She smiled. “I hope it helped. I found it in a book I was cataloging last month, and I’ve been anxious to try it. Thank you for allowing me.” She took a deep breath. “Now, how about some tea? I’m hungry.”
Ten minutes later, watching Da tuck into his cake with the faint signs of an actual appetite, I smiled my gratitude to Justine. She smiled back. To me, this healing was one more indication that Justine was just misguided, overenthusiastic in her quest for knowledge, but basically good-hearted. There was no way someone like Selene could have performed that healing rite, not without my picking up on her dark underlying motives. I’d felt none of that with Justine. She seemed genuinely what she was.
“My son told me how impressed he was with your library,” Da said.
“Would you like to see it?” Justine asked naturally, and my father nodded.
I felt something like gladness inside—this was the first time he had called me his son, in front of another person, since we’d been reunited. It felt good.
12. Trust
Today is Saturday, but I feel so incredibly bizarre that I need to come up with a whole new name for this day. “Saturday” doesn’t cover it.
Last night, to take my mind off things, I agreed to go ice-skating with Mary K., Aunt Eileen, and Paula at the big outdoor rink outside of Taunton. I had’nt seen Eileen and Paula in ages—I’ve been busy saving my grades, and they’ve been fixing up their new house.
It was one of the last times we could go skating—spring is coming, and soon they won’t be able to maintain the outdoor ice. I felt like a little kid, lacing my skates. Mary K. bought a caramel apple. Eileen and Paula are happy and light-hearted, and all four of us were being incredibly silly and goofy. I felt happy, and I didn’t think about Hunter more than about a thousand times, so that was good.
Then Paula was zipping along backward when she lost her balance and went down hard. The back of her head slammed against the ice with a crack so loud, it sounded like a branch breaking. Immediately Eileen and I were there, and Mary K. rushed up a few seconds later.
I watched in horror as a spreading, lacy design of blood seeped across ice.
A little crowd had gathered around, peering over our shoulders, trying to see what was happening, and Aunt Eileen rose on her knees and shooed them back. I could tell she was starting to freak out, so I took hold of one of her shoulders and told her to go call 911.