I sensed who was calling a second before the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” I called, starting up from the dining room table, where I was doing my homework. But it was already too late.
“Hello?” my mom’s voice said from the kitchen. Dad was working late, so she and I were the only ones home. We’d finished dinner about two hours ago, and Mom had been working on her various documents in the kitchen since then.
“Yes, this is she,” I heard her say. “Oh, hello. Yes. What? Well—no, she didn’t. I see. Mmm-hmm.” Even through the door, I could hear the edge of anger dawning in my mom’s voice.
I stared down at the books and notebooks spread out before me and tried to focus on the analysis of vectors I was doing for physics, but it was no use.
“Was that out of a hundred points?” I heard my mother ask, and I bit my lip.
After a moment I heard Mom hang up, and the door between the dining room and the kitchen swung open. “Morgan, we need to talk.” Her voice was grim.
My stomach churned. I put down my pencil. “Okay.”
Sitting down across from me, my mom said, “I just got a phone call from your history teacher, Mr. Powell.”
I didn’t even bother trying to act surprised. “I know,” I said.
“He’s concerned about your grade in his class. So am I.”
“I know,” I said again. Shifting in my seat, I added, “I’ve already talked to him about doing some extra credit—”
Holding up her hand traffic-cop style, my mom cut me off. “Morgan, I’m not happy about the fact that you failed two tests. But I’m even more unhappy about the fact that you hid it from Dad and me. When were you going to tell us?”
“I thought that if I brought my grade up—”
“But what if you didn’t?” my mom interrupted. “Mr. Powell says that these two exams count for fifty percent of your final grade. Were you going to wait until you failed the class to let us know that there was a problem?” She ran her fingers through her russet hair in an I-don’t-know-what-to-do — with-you gesture.
“With extra credit, I could still get a B in the class!”
“You could still get an F!” my mom snapped. “Have you even started this extra-credit work?”
I dug through my stack of papers and pulled out the notes I’d already made for my history paper. I didn’t realize until after I’d handed them to my mom that I was making a horrible mistake.
“This can’t be your history paper.” Mom’s voice was tense. “What is this?”
“We’re allowed to write on any subject,” I explained weakly.
She simply looked at me for a moment, then slapped the notes down on the table in frustration. “Why do you have to test us? You know how Dad and I feel about witchcraft nonsense!”
“The Salem witch trials aren’t nonsense,” I pointed out, my own temper starting to flare. “They were an important historical event.”
“That’s not the point. Morgan, your interest in Wicca has grown to the point where it’s crowding out almost everything else,” my mom said. “I don’t want you throwing your future away.”
“I’m not!” I cried. “How can you say that?”
“Look,” my mother went on. “I don’t want to fight about the witch stuff right now. Your grades have to improve, and I don’t see that happening. This is your final warning. If those grades don’t improve, Dad and I are going to start talking seriously about changing your environment.”
What? This had never come up before. “What do you mean?”
“Saint Anne’s has a few openings,” my mother said. “It’s a very good school.”
My jaw dropped open. “It’s a Catholic school.” My voice was harsh. “You’d really send me to a Catholic school?”
“Why not? The average class size is fourteen students, so they would be able to give you a lot of individual attention.” She reached out and touched my hair almost pleadingly. “We want to help you, Morgan.”
I stared at her. As if yanking me away from all my friends and sticking me into a place where they still believed in corporal punishment would help! The words I’m not Catholic sprang to my lips, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them. It seemed almost like a declaration of war. It wasn’t exactly true, anyway. Catholicism was the religion I was raised with, and I still felt like I was a Catholic in many ways. “Please, Mom,” I answered instead. “Don’t do that. I’ll—I’ll go to the library every day. I’ll bring my grades up, I swear.”
“We’ll see.” My mom pushed my history notes across the table at me and stood up. “Family night is tomorrow,” she said wearily. “At six.”
“I’ll be there.” My voice sounded hollow.
She trudged out of the room. I watched her go, then looked down at my books.
I had a lot of work to do.
“I just don’t think I can study with Erin right now,” I said to Hunter. I was using the phone in the kitchen, summarizing the conversation I’d had with my mom earlier that evening. My parents and Mary K. had gone to bed, but I—the night owl—would be up for another few hours. “I just can’t, can’t get sent to Catholic school.”
“That would be awful,” Hunter agreed quietly.
“But my grades are really in the gutter.”
Hunter sighed. “Isn’t there any way that you can learn from Erin and still improve your grades?” he asked. “We can try to make sure you have time to finish your schoolwork, too. It’s very important that you study with Erin right now. Especially with all the mysterious things that have been happening.”
Pushing aside some of my mom’s paperwork detritus, I made room for the cup of tea I’d just brewed. I took a sip, debating whether or not to tell Hunter what had happened with Erin earlier that day. “Actually, Erin doesn’t even want to teach me magick,” I admitted finally. “She just wants me to study witch history and plants.”
“Those things are important, too,” Hunter replied.
I stared at the receiver a minute, unable to believe he was taking her side. How typical. “Oh, yeah, they’ll come in real handy if I’m ever attacked by the dark forces,” I said sarcastically.
“I’m here to protect you in case that happens,” Hunter reminded me. “And basic knowledge is necessary to learn more advanced magick. Witch history, herbs, runes—all of these things are part of the initiation rites. Erin is right to make sure you know them. Once you’re a full apprentice, then you can start learning more magick and more spells. You know more than most initiates already.”
I sighed. “It’s just hard to see the value in that. I mean, you know the dangers of the dark forces even better than I do. I need to learn about them.”
“I know.” Hunter’s voice was gentle. “But you have to look at the big picture. The sooner you can be initiated as a blood witch, the better. Once you’re in total control of your powers, Morgan, you’ll be a great asset.”
I rolled my eyes. Sometimes Hunter had a real gift for making things sound unromantic. “All right,” I said. “I’ll figure out a way to do both.” We said our good-byes, and I stood up to place the phone in its cradle. When I turned around, I nearly jumped a foot in the air. “God, Mary K.,” I said, placing my palm on my chest. “You scared me.”
She stood in the doorway in a white nightgown. Beneath the fluorescent kitchen lights, she looked pale and strange.
“What’s wrong?” I asked quickly.
“Alisa was right,” she said in a low voice.
I swallowed hard, mentally running through the conversation I’d just had with Hunter. How much of it had she overheard? “What are you talking about?” I stalled.
“You know what I’m talking about.” Mary K.’s whisper had the intensity of a scream. “My God, Morgan—don’t try to cover this up with lies.”