“Gone,” Erin said. “Like everyone else.”
We sat together in silence for a moment.
“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, growing up in a house without magick,” she said. Her eyebrows were raised, and her face held a question.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I admitted. “I never knew anything else.” I paused. The next part was harder to talk about. “Until I met Cal.” I looked at Erin, unsure how much of the story she already knew.
Erin nodded. “Sgàth,” she said, using Cal’s witch name.
The word sounded like a low susurration, the voice of the wind in the trees. She knew who he was. Of course.
“Yes. He taught me about Wicca, and I started learning more on my own. I discovered that I had powers. And then I learned the truth. That my parents weren’t my birth parents. . and that I was Woodbane.”
“Morgan,” Erin said, leaning toward me. “You haven’t had an easy time of it. But that just means you have to be willing to work very hard—harder than most others have to. Are you willing to do that?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I said.
“Good.” Erin held up a small slip of paper. “I’ve checked the computer. The library has a number of fascinating books on witch history. We can start there.” She handed the paper to me. On it was a list of five books and their call numbers.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. As I headed over to the nonfiction section of the library, I passed a familiar auburn head bent over a notebook at a nearby table. Mary K. She had gotten a ride with Susan Wallace both before and after school—clearly avoiding me again. Alisa sat across from her, murmuring in a low voice. Whispering in my sister’s ear about my evil powers, no doubt.
A voice in my mind urged me to go and find the books. I knew it was the smart thing to do, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. There was something about the way Alisa looked, sitting there—I wanted to get her away from Mary K. Things were tense enough with my family. I didn’t want Alisa getting into the middle of it. I crossed the room in a few quick strides and stood next to my sister. “Hey, you guys,” I whispered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
Mary K. looked up with a start and placed her hand casually over what she’d been writing. Alisa practically turned green.
“Uh, hi, Morgan,” Mary K. said. There was a thin edge in her voice. Was it anger, or fear? I couldn’t read her expression.
“What are you guys working on?” I asked.
“Oh,” Mary K. said, glancing down at her paper. “Just a writing assignment.” She shifted in her seat and glanced over my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “I’m studying.” I tried to get a better look at Mary K.’s notes. There seemed to be a lot of them. “You guys seem to be working pretty hard on this thing,” I pressed, trying to make conversation.
Mary K. looked really uncomfortable. I turned to Alisa, who was as still as a stone. “Is it a project for class?” I asked. Alisa didn’t respond. She stared down at the library table as if it were the most fascinating piece of wood in the universe.
I couldn’t imagine what they’d be hiding from me. “What’s going on?” I asked finally.
Mary K. stared helplessly at Alisa.
“Mary K. is helping me write a letter,” Alisa said without looking up from the table. Then she raised her head and looked me in the eye. “It’s to the town newspaper, and it’s about the dangerous witchcraft going on around here.”
She’s lying. That was my first thought: She’s lying—she’d never do that. And Mary K. would never help her. I turned to my sister. “Is this true?” I asked her.
Mary K. didn’t reply. "It was my idea,” Alisa said, still looking at me with that defiant gaze.
"Mary K.?” My voice was a whisper. Mary K. wouldn’t look at me.
“It was my idea,” Alisa repeated.
I folded my arms across my chest. “Have I done something to you?” I asked her.
Alisa looked startled. “What?”
“Have I made you mad or something? Or has someone in Kithic done something wrong?” I struggled to hold my anger in check. Why was she doing this? What did she have to gain? “Because you seem to have turned against us.”
“That—that’s not true,” Alisa insisted feebly.
“Isn’t it?” I demanded. “Then what’s the point of this letter?”
Alisa’s mouth opened and closed. “It’s just—it’s just—” She groped for words. Finally she shook her head. “Look, forget it. Forget the letter. I’m not sending it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I pressed.
"Morgan,” Mary K. said, “she just said that she isn’t sending the letter. Isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I really didn’t. I wanted to understand what was going on inside Alisa’s head—but clearly she didn’t want to let me in.
I looked at Mary K. "I guess I’ll see you later.”
She gave a quick nod and looked down at her paper again. I didn’t say anything to Alisa, just turned and walked toward the stacks, fuming. Everything was skidding out of control lately—school, my family life, even my magick.
Just put it out of your mind, I told myself. You can always talk to Mary K. later. I checked the call numbers of the books Erin had listed and realized they were on one of the top shelves. Grabbing a library ladder, I stepped up to the top rung and began hunting for the first title.
“Legacies of the Great Clans,” I murmured to myself. “Legacies of—” My ladder tipped slightly, and I instinctively reached out and grabbed one of the shelves to keep myself from falling. It must be uneven, I thought as I wiggled myself gingerly to feel if the legs were stable. The ladder didn’t move.
I didn’t have time to think about that, though, because in a moment a book flew off the shelf, hurling itself against the books on the shelf across from it. Where have I seen that before? I wondered dimly as the entire bookcase began to rattle and shake. It gave a heavy groaning creak, and I looked back at it just in time to see it tip toward me.
I didn’t even have time to let out a cry—I jumped from the ladder as the bookcase toppled. With a fierce crash, it slammed into the shelf across from it, and books slid off the shelves and thudded to the floor. I landed on the floor in a heap, under the tilted shelf, and felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. Around me there were shouts, then scuffling noises as people ran toward me.
“Are you okay?” The gangly librarian leaned over and helped me to my feet. She stared at the bookcase and the mess of books on the floor. “You could have been hurt!”
Staring at the wreckage, I started to shake. It was true. The bookshelf was massive and loaded with heavy volumes. If it had fallen completely, it could have landed on me. And if it had toppled the shelf across from it, it could have landed on someone else. I shuddered.
A small group of people had gathered nearby, and Erin pushed her way through them to come over to me. “What happened?” Her tone was sharp, her forehead creased with worry.
I cast a sideways glance at the librarian, who was inspecting the shelf gingerly. “It was just like the other day at Hunter’s,” I whispered. “I saw a book fly off the shelf before the whole thing toppled.” Now I was shaking for real. Ciaran, I thought. It had to be him. Who else would—or could—do this? My birth father really was after me. Remembering what he had done to my mother, to her whole coven, I had to fight for breath. If Ciaran really was after me, how could I ever escape him?
I saw the muscles in Erin’s jaw start to work. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
I felt my shoulder where I’d landed on it. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just bruised.”