Mary K. stroked Dagda. “So—why are you hanging out with her?” Her voice held a distinct note of unease.
“She’s teaching me.”
“Like, how to put hexes on people and stuff?” Mary K. asked.
“No,” I said curtly. Hadn’t she learned anything about Wicca from being around me? “Of course not. She’s teaching me about the history of Wicca and about herbs.”
Mary K. looked dubious. “Herbs?”
“Herbs have a lot of medicinal properties. Some can speed recovery. I mean, there might even be something I could feed Dagda that would make him get better sooner.”
“Really?” She sounded intrigued. “I wonder if she could help Alisa. She’s been sort of worn out lately.”
“Do you want me to ask Erin about it?” I suggested.
“No,” Mary K. said quickly. “No, don’t.”
I didn’t press her. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as she rubbed Dagda’s belly and he purred sleepily. She had been there when Erin healed Dagda—but how much had she actually understood? I was afraid to find out.
When we got home, Mary K. handed Dagda over to me, and I took him upstairs and settled him comfortably on my bed. He instantly dozed off once I put him down.
“How is he?”
I turned around and saw my mom standing in my doorway. “He’s fine,” I said, giving Dagda a small pat. Mom came over and gave him a gentle rub on the head. “Paula says the cast can come off in two weeks.”
“That’s good news.” My mom’s eyes lingered on Dagda a moment, then she turned to me. “Come downstairs, Morgan. Your father and I want to talk to you.”
I felt my throat tighten, but I followed her downstairs to where my father was sitting on the couch with his serious face on. My mom sat down beside him. I took the armchair across from them—The Accused.
“Morgan, Mary K. told us that you had a visitor today,” my mom began. “And that you were with a friend in the library yesterday.”
My body went cold. I tried to read my mother’s face— did she know that Erin was a witch? I didn’t think so.
“You weren’t supposed to have any visitors,” my mom went on. “You knew the rules, and you broke them.”
I wanted to protest, but I knew that would only make things worse. I clamped my lips together and sat on my hands.
“Morgan, your father and I have talked about this a great deal. We want you to be in a supportive environment. We don’t want you to throw your future away. You need guidance and a firm hand and—”
Fear gnawed at my stomach like a hungry rat. No. This couldn’t be. “What are you saying?” I asked.
“What your mother is saying,” my dad put in, “is that we think it would be best if you went to Saint Anne’s starting at the beginning of next quarter.”
Oh, no, no, no! My stomach fell. “What?” I cried.
My mother’s nostrils flared. “Look, we’ve given you a number of chances to show us that you’re turning your grades around, and you’ve disobeyed us at every step. This started long ago—back when we asked you not to read Wiccan books—”
“So that’s it,” I broke in, stunned. “You’re sending me to a Catholic school to try to convert me!”
“What?” My mom looked shocked.
“Morgan, don’t be ridiculous,” my father said. “We just want what’s best for you.”
“And what’s best for me is Catholicism and not Wicca, right?” I shot back. “I can’t possibly have both in my life.”
“You were raised with Catholic values,” my mom said hotly. “Those are our values.”
I stood up and faced them. “Look, I can’t help being a witch,” I said. My voice shook. “Wicca is in my blood. I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to. But that’s the point— I don’t want to. I respect your beliefs. Why can’t you live with mine?”
The minute the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to call them back. My father’s face went white, and my heart ached, but it was too late. My parents sat on the couch, stone-faced and silent. It was so quiet that I could hear the seconds ticking by on my watch.
Then my mom stood up. “Morgan, we’ve made this decision already. We want to put you in a positive environment— and we found one that seemed to offer the kind of academic support and discipline we think you need. We want you to value school and excel in it as you have in the past. I’m sorry if that offends you, but it’s something else you’re going to have to live with.” She turned and walked out of the room.
My father stood and faced me. “We love you,” he said in a quiet voice. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, and I saw in his eyes that my father was afraid— afraid for me.
We looked at each other a moment, then he turned and followed my mom.
“I love you, too,” I said softly to the empty room.
11. Connection
I’m scared. I think I might be going crazy.
Today I was over at Mary K.’s house, and I started to feel sick—kind of dizzy and nauseated. So I went to her bathroom to splash water over my face.
While I was standing at the sink, something weird started to happen. My hearing started to fade, almost as if someone had stuffed wads of cotton in my ears, and then my vision started to narrow, like I was looking through a tube. I thought I was starting to black out, so I sat on the toilet seat and put my head between my knees. After a few minutes I felt a little better, so I got up and splashed a little more water on my face. Then I headed out through the door— only I guess I got the wrong door because I walked into Morgan’s room, and there she was doing some bizarre ritual with Erin. That’s when things started to get really crazy. I think I started hallucinating because I thought I saw Morgan rise into the air, like some kind of freaky from The Exorcist.
Needless to say, I got out of there. But I still don’t know if what I saw was real.
And I can’t figure out what would be more frightening—if it was, or if it wasn’t.
— Alisa
It was a dismal morning—gray and chilly—and I kept my head down and my shoulders hunched as I strode toward the quiet school building. The bell had rung ten minutes ago. Mary K. had always made sure that I was up by seven-thirty, but now that she was barely speaking to me, I didn’t have any more wake-up insurance. Today I was late beyond all redemption, thanks to the fact that I’d overslept by forty-five minutes. I was still feeling headachy and ill, and the weather made me feel even worse. The absence of my magick was so overpowering that it was almost like a presence. I couldn’t wait to get inside the warm school and distract myself with academics for a while. Or maybe I could catch a few winks in English class. Since I’d be attending Saint Anne’s soon, I could afford to catch a nap here and there while I could.
Morgan.
I spun around. Who’s calling me? I thought. But of course, my magick was still reined. Apparently I could still receive a witch message—I just couldn’t send one. I turned back and scanned the front of the building.
At first I didn’t see him. I had to look very closely before I noticed Hunter standing beside the large oak tree that grew to the far right of the building.
“How are you?” he asked as I walked up to him. His navy blue cap was pulled down over his hair, and the wind had made his cheeks pink. “You look tired.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Listen, Hunter, I know I said I’d call you the other day—”
“Morgan, it’s fine,” he interrupted me. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to send a witch message, and Erin explained that you were grounded. She told me a few other things, too.” Hunter reached out and pulled me into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” he whispered into my hair.