Mom said, "Morgan," in a defeated tone of voice.
"Uh…," said Aunt Eileen, for once at a loss for words.
Everyone was as embarrassed as I was, and the festive air had gone out of dinner.
"Never mind," I said abruptly, standing up. "We can talk about it later. Why not? After sixteen years what's a few days more?"
"Morgan, I always felt your parents should be the ones to tell you—," Aunt Eileen said, sounding distressed.
"Yeah, right," I said rudely. "When was that going to happen?"
Mary K. gasped, and I pushed my chair back roughly. I couldn't stand being here one more second. I couldn't take their hypocrisy anymore. I would explode.
This time I remembered to grab my jacket before I ran out to my car and peeled off into the darkness.
CHAPTER 9
Healing Light
St. Patrick's Day, 1981
Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I'm so drunk, I can hardly write. Ballynigel just put on a St Paddy's party to end all parties. All the townspeople, everyone, gathered together to have a good time in the village. Human or witch, we all agree on St. Paddy's Day, the wearing of the green.
Pat O'Hearn dyed all his beer green, and it was sloshing into mugs, into pails, into shoes, anything. Old Jowson gave some to his donkey, and that donkey has never been so tame of good-natured! I laughed until I had to hold my sides in.
The Irish Cowboys played their music all afternoon right in the town green, and we danced and pinched each other, and the kids were throwing cabbages and potatoes. We had a good day, and our dark time seems to be well and truly over.
Now I'm home, and I lit three green candles to the Goddess for prosperity and happiness. There's a full moon tonight, so I have to sober up, dress warm, and go gather my luibh. The dock root down at the pond is ready for taking in, and there's early violets, dandelions, and cattails, too, ready. I can't drink any more beer until then, or they'll find me facedown in the marsh, too drunk to pick myself up! What a day!
— Bradhadair
As I drove it occurred to me that there was nowhere to go at eight o'clock on a Monday night in Widow's Vale, New York. I pictured myself showing up at Schweikhardt's soda shop, on Main Street, with tears streaming down my cheeks. I pictured myself showing up at Janice's the same way. No, Janice had no idea how complicated my life had gotten. Robbie? I considered for a second but shook my head. I hated going to his house, with his dad drinking beer in front of the TV and his mom ail tight-lipped and angry. And of course Bree didn't even enter into it—God, what a bitch she'd been today.
Cal? I turned and headed toward his neighborhood, feeling desperate and daring, brave and terrified. Was I being presumptuous by going to his house uninvited? There was so much going on in my mind: my birth parents' story, my other parents' refusal to tell me the truth about my past, Bree—it was all too much to think about. I felt like I couldn't make any kind of decision about anything—even about whether it was okay for me to show up at Cal's house unannounced.
By the time I pulled into the long, cobblestone driveway of Cal's big stone house, I felt completely incoherent. What was I doing? I just wanted to drive off into the night forever, far away from everyone I knew. Be a different person. I couldn't believe this was my life.
I cut the lights and the engine and hunched over my steering wheel, literally, frozen with uncertainty. I couldn't even start the car again to get out of there.
Who knows how long I huddled in the darkness outside Cal's home. I finally looked up when strong headlights flooded the interior of my car, reflecting off my rearview mirror and shining into my eyes. An expensive-looking SUV pulled around my car and parked neatly, close to the house. Its door opened, and a tall, slender woman stepped out her hair barely visible in the darkness. The house's outdoor floodlights came on, bathing the driveway in warm yellow light. The woman walked to my car.
Feeling like an idiot, I rolled down my window as Selene Belltower approached. For long moments she gazed at my face, as if evaluating me. We neither smiled nor spoke to each other.
Finally she said, "Why don't you come inside, Morgan? You must be chilled through. I'll make some cocoa." As if it was normal to find a girl in a car sitting in the dark outside her house.
I got out of Das Boot and slammed the door. We walked up the broad stone steps together, Cal's mom and I, and through the massive wooden front door. She led me across the foyer, down a hall, into a huge French country-style kitchen I hadn't seen on my other visit here.
"Sit down, Morgan," she said, gesturing to a ail stool by the kitchen island.
I sat, hoping Cal was here. I hadn't seen his car outside, but maybe it was in the garage.
I cast my senses out, but I couldn't feel his presence close by. Selene Belltower's head snapped up as she poured milk into a pan. Her brows came together, and she looked at me assessingly.
"You're very strong," she commented. "I didn't learn how to cast my senses until I was in my twenties. Cal isn't here, by the way."
"I'm sorry," I said awkwardly. "I should go. I don't want to bother you…."
"You're not bothering me," she said. She spooned some cocoa powder into the milk and whisked it smooth on the cooktop across from me. "I've been curious. Cal has told me some very interesting things about you."
Cal talked to his mother about me?
She laughed, a warm, earthy laugh, when she saw the expression on my face. "Cal and I are pretty close," she said. "For a long time it's been just the two of us. His father left us when Cal was about four."
"I'm sorry," I said again. She was speaking to me as if I were an adult, and for some reason this made me feel younger than sixteen.
Selene Belltower shrugged "I was sorry, too. Cal missed his father very much, but he lives in Europe now, and they don't see each other often. At any rate—you shouldn't be startled that my son confides in me. It would be silly for him to try to hide anything, after all."
I breathed in, trying to relax. So this was life in a blood-witch household. No secrets.
Cal's mother poured the cocoa into two brightly colored hand-painted mugs and handed one to me. It was too hot to drink, so I set it down and waited. Selene waved her hand over her mug twice, then took a sip.
"Try this," she suggested, looking up at me. "Take your left hand and circle it widdershins over your mug. Say "Cool the fire."" I did, wondering. I felt warmth go into my left hand. "Try the cocoa now," she said, watching me. I took a sip. It was noticeably cooler, perfect to drink. I grinned, delighted.
"Left hand takes away," she explained. "Right hand gives. Deasil for increasing, widdershins for decreasing. And simple words are best."
I nodded and drank my cocoa. This one small thing was so fascinating to me. The idea that I could speak words, make movements that cooled a hot drink to the right temperature!
Selene smiled, and then her eyes focused on mine sympathetically. "You look like you've had a rough time."
This was an understatement, but I nodded. "Has Cal told you about… anything?"
She put her mug down. "He's told me you recently found out you were adopted," she said. "That your biological parents must be blood witches. And this afternoon he told me you thought you were probably the daughter of two Irish witches who died here sixteen years ago."
I nodded again. "Not exactly here—Meshomah Falls. About two hours away. I think my mothers name was Maeve Riordan."
Selene's race became grave. "I've heard that story," she said. "I remember when it happened. I was forty years old; Cal wasn't quite two. I remember thinking that such a thing could never happen to me, my husband, our child." Her long fingers played with the rim of her mug. "I know better now." She looked up at me again. "I'm very sorry this has happened to you. It's always somewhat difficult to be different, even if you have a lot of support. One is still set apart. But I know you must be having an especially hard time."