The Coven (17 page)

It felt like much longer ago than that.

I stepped across the trickling stream and headed uphill into a stand of old hardwood trees. I went more slowly, casting my senses, listening for their voices. I didn’t really know what I was doing and felt kind of like a stalker. But I had been wondering about their new coven. I couldn’t resist finding out what they were up to.

When I reached the edge of the graveyard, I saw them ahead, standing by the stone sarcophagus that had served as our altar on Samhain.The two of them stood there, not talking, and it came to me:They were waiting for someone.

I sank down on the damp, cold earth beside an ancient tombstone. My face ached a little, and the stitch in my lip was itching. I wished I had remembered to take more arnica or Tylenol before I left the house.

Bree rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Raven kept pushing back her dyed black hair. They both looked nervous and excited.

Then Bree turned and peered into the shadows. Raven grew very still, and my heart beat loudly in the silence.

The person meeting them was a woman, or rather a girl, maybe a couple of years older than Raven. Maybe just a year. The more I looked at her, the younger she became.

She was beautiful in an unusual, otherworldly kind of way. Fine blond hair shone starkly against her black leather motorcycle jacket, and she had very short, almost white bangs. Her cheekbones were high and Nordic, her mouth full and too wide for her face. But it was her eyes that seemed so compelling, even from far away.They were large and deep set and so black that they looked like holes, drawing light in and not letting it out again.

She greeted Bree and Raven so quietly, I couldn’t hear the murmur of her voice. She seemed to ask them a question, and her dark eyes darted here and there like negative spotlights raking the area.

“No, no one followed us,” I heard Bree say.

“No way.” Raven laughed. “No one comes out here.”

Still the girl looked around, her eyes flicking again and again to the tombstone I hid behind. If she was a witch, she might pick up on my presence. Quickly I closed my eyes, trying to shut everything down, focusing on becoming invisible, on trying to wrinkle the fabric of reality as little as possible. I am not here, I sent out into the world. I am not here.There is nothing here. You see nothing, you hear nothing, you feel nothing. I repeated this smoothly again and again, and finally the three girls started talking again.

Moving a centimeter at a time, I turned and faced them again.

“Revenge?” the girl said, her voice rich and musical.

“Yes,” said Raven. “You see, there’s ...”

A breeze rustled the trees just then, and her words were lost. They were speaking so quietly that it was only by using my strongest concentration that I could hear them at all.

“Dark magic,” Raven said, and Bree looked at her with troubled eyes.

“. . . to wither love,” were the next words to float to me on the breeze. That was from the girl. I looked at her aura. Next to Bree’s and Raven’s darkness, she was made of pure light, shining like a sword in the increasing shadows of the graveyard.

“Their circle . . . our new coven . . . a girl with power . . . Cal ...Saturday nights, at different places ...”

They talked on, and my frustration grew at not being able to hear more. The sun went down quickly, as if a lamp had been dimmed, and I started to feel seriously chilly.

I leaned against the tombstone.What did this mean? They had mentioned Cal’s name. I figured the “girl with power” was me.What were they planning? I had to tell Cal.

But there was no way to leave without their seeing me, so I was stuck on that damp ground, feeling my butt and legs go to sleep while my bruised face ached more and more.

At last, after about forty endless minutes, the girl left silently the way she had come, with only her light hair visible when she stepped into the darkness beneath the trees. Bree and Raven walked back through the graveyard, passing within ten feet of me, and headed back out through the cornfield. A minute later I heard Raven’s car belch and peel off, and two minutes after that its exhaust drifted to me on the evening breeze.

I got up and brushed myself off, anxious to get home to take a hot, hot shower.The cornfields were now totally dark, and I felt weirded out by the creepy scene I had just witnessed. At one point I was sure I felt someone’s concentrated stare on the back of my head, but when I whirled, nothing was there. Running back to my car, I jumped in, slamming and locking my door after me.

My hands were so cold and stiff, it took me a second to get the key in the ignition, and then I popped on my headlights and did a fast U-turn on Westwood. I was scared and irritated, and my earlier thoughts of clearing things up with Bree now seemed naive, laughable.

What were they planning? Were they really so angry with Cal and me that they would turn to dark magick? They were putting themselves in danger, making choices that were stupid and shortsighted.

I swung into my own driveway, shaken and chilled to the bone. Inside, I hurried up the stairs and stripped off my wet clothes. As the hot water dissolved my chills I thought and thought.

After dinner I called Cal and asked him to meet me by the willow oak the next day after school.

September 20, 1983

Angus and I sat home glumly tonight, thinking about what we would be doing if we were at home and everything was as it had been. I can’t believe no one here celebrates the harvest, the richness of the autumn. The closest thing they have is Thanksgiving in November, but that seems to be more about pilgrims and Indians and turkey.

The summer was blessed: hot, quiet, full of long slow days and nights filled with the sound of frogs and crickets. My garden grew magnificently, and I was so proud. The sun and earth and rain worked their magick without my helping or asking.

Bridget is fine and fat. She’s a champion mouser and can even catch crickets.

My job is dull but fine. Angus is learning some beautiful woodworking. We have little money, but we’re safe here.

—M. R.

“I guess you’re wondering why I asked you to meet me,” I said as Cal slid into the front seat of my car on Wednesday afternoon.

“Because you wanted my body?” he guessed, and then I was laughing and holding him tightly and he was trying to find a part of me to kiss that wouldn’t hurt. I was ninety percent better, but my face was still sensitive.

“Try here,” I said, tapping my lips gently.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered his mouth to mine and applied just the slightest pressure.

“Mmmm,” I said. Cal pulled back and looked at me.

“Let’s get in the backseat,” he said.

This seemed like a fine idea. The backseat of the Valiant was huge and roomy, and we felt comfortable and private as the November wind blew against the windows and whistled beneath the car.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, once we were cozily settled. “Did that arnica help?”

I nodded. “I think it did. The bruises seem to have gone away really fast.”

He smiled and gently touched my temple. “Almost.”

I had planned to tell him about what I’d seen yesterday, but now that we were together, the words flew out of my head. Contentedly I lay against him, feeling his hands smooth my skin, and I didn’t want to think about following Bree or spying on her.

“Does this feel good?” Cal asked, sounding sleepy as he stroked my back. His eyes were closed, his knees were bent, his feet propped on the side door handle.

“Uh-huh,” I said. I let my hand roam up and down his firm chest. After a second I undid the top of his shirt. I slid my hand inside.

“Ummm,” Cal whispered, and he turned a little so that we were facing each other, chest to chest. He kissed me so gently and so softly that it didn’t hurt a bit.

Then I felt the shocking, hot sensation of my skin against his and realized our shirts had somehow edged up so that our stomachs were touching. It felt amazing, and I wrapped my leg around his hips, feeling the tiny ribs of his brown corduroy jeans pressing against my thigh through my leggings.

As I pressed myself closer to him I kept thinking, He’s the one, the one, the one. My only one. My
mùirn beatha dàn
.The one meant for me.This was all supposed to happen.

Cal pulled back a little bit, then spoke against my cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve been close to?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I felt his lips smile against my skin, and he held me tighter.

“I’m not your first person.” I stated the obvious.

“No,” he said after a moment. “Does that bother you?”

“Did you sleep with Bree?” I blurted out, then winced, wanting to erase the words.

Cal looked surprised. “Bree? Why . . .” He shook his head. “Where did that come from?”

“She told me you did,” I said, trying to prepare myself for the answer, to act like it didn’t matter. Gazing at my fingers resting against his chest, I waited to see what he would say.

“Bree told you that she slept with me?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Did you believe her?”

I shrugged, trying to suppress the panicky feeling that was building inside me. “I didn’t know. Bree is gorgeous, and she usually gets what she wants. I guess it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Cal said, considering his words. “I think that stuff should be private.”

My heart threatened to explode.

“But I’ll tell you this much because I don’t want it between us.Yes, Bree made it clear she was into the idea. But I wasn’t available at the time, so it didn’t happen.”

I frowned. “Why weren’t you available?”

He laughed, brushing back my hair. “I had already seen you.”

“And it was witch at first sight.” The words just slipped out. I winced, wishing I could take them back.

Cal shook his head, bemused. “What do you mean?” “Raven and Bree said . . . that you’re only with me because I’m a witch, a strong witch.”

“Is that what you believe?” Cal asked, his voice cooler.

“I don’t know,” I said, starting to feel awful. Why did I ever begin this conversation?

Cal was silent for a couple of minutes and very still. “I don’t know what the right answer is. Sure, your powers as a witch are really exciting to me. The idea of us working together, of helping you learn what I know, is . . . tantalizing. And as for the rest, I just . . . think you’re beautiful. You’re pretty and sexy, and I’m drawn to you. I don’t even understand why we’re having this conversation, after I told you about the
mùirn beatha dàn
.” He shook his head.

I was silent, feeling like I had dug myself into a hole.

“Could you do me a favor?” he asked.

“What?” I asked, afraid of what he was about to say.

“Could you ignore what other people say?”

“I’ll try,” I said quietly.

“Could you do me another favor?”

I looked at him.

“Could you kiss me again? Things were just starting to get interesting.”

Laughing, wanting to cry, I leaned down and kissed him. He held me to him strongly, pressing me against his body from chest to knees. His hands swept over my back, my sides, and explored my skin underneath my shirt. I felt his fingers smooth over the small birthmark I have under my right arm, feeling its raised edges.

“I’ve always had that,” I whispered. He hadn’t seen it, but it was a rose pink mark about an inch and a half long. I had always thought it looked like a small dagger. It made me smile to think of it now: I could say it looked like an athame.

“I love it,” Cal murmured, feeling it again. “It’s part of you.” Then he kissed me again, sweeping me away on a tide of emotion.

“Think about magick,” Cal whispered, and my scattered thoughts couldn’t comprehend his meaning. He continued touching me, and he said, “Magick is a strong feeling, and this is a strong feeling. Put them together.”

If I had tried talking just then, it would have come out as gibberish. But inside my mind, his words strung together and made some sort of dim sense. I thought about how I felt when I made magick or gathered magick: that feeling of power, of completion, of being connected to things, being part of the world.With Cal’s hands on me I felt a similar and yet very different sensation: it, too, was power and a kind of gathering, but it was also like a door leading somewhere else.

And then I got it. It all came together. Our mouths together, our breaths wreathing themselves together, our minds in tune with each other, my hands on his skin, his hands on mine, and it felt almost like we were in a circle, when the energy is all around, there for the taking.

There was energy surrounding us, wrapping us together, and my shirt was pushed up, my breasts against the warm skin of his chest, and we were holding each other tightly and kissing, and magick sparked. Any words I said then would be a spell. Any thought I had would be a magickal directive. Anything I called to me would come.

It went way beyond exhilarating.

When we stopped and I opened my eyes, it was dark outside. I had no idea of what time it was and glanced at my watch to see I was late for dinner.

Groaning, I pulled down my shirt.

“What time is it?” Cal murmured, his fingers already reaching for his buttons.

“Six-thirty,” I said. “I have to go.”

“Okay.”

As I reached for the door, he pulled me back against him so I sat in his lap.

“That was incredible,” he whispered, kissing my cheek. He gave me a big grin. “I mean, that was incredible!”

I laughed, still feeling powerful as he opened the car door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “And I’ll think about you tonight.”

He headed back to his own car. As I climbed into the front seat of Das Boot and started the engine, emotion almost overwhelmed me.