This had to be the work of Hilary. For her to have gone through my stuff was bad enough, but she had been handling my mother's personal property. Had she read the letters? My book?
My brain couldn't even put those thoughts together. Insane, raging, I blew open the door and tore through the house. This was itI couldn't hold it back any longer. I found them still sitting in the kitchen, giggling over something.
"What's the matter, honey?" my dad asked.
I must have looked like something out of an alien movie. I felt my eyes bulging and my heart racing. My hands were clenching and unclenching.
"What did you do?" I hissed.
"Oh," Hilary said, as if just remembering, "I did some cleaning in your room."
"Cleaning?" I spat. "You didn't cleanyou went through everything I own, everything personal You went through my mother's things"
They fell silent and looked at each other.
"I didn't go through them, sweetie," she said. "I just put them in boxes."
"First of all," I said, my energy on the rise, "I'm not your sweetie. My name is Alisa. And I'm sorry I've been inconveniencing you with my presence, but I live here, too. You can't just wish me away. I know you are in a big rush to move me down to the storage spot at the end of the hall, but that gives you"
"Alisa!" my father yelled. "Watch your mouth! I know you're upset, but Hilary is pregnant. Think of what she's going through."
"What Hilary's going through?" I yelled in disbelief. "What about me? You let Hilary come in here, take over the house, order me around. You barely even know I'm alive. I have to eat her horrible food, and move all my things, and listen to her puke."
"How dare you talk about her that way!" My father said, barely able to control himself. "This is the woman who is going to be your stepmother. You have to show her respect!"
"Please!" I groaned. "She's practically my age. What, couldn't you find anyone younger? Why didn't you just ask me? I could have introduced you to some freshmen at my school."
I knew I had entered uncharted, dangerous territory, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. It was like my jaw had become unhinged or something, and every terrible thought I ever had was spilling out. I wondered if the spell was still affecting me, allowing me to let fly with all my thoughts and emotions. I knew I was digging myself into a very deep whole.
"You're just marrying her because you got her pregnant," I hissed, all control gone. "Because you were stupid. You were both stupid. And I've got to suffer because the two of you don't know how to control yourselves."
Hilary began to cry, and my father's face turned purple. He turned to me with more rage than I have ever seen him show anyone. All at once it hit me what I'd done. I'd told them everything I'd been thinkingeverything. I hadn't wanted to say. On top of it all, the spice rack fell of the wall.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Before he could even retort, I decided to get the hell out of there. I didn't even want to know what he was going to say to that. I ran back to my room and slammed and locked the door. This was bad. This was very bad. My life was about to take an abrupt turn for the worse, if such things was possible.
A thought suddenly flashed into my mind. Gloucester. I would go to Gloucester. Now.
It was an insane idea, but not much more insane that the thought of going back into the kitchen after that conversation. Really, there was no better time to go. Besides, didn't my mothers family have a right to have me if my own father couldn't be bothered? Something had been telling me to go there. Now I would listen to it.
Impulsively I grabbed my duffel bag. I put in my mother's Book of Shadows, the printout of Sam's e-mail, some random clothes and things from my dresser. What else would I need? I looked around and took my warmest sweater, a hairbrush, and my own Book of Shadows and stuffed my purse right on top. That was it. The bag was full, and I felt that I needed to move quickly before my father recovered enough to come after me.
I peeked out into the hall. No one was there. I could hear fevered talking in the kitchen. As silently as possible, I crept down the stairs. Fortunately you can't see our front door from the kitchen, so I was able to slip out. I ran, as quickly as I could, across our neighbors' yard and down the street. I knew it wouldn't be long before my dad figured out that I had given them the slip, and then he would be out on the street, looking for me.
Once I was away from the house, I realized that I didn't have a second move planned out. When I slowed down to a walk, I saw that I had been going in the direction of the Rowlandses' house. I checked my watch. It was probably right around Morgan's curfew. She would have to pass the local playground on her way home from Hunter's. I headed for it and tucked myself in behind the spiral slide so that I wouldn't be easily seen but I would still be able to scan the road. About ten minutes later the distinctive shape of Morgan's car made its way around the corner. I came out from where I had been hiding and waved her over. She slowed, looked out the window in surprise, then came to a stop.
"Alisa," she said, "What are you doing?"
"I need help," I said, not quite sure how to explain myself. That statement seemed to cover a wide range of options. She looked at me, with new tear trails running down my face and an overnight bag in my grip.
"Get in," she said, reaching over and unlocking the door.
I got into the passenger's side. She pointed at the bag.
"What's going on? Did you just run away?"
"Something like that," I said, slouching low in the seat in case my dad passed by. "Would you mind driving around a little?" I asked sheepishly. She started down the street, torn between looking at the road and looking at me.
"Alisa," she said, her voice serious, "nothing that happened tonight was that big of a deal. You know we've been through a lot worse. And Hunter will have some information in the morning to help you."
"This isn't about what happened at the circle tonight," I said. "Not entirely."
"Fight with your parents?"
"Uh-huh."
"Was it about magick? Did you have another problem with telekinesis?"
"No," I answered, shaking my head. "It's a lot more complicated than that."
"Do they know you're gone?"
"I don't know," I said, playing with the zipper on my bag. "Maybe. If not now, soon."
She glanced at me. I felt my body tingle, and I guess she was looking me over in some magickal way, trying to figure out what I was thinking. She'd seen me flood a house and then sob on her boyfriend's shoulder for half an hour. Now she'd just found me hiding by a swing set at midnight with clothes in a bad. The evidence would suggest that I wasn't entirely stable.
"Come on," she said. "I'm taking you back to Hunter's." She started heading for Valley Road, which led to Hunter's house. I was surprised she didn't speed me to the closest mental hospital. "I'd take you to my house," she continued, "but between my parents and Mary K., that would just cause you a whole new set of problems. You can stay with Hunter for a few hours, and then he can take you home."
"No," I said, clutching my overnight bag to my stomach. "Please. No."
She pulled over to the side of the road and put the car into park.
"Why not?" she asked.
I shook my head, willing back the new storm of tears that was welling up inside.
"Look," she said gently, "you don't have to be embarrassed because he saw you so upset. Hunter can handle that. Trust me, I've turned to him enough times."
"I know what I have to do," I said, my voice wobbling.
"What's that?"
"I need to go to the bus station," I said. "I have to go somewhere."
"No way," Morgan replied, reaching for the shift. "It's Hunter's house or it's home. Which will it be?"
"I have to go see my mother's family, Morgan."
That stopped her for a moment, so I jumped right in.
"It was instinct that made me take my mother's Book of Shadows from your house," I said, the words coming quickly now. "Then my telekinesis made my jewelry box fall over and breakthat's how I found my uncle's letters. And I've been having these dreams, visions of my mother's hometown. I've been in touch with my uncle. He told me I can come anytime I want."
Morgan stared out in front of her and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, deep in thought. Along with her witch skills, Morgan had a powerful big-sister vibe. Right now I could see the two were in conflict.
"Come on," I said, "how am I going to explain this to my father? How am I going to tell him that my mother was a witch, that she stripped herself of her powers, and that I've been having visions and problems with telekinesis? When you and I say that our parents don't understand us, we're not just angsting."
She couldn't deny anything I said.
"I still think we should go to Hunter's first," she said slowly. "You can talk it over with him."
"It's not that I don't want to talk to Hunter," I said, "but I need to get out of here. If I wait until morning, my dad will have the police after me."
Absolute silence for about two minutes.
"Tell me where you're going," she said finally.
"Gloucester, Massachusetts. To my uncle Sam Curtis's house."
"Do you have enough money?"
I reached into my purse and fished out my wallet. "I have my bank card and six dollars in cash."
"How much do you have in your account?"
"Just over three hundred," I said, "from baby-sitting."
Without another word, she put the car back in drive and turned it around, back towards the bus station. I could tell the internal battle was still raging on, though.
"I don't like it," she said, breaking the long silence, "but I guess I understand."
There were no cars in the bus station parking lot, and I saw no one through the glass windows. It was empty, except for the plastic seats and a few ticket machines. Morgan hunched down to look at the place through my window, then she groaned loudly.
"I can't believe I'm letting you do this," she said, her voice low. She lifted herself from her seat, pressed her hand into the pocket of her jeans, and produced a few crumpled notes.
"Here," she said, pressing them into my hand, "take this, too. It's, um" She smoothed out the bills and counted them. "Twelve bucks."
"Thanks," I said as she pressed the wrinkled money into my hand. "I'll pay you back."
Strangely in response she reached over, pulled back my collar, and started tickling my neck. At least, that is what she appeared to be doing.
"Is this what they mean when they talk to kids about 'bad touching'?" I asked.
"Call either me or Hunter," she warned, drawing back her hand. "I'm serious. If we haven't heard from you within twenty-four hours, we're coming after you. I just put a watch sigil on you, so we'll be able to find you anywhere."
"Thanks," I repeated, somewhat uncertainly. I didn't actually know what it meant to have a watch sigil burned into your flesh. It sounded kind of ominous.
"Guess that's all I can really do." She sighed.
"You've done a lot," I said, stepping out and leaning in through the window. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
"I have to get home," she said, obviously annoyed by the limitations of her curfew. "Be careful. And remember, call within twenty-four hours."
With that, she slowly pulled away. I watched Das Boot vanish into the night, and then stepped inside the dingy, fluorescent glow of the bus station.
6. The Runaway
October 30, 1948
Máirin's book has opened up a whole new world to me. Goddess, how was it that I never knew this horrific story?
Máirin's mother was named Oona Doyle. She and her husband came over from Ireland in 1865 with a small group of other witches. They built this house and started Ròiseal that year.
According to Máirin, a hideous influenza outbreak spread through Gloucester in 1886. The whole coven worked as hard as they could to combat the sickness. Young Máirin describes long nights of visiting sickbeds and working on spells. In their attempts to cure others, some of the members of the coven were infected and weakened. The sickness claimed the lives of Máirin's father and two younger brothers, leaving the two women alone. Máirin was, of course, devastatedbut her mother's reaction was even worse. She lost control of her mind, for two years Oona lived in this condition, and Máirin watched over her at all times.
Máirin descirbes a horrible night during which her mother ran skyclad through the house, casting hexing spells in her own blood. Two days later Oona's body washed up on the shore. Oona, unable to overcome her sadness must have wandered out to the ocean and just kept going, allowing the waves to overtake her. Máirin then describes the beginning of a long series of hauntings that went on for years. She made several attempts to control the phenomena.
The last few pages of the book are missing. What Rowanwand destroys a bookmuch less a Book of Shadows? What was written in there? I need to study this book more closely. I've told mother what I found, and she seemed very interested. Could it be that we have some kind of an answer to our haunting problem at last?
Aoibheann
When I told Morgan that I knew what I was doing, I'd probably been overstating my case just a little bit. I knew that I was running away, that I was going to Gloucester, and that I was going immediately. The detailswell, I hadn't quite worked them out.
I was the only person waiting at the bus station for the midnight ride to New York. I used my bank card to buy a ticket and sat down to wait. I felt like I was in a cheesy movie of the weekteen leaves home, gets on bus to the big city. Things like this weren't supposed to happen to me. But it was real, and I was alone, seething, and nearly numb with anticipation. Fortunately I'd timed it well, and I only had to wait a few more minutes before the bus arrived.
About three hours later I saw the lights of New York in the distance. Though I love the big city, the Port Authority Bus Terminal, where we eventually stopped, is probably the last place I'd normally want to be at 3 a.m. on a Sunday. Though it was less crowded than usual, there were still a lot of people wandering around. Many of these people had hollow gazes; several mumbled to themselves. Everyone seemed to be eyeing methis squeaky clean teen with her fat duffel bag.
According to the monitor, the next bus for Boston left at 4 a.m., so I had an hour to kill. I used my bank card again to buy my ticket, taking care to have it out of my bag for the least amount of time possible. I also really needed to go to the bathroom, but there was no way I was venturing into one of those desolate ladies' rooms.
My adrenaline rush was fading. I was shivering. I passed a phone, and I thought about picking it up. I wasn't quite ready to call my father. Morgan? Mary K.? Too late. Their parents would freak. I could call Hunter. His dad wouldn't mind that I called so late (an advantage to letting your father live in your house and not vice versa). But I figured Hunter probably wouldn't be to happy about me running away, and I didn't really want to get a lecture.
No. I had decided to go, and now I was going to deal with it. So it was a little scaryI would be in Gloucester soon. I sat down and watched a screen with the weather forecast refresh itself about two hundred times before it was time to board the bus.
The bus to Boston was almost empty, so I had two seats to myself, nice and close to the driver. This made me feel a little more secure. He didn't seem to notice anything strange about my being alone. I guess this was pretty much standard runaway procedure, something he'd seen beforesomething just what my mother had done over thirty years before. Shoving my bag behind my head, I closed my eyes and fell right asleep.
I dreamed of the mermaid again. It was night this time, and we were both on the shore. The sea was calm now. The mermaid hid herself under a green veil, and she pointed up to the moon, which was a hook hanging low over the watera waxing moon. We sat in silence for a long time; then a wave lapped up on the sand. As it pulled away, the beach was glowing with runes and Gaelic words. All the space between us was filled up by this mysterious writing. Another wave came and washed it all away, leaving the beach bare and sandy. And when I looked up for the mermaid, she was gone. I woke up just as the bus was pulling into Boston's South Station, the biggest bus and train depot in the city.
I discovered by reading a few rainbow-colored folding transit maps and asking a few commuters that I needed to take two subway lines to get to North Station, where I would be able to get on a train to Gloucester at seven-thirty. From there, the ride to Gloucester would take about an hour. My brain was waxy and numb from too much emotion and too little sleep. The color-coded routes on the maps seemed like they would be impossible to navigate. But I pulled up some hidden reserve of energy and brainpower and managed to get myself on the subway and across town. For the third time in only a few hours I was waiting on another platform. If only I had a car I thought. Life would be a lot easier.
I thought of my bed back in Widow's Vale, all made, ready to be climbed into and enjoyed. Of course, there was nothing else left in my room, but my bed was there. My dad probably pacing. I was sure he'd been up all night
There was a phone behind me. Impulsively I picked it up and called the house collect. Someone snatched the phone off the hook on the first ring. It was my dad, who frantically accepted the charges.
"Hello? Alisa?"
"It's me, Dad," I replied, frightened by the urgency in his voice.
"Alisa, where are you?"
"It's okay, Dad," I said, keeping my on the track for any sight of the train. "I'm fine. I just need some time."
"Time? What are you talking about?"
"It's just been too much for me to take in," I sighed.
"Alisa," he said. He sounded confused, like he didn't know which would be more effective: being angry or pleading.
"I'm not just running off," I said. "I'm going to see Mom's family."
He had no idea what to say to that. I might as well have just told him that I'd hopped on a slow boat to China. My mother never talked about her family, so my dad always assumed it that they must have been pretty bad to make her run away when she was eighteen. From what he'd told me, my mom wasn't exactly a rebel.
"There's a lot you don't know about the," I added. Understatement of the year. "They know I'm coming. They want to see me. I have to go."
"I've had enough of this, Alisa," he said, opting for the angry approach.
"I'm just telling you," I continued, "so you won't worry. I'm in safe hands, not out on the streets somewhere. I'm going to a house, to stay with mom's brother. There is no need to call the police or anything."
"Your mother didn't even had a brother!" he said, his voice breaking.
"She did," I said. "He lives in a nice place. It's fine. I'm fine. I just need to think. I promise that I'll stay there, where it's safejust please don't call the police. I promise that I'll call."
"Do I have a choice?" he finally said.
"Not really," I admitted.
"I love you, Alisa. You know that, don't you? I know you've been"
The train was coming.
"I love you, Dad." I felt myself choke up on that. "I have to go. Please don't worry about me."
I think he was calling my name when I hung up. My hands shook, and my eyes stung. Onward, I thought. No turning back now.
I crashed again on the commuter train, with my head resting against the window. No dreams this time. I woke with a jolt and a crick in my neck as I heard the conductor announcing that we were pulling into Gloucester.
No one was around on the platform. Only a few people were out walking on the streetit was still early on an overcast Sunday morning, after all. I didn't know where I was or how to find Sam's house, so I just headed out and started walking in the direction that seemed most promising. I don't know how to describe it, but the town felt right to me. I could sense the heavy pull of the ocean. Lobster traps and fishing gear turned up everywherein signs and displays, on people's lawns. It seemed like a very modest place, a functioning fishing town, very old and not very fancy. While I definitely wasn't giddy with delight, I felt a sense of calm after the chaotic night. Whatever it was that had been calling meit was here.
A half hour later a lonely cab happened to go past me, and I frantically waved it down. The driver looked at me a bit hesitantlyI guess high school kids don't usually hail cabs off the street in Gloucesterthen took me in. I gave him the printout of the e-mail with Sam's address on it and settled back in the seat. We wound up and down the tight streets filled with colonial style houses, many marked with plaques commemorating the people who had lived there hundreds of years ago. The cab slowed at a neat little cape house, tucked tightly in a row of similar houses on one of the town's center streets. We stopped and the driver turned on me.
"It's all right," he said, eyeing me and my bag. "No charge."
"Are you sure?" I said, reaching into my pocket for my eighteen dollars. "I have money."
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm going off duty."
I must look lost, I thought. Or just really pathetic. Still, it was nice of the driver. I thanked him profusely and slid out of the car.
So there I was, standing on my uncle's doorstep at just before ten in the morning on a Sunday. I looked up above his door and saw a pentacle therea little one, imprinted into a clay plate, and carefully hung above the entrance. This was definitely the right place.
It should have felt very strange and very scary. My uncle and I were strangers to each other. But I knew that it was going to be all right. There was something about his relationship with my mother, the tone of his note, and my dreams that told me he would welcome me. With a deep breath, I rang the bell.
Meowing from inside. Lots of it. I tightened my grip on the handle of the bag as I heard footsteps coming towards the door. "It's all right," a man's voice was saying. "Calm down, it's just the doorbell."
More frantic meowing.
"What, do you think it's a fish delivery for you guys?" he said. "Just calm down. Let me through.
The door opened.
The man who stood before me looked very boyish, though I knew he was in his forties. His hair was light brown, streaked through with golden blond and a few shots of gray. His blue eyes were framed by a stylish pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Obviously he had just been relaxing on a lazy Sunday morning, and was comfortably dressed in a Boston University T-shirt and a pair of running pants.
"Sam Curtis?" I asked.
"Yes?" he said, looking at me strangely. He became very still and seemingly tense as he studied me. It was as if he had found a mysterious package on his front step and was still trying to figure out if it was a clock or a bomb.
"I'm Alisa," I said, "Alisa Soto. Sarah's daughter."
"Goddess!" said Sam, gripping the door frame. I could tell he wasn't sure of he should hug me or shake my hand. As a compromise, he decided to grab my shoulder.
"I can't believe it!" he almost whispered, looking me over. "Alisa!"
I nodded shyly.
"How did you get here? It's what, ten in the morning?"
"I got your note," I said quickly evading his question, "and I thought it would be okay."
"Of course!" he said. "Of course! Let's get you inside."
7. Sam
Samhain, October 31, 1948
Máirin's Book of Shadows is missing. I was reading it all last night before going to sleep, and I left it on my desk. When I woke up, it was gone. I immediately ran to tell Mother. I was wild with excitement and fear, but she was very subdued when I told her that it was missing. She told me not to worry. The there was nothing that could be done. Control, she reminded me. Witches must always be master of themselves. Only clear thought can produce strong magick.
Still, I feel as though I had the answer in my hands, only to have it snitched away! Oh, Goddess, what can I do?
Aoibheann
Inside Sam's house, I was met by the comforting witchy smell of lingering herbs and incense, particularly sage. Everything was made of wood and brick, and there was a fireplace with a little fire to take off the morning chill. Two Siamese cats padded up to me, chattering their greetings.
"Meet Astrophe and Mandu," he said, picking up one of the cats and handing him to me. The cat purred loudly and pushed his head under my chin in affection. "That's Mandu," Sam said. "He's a baby, loves to be picked up. Astrophe will get you when you sit down. He thinks every lap is his."
"Astrophe and Mandu?" I asked as the cat gave me little kisses with his wet nose. "Are those magickal names?"
"No," Sam laughed. "Cat-astrophe. Cat-mandu."
I groaned, remembering my mom's description of her brother in her Book of Shadows. She'd said he was a real joker. Actually, she'd said he was asinine. I knew they played practical jokes on each other all the time.
"It's so early," he said. "When did you leave to get here?"
He cast a slightly strange look over his shoulder at me, but I kept my focus on Mandu, who was swatting my hair.
"Sorry," I said. "I thought I'd take the earliest train. You know. Get a jump on things."
Lame. Obvious. But what was I going to say?
"Wait a minute," he said, "let me change into some proper clothes, and I'll make us some breakfast. I'll be right back. Make yourself at home."
With one cat in my arms and another wrapped around my ankles, I took a walk through Sam's living room. The wood floor was covered with a large Turkish rug colored in browns and oranges. On one side of the room there was a small altar, with some candles, seashells, fresh flowers, a cup and a beautiful black-handled athame. He seemed to have about a million representations of the moon, in pictures, tiles and masks.
Bookshelves took up most of the wall space. (Rowanwands are famous for collecting, and sometimes hoarding, knowledge. I wasn't sure if I'd gotten much of that particular family trait.) Sam's collection covered an incredible array of subjects, from physics to literature to art. There were volumes on herbs, magick, Wiccan history, divination, Celtic Gods and Goddesses, tarot, and hundred other witch-related subjects. Two shelves were devoted to volumes on astronomy. Three more were occupied by books on yoga, meditation, charka's, and Indian religion.
I noticed a few shelves that were devoted to the history of homosexuality and some current books on gay politics and culture. I was paused on these when I realized that Sam was back. He was casually dressed in a maroon short-sleeved shirt and tan pants.
"I have a lot of books, I know," he said. "Such an Rowanwand. This is nothing. You should see the family library. I think we have more books then the town library."
He noticed what shelf I was looking at and smiled.
"Oh," he said, nodding. "I'm gay."
I didn't know much about my uncle, so the fact he was gay was just one item on a very long list. I liked his ease with the fact. I figured it had something to do with being Wiccan. I supposed they were a lot more open and well adjusted when it came to that subject. So I had a gay uncle. That was kind of cool.
"Okay," he said, directing me to the kitchen, "let's get some food for you. I can tell you're starved."
There's no use hiding anything from witches. They always seem to know. I set Mandu down on the ground and followed Sam into the kitchen.
"Do you drink coffee?" he asked.
I nodded. I was dying for coffee, actually. I hadn't slept much.
"How do you like it?"
"Sweet," I said, sitting down at the table. Astrophe, as promised, hopped right into my lap and curled into a ball. "And milky, please."
"Sweet and milky coffee," Sam nodded approvingly. "You are definitely my niece! We're going to get along well." He cheerfully put down two huge mugs and filled them up. Then he loaded sugar and milk and pushed a cup in my direction. I took it, thanking him. It was incredible. Uncle Sam didn't fool around in the coffee department. This was the good stuff.
"All right," he said, opening the refrigerator. "Let's see. How about an omelette? I have some cheddar cheese and bacon. That might taste good."
He couldn't have know that I'd been living on mashed tofu and organic leeks for weeks now, could he? A bacon and cheese omelette sounded like heaven on a plate. I tried not to drool when I nodded my appreciation. For appetizers, he had put some chocolate croissants, macaroons, orange slices and strawberries on a plate for me to munch on as he worked. Munch I did. I could barely control myself. I noticed that he kept glancing back at me as he set some brown eggs, hickory-smoked bacon, and a big piece of cheese wrapped in paper out on the counter.