Moira glanced at her mother, who was looking at Katrina with affection. Morgan nodded slightly, and, looking relieved, Katrina moved to the side.
"Can you all please come into the circle?" asked Morgan, and the coven members filed in through the opening that Gran had left. Quickly Morgan went around the circle and sketched the rune Eolh at the east, Tyr at the north, Thorn at the west, and Ur at the south. Moira silently recited their meanings: protection, victory in battle, overcoming adversity, and strength. Powerful runes, runes of protection. As if the coven were under siege. Moira remembered what Keady had said about Morgan's power being used for defense and wondered what was this was about.
Next Morgan lit a stick of incense and placed it behind the rune Tyr. She set a silver cup of water next to Thorn and a silver cup of smooth pebbles at Ur. Next to Eolh she lit a tall orange candle. Finally Morgan took her place in the circle, between Katrina and Lacey Hawkstone. Everyone clasped hands and raised them overhead. Moira had moved till she was between Vita and Tess, who had also edged away from their parents. Tess squeezed her hand-Moira knew she'd rather be home watching television. Across the room Keady Dove smiled at her.
"I welcome the Goddess and the God to tonight's circle, and I hope they find favor with our gathering," Morgan began. "I dedicate this circle to our coming harvest, to our safe passage into winter, and to our spirit of community. We're a chain, all of us connected and entwined. We help each other, we support each other. Our links form a strong fence, and within it we can protect our own."
Moira saw that a few people were glancing at each other. They were probably wondering what was going on, with the runes of protection and Morgan talking about being a fence. Moira hoped she wouldn't start talking about Ealltuinn. Maybe Ealltuinn wasn't as particular about following the Wiccan Rede as Belwicket was. There were lots of covens that weren't. But that didn't make them evil.
"Since we're in the middle of our harvest season," Morgan said, "let's give thanks now for things that we have drawn to us, for our times of fruitfulness, for the gifts of the land. Life has given us each incomparable riches."
"I'm thankful for my new pony," said Lizzie Hawkstone. "He's beautiful and smart."
"I'm thankful my mum recovered from her illness," said Michelle.
"I bless the Goddess for my garden's bounty," said Christa Ryan, who was Moira's herbology teacher.
"I'm thankful for the wonderful gift of my daughter-in-law and for my beautiful granddaughter," said Katrina. She smiled at Moira, and Moira smiled back.
"I'm grateful for family and friends," Moira said, falling back on an old standard.
"Thanks to the Goddess for the rains and the wind, for they've kept me cozy inside," said Fillipa. "Thanks also to the library in town-they just got in a shipment of new books."
"I thank the Goddess for my daughter," Morgan said quietly. "I thank time for passing, however slowly. I thank the wheel for turning and for helping grief to ease someday."
That was about Moira's dad, and she felt people glancing at her in sympathy. She nodded, looking at her feet, acknowledging her mother's words.
The circle went around, each person contributing some- thing or not as they wished. Then Morgan lifted her left foot and leaned to the left, and the group began a sort of half-walking, half-skipping circle, where it felt like dancing. Moira felt her heart lifting, her blood circulating, and knew that her mum had chosen this to increase the positive, lighthearted energy.
Morgan started singing, one of the ancient songs with words that had lost their definitions but not their meanings. Her rich alto wove a melody around the circle, and Katrina took it up, singing different words but layering her melody above and beneath Morgan's. Soon Will Fereston joined in, and Keady, and then most of the coven members were singing. Some were singing songs they'd learned as children or been taught recently. Some were simply making sounds that blended with the others. Moira was trying to copy Morgan, singing the same notes at the same time. She'd never learned this song formally but had heard her mother sing it often-she called it one of her «power-draw» chants.
People were smiling, the circle was moving more quickly, and Moira could feel a joy, a lightness, enter the room. Even Katrina's arthritis didn't seem to be bothering her. People who had looked tired or stressed when they came in soon lost those expressions. Instead, faces were alight with the pleasure of sharing, with the gift of dancing. Moira laughed, holding tightly to Vita and Tess, hoping she wouldn't trip.
Then slowly Moira started to see a haze in the room-like everyone around her had grown fuzzy. This wasn't like the energy she'd seen with Keady, Tess, and Vita. She squinted, confused, as the haze grew heavier, darker, blurring her vision.
Just then Will, Micheile, and Susan started coughing. Then Moira coughed, not quite gagging, and an oily, bitter scent filled the air. Now a thick black smoke was creeping beneath the doors and around the shut windows, slipping in like tendrils of poison. One tendril began to coil around Katrina's foot.
Katrina flinched and started barking out ward-evil spells. Her sister, Susan, tried to help her but was coughing too much. The circle was broken; several people were on their knees, on the floor. Lizzie was trying not to cry, and old Hamish Murphy looked confused and frightened. Moira felt the panic grow.
"Mum!" Moira cried, dropping Tess's and Vita's hands. Morgan was standing stiffly, turning slowly to see every single thing that was happening in the room. Her face was white, her eyes wide. She looked both frightened and appalled, staring almost in disbelief at the smoke. Moira saw her lips start moving but couldn't hear her words.
"Mum!" Moira said again, reaching Morgan and taking her arm. Her mother gently shook her off, freeing herself without speaking.
While Moira watched, coughing, Morgan closed her eyes and held out her arms. Slowly she raised them in the air, and now Moira could hear her mother's words, low and intense and frightening. They were harsh words in a language that Moira didn't recognize, and they sounded dark, spiky- words without forgiveness or explanation.
Michelle had reached the door, but it wouldn't open, and people began to panic as they realized they were trapped. Vita was huddled with her parents and younger brother, and Tess was standing by her folks. Keady and Christa were trying to help others, but they were coughing and red faced across the room. Aunt Susan looked as if she were about to faint. Moira stood alone, next to her mother. Once, Morgan opened her eyes and stared straight through Moira, and Moira almost cried out-her mother's normally brown eyes were glowing red, as if reflecting fire, and her face was changed, stronger. Moira could hardly recognize her, and that was perhaps even scarier than the smoke.
Closing her eyes again, Morgan began to draw runes and sigils in the air around her. Moira recognized more runes of protection but soon lost the shapes of the other, more complicated sigils. It was as if her mother were writing a story in the air, line after line. And still she muttered whatever chant had come to her.
Moira felt fear take over her body. The roiling smoke was choking everyone. She'd never seen her mother work magick like this, never seen her so consumed and practically glowing with power. Moira's eyes were stinging, her lungs burning. Coughing, she sank to her knees on the floor and suddenly thought of how she had sent energy to Keady. Could she do it again? Could it help somehow? She closed her eyes and automatically drew the symbol Eolh in the air in front of her. There was no time to draw circles of protection, overlain with different runes.
"An de allaigh," Moira began chanting under her breath, coughing at each word. She knew this power-draw chant well and closed her eyes while she chanted it as best she could. Focus. Focus and concentrate.
I open myself to the Goddess's power, Moira thought, trying to ignore the foul stench, the gagging smoke. She shut out the sounds of the room. I open myself to the power of the universe. She remembered Morgan's orange candle, set in the east. The smoke had snuffed it a minute ago, but Moira recalled its flame and pictured it in her mind.
Fire, fire, burning bright, she thought, everything else fading away. I call power to me. I am power. I'm made of fire. She felt it rise within her, as if a flower were blooming inside her chest. She inhaled through her nose, the acrid smell making her shudder. Holding her arms out at her sides, Moira felt power coming to her as if she were a lightning rod, being struck again and again with tiny, pinlike bolts of lightning.
The room was silent. Moira opened her eyes. People were moving, crying, shouting, trying to break a window. Her mother was standing in front of her, her arms coiled over her chest, her face contorted with effort. Her cheeks were flushed, and her brown hair was sticking to her forehead. Her fists were clenched.
Moira felt as if she were moving through gelatin, slowly and without sound, making ripples of movement all around her. She stood and leaned close to her mother, seeing power radiating from Morgan in a kind of unearthly glow.
I send my power to you. Moira reached out and covered Morgan's fists with her own. I give my power to you. And she truly did feel it leave her, a slipcase of white light sliding from her, through her hands, and draping lightly over the hands of her mother. Slowly, slowly, Morgan's hands opened, and Moira's cupped them, a two-layered flower of flesh, bones, and a pure, glorious, glowing light.
Then Morgan threw her arms up and open, her head snapped back, and a final shout tore from her throat. She sounded wolflike, Moira thought, startled, as strong as a wild animal, and at that instant a window exploded in a shower of glass.
Instantly the black smoke was sucked out of the room, as if the room had depressurized at a high altitude. Shiny shards of broken glass rained down like crystals, like ice. Moira's hands still touched Morgan's arms, below the elbows, and suddenly cool, damp air washed over her, fresh and clean and smelling of night. She could breathe now and heard sounds of choking and gasps of relief. Around her she felt the warm release of the most desperate fear, the worst of the tension.
Moira inhaled deeply, feeling that nothing had ever smelled so wonderful, so life-giving, as the wet-dirt smell of autumn night air. Her mother opened her eyes, and Moira was relieved to see that they were the mixed shades of brown, green, and gold that she knew. Maybe she had just imagined the glowy redness.
Morgan's arms lowered, and she took Moira's hands. She looked solemn but also brightly curious. "You gave me power," she said very softly, her voice hoarse.
Moira nodded, wide-eyed. "Like I did Keady," she whispered back.
"You helped save us," said her mother, and hugged her, and Moira hugged her back.
"Where did it come from?" Moira asked as they walked home along the country road. The moon was shining brightly, lighting their way. After the smoke had left, people had sat for an hour, recovering. Wine and water had washed the taste from their mouths, but no one had been able to eat anything. Finally, when her mum had been sure they were safe, the coven had disbanded.
"I'm not positive, but I think it was from Ealltuinn," answered her mother. She sighed. Moira waited for her to say something about Ian, but she didn't.
"That smoke-I was so scared," Moira said in a rush. "I was glad you had so much power. And at the same time, it was scary-I've never seen you like that."
Her mother licked her lips and brushed her bangs off her forehead. "Magick transforms everyone," she said.
Moira followed her mother home through the darkness, not sure what to say.
4. Morgan
Morgan looked up as Keady Dove let herself in through the green wooden gate that bordered Morgan's front yard.
" 'Lo," she said, brushing some hair out of her eyes. This morning, after Moira had left for her animal-work class in town, Morgan had paced the house restlessly. Last night it had taken all of her will not to show Moira how shocked and disturbed she had been by the black smoke. They had walked home in the darkness, with Morgan casting her senses, silently repeating ward-evil spells, trying to sound normal as her daughter asked her difficult questions to which she had no answers. She'd been awake all night thinking about what had happened and trying to make sense of everything. She was almost positive the smoke had come from Ealltuinn-she just couldn't think of any other possibility. And very likely it was connected to the pouch and to the vision. She had underestimated Lilith Delaney. Lilith was practicing dark magick against Belwicket, and Morgan had to find out why-and soon. Thankfully at least Moira had been able to sleep last night and hadn't been awoken by nightmares. Part of Morgan had wanted to keep Moira home with her today, not let her go to class. But Tess and Vita had met her at the bus stop, and it was broad daylight.
Morgan smiled as Keady sat cross-legged on the sun- warmed bricks of the front path. She and Keady had been friends at least ten years, and in the six months since Colm's death Keady had been popping in to tutor Moira more regularly. Morgan was glad Moira had such a gifted teacher.
"I'm interrupting," said Keady, watching as Morgan pulled some small weeds from around her mums. They were starting to bloom; she would have some perfect orange, yellow, and rust-colored blooms by Samhain.
"Not at all. I wanted to talk to you after last night."
"Yes. Your garden's looking lovely, by the way."
"Thank you," said Morgan. She paused and sat back on her heels, knowing Keady hadn't come to discuss her garden. "Moira gave me energy last night."
"I saw, just barely," said Keady. "I was helping Will, who was really in a bad way. But I thought I saw her. She's showing quite a lot of promise."
Morgan nodded, quietly proud, then turned back to business. "I couldn't trace the spell last night. It had to have been Ealltuinn, though." She shook her head. "It's been so peaceful here for twenty years. Now to have an enemy who would go this far-" She couldn't express how furious she was at having her quiet life, her innocent daughter, her coven attacked in this way. Hadn't she already been through all that? Why was this happening again? She looked up at Keady. "How bad do you think it was?" "It was bad," Keady said bluntly. "Another minute or two and Will, maybe Susan, maybe Lizzie Hawkstone, wouldn't have recovered. That stuff was foul, poisonous."
"It was terrible," Morgan agreed. "Thank the Goddess I was able to fight it." She met Keady's even gaze. "Is this about Belwicket or about me?"
Keady knew what Morgan meant. "You're a big stumbling block," she pointed out calmly. "Lilith's been pushing Ealltuinn, trying to become more and more powerful. She can't have a bunch of goody-goody Woodbanes getting in the way."
"I'm not the high priestess," Morgan pointed out, standing up and brushing off her knees.
"No, but it's common knowledge that the coven leaders want you to be. And you're Morgan Byrne! Everyone knows yours is the power to reckon with."
Morgan shook her head, about to howl with frustration. "Why can't power be a good thing? Long ago my power made me a target. Now it seems to be happening again. I can't bear it." Her fist clenched her trowel at her side, small clumps of earth dropping onto her shoe.
"What has a front has a back," said Keady. "And the bigger the front, the bigger the back. Everything must be balanced, good and evil, light and dark. Even if we don't want it to be."
Morgan looked at the sky, clear blue and sunny. So normal looking. This same sun was shining on someone who even now might be planning how best to defeat her, destroy her coven. A weight settled on her shoulders, the dread of what might be in store for her already taking its toll. She turned to Keady. "By that logic, if I turned dark and started doing terrible things, the world would be a better place because of the good that would erupt to balance it."
Keady gave a wry smile. "Let's not test that theory."
"No. Let's decide what we're going to do," Morgan said. "We need a plan. If the coven is under siege, we need to know how to protect it. Come on in and have some tea." She started walking toward the back, and Keady followed. "You know, on Friday, Katrina and I found a hex pouch in the garden."
"Really? Goddess. Had it harmed anything?"
"All the car-" Morgan stopped dead, staring at what lay smack in the middle of the path. Her mouth went dry in an instant.
"Oops, sorry," Keady said, bumping into her. "Problem?"
Morgan felt her friend leaning around to see. She didn't know what to think, what to do. "Uh"
"What's that, then? Is that a chunk of quartz?"
"It's, uh" It was like drowning, drowning in a sea of emotions.
Frowning slightly, Keady moved around Morgan and bent to pick it up.
"Wait!" Morgan put out a hand to stop Keady. Slowly she knelt and reached out to the stone. It was the size of a small apple, pale pink, translucent, clouded, and shot through with flaws. "It's morganite," she said, her voice sounding strangled.
Reluctantly, as if trying not to be burned, Morgan turned the stone this way and that until she found a flat side. Then she felt faint as her world swam and shifted sideways. The morganite had an image on it. Oh, Goddess, oh, Goddess. Morgan squinted, but the image was unrecognizable, just as that face in the window had been the other night. It was a person, maybe even a man. But who, dammit? She studied the face, her heart pounding, trying to make out the features, but they were too indistinct. She rubbed her finger over the image as if to clear away dirt, but it made no difference.
"Who is that?" Keady asked quietly.
"You see it, too?"
"Not clearly-oh, wait-it's gone."
It was true. As Morgan watched, the image faded from the stone, leaving Morgan holding an empty piece of quartz. Morganite quartz. One of the first gifts Hunter had ever given her had been a beautiful piece of morganite, and inside it Hunter had spelled a picture of his heart's desire: a picture of Morgan. That was how he had told her he loved her. Now here she was, sixteen years after his death, finding morganite on her garden path. And not just morganite- spelled morganite. Horrified, Morgan felt a sob rise in her throat, but she held it back. Her hands were shaking, and she felt every nerve in her body come alive. What was happening to her? Who was taunting her? Was it really Lilith? Why would she go to such lengths just because Morgan had disagreed with her publicly about a few spells?
"Morgan?" Keady touched the back of her hand gently, and when Morgan didn't respond, Keady took the piece of morganite out of her hand.
"It's morganite," Morgan said again, her voice cracking. "A kind of quartz. Not native to Ireland. A long time ago a different piece of morganite had a lot of significance for me. Someone put this here, on my path. Someone who knows me well. Someone who knows my past." She felt a spurt of fear and anger rise in her. She'd thought that her days of battle were over, that she was safe and free to live a peaceful life. Over the last three days that illusion had been stripped from her, and it was devastating. Keady took Morgan's elbow and led her into the backyard. "Let's get that tea."
"The garden tools," Morgan said in a near whisper. She gestured to the shed, and Keady obediently detoured there. Morgan opened the shed door and mechanically hung up her few gardening tools. Something felt different. Her extra- sensitive senses picked up on something, alerting her consciousness, and Morgan looked around. Now wasn't the time to ignore signals like this. What was different? Her nerves were frayed and shot; she felt trembly and nauseated. All she wanted to do was sit down and have a hot cup of strong tea.
Then she saw it. The cellar door. It had been opened- there was a new scrape in the dirt where it had swung out, and the spiderweb had been recently broken. Cautiously Morgan turned the handle of the door. With everything that had been going on lately, she had no idea what to expect. Inside, Morgan tugged the light string, but nothing happened.
"One second, Keady," Morgan said, starting to descend the cellar steps. Thank the Goddess for magesight, Morgan thought. Even without the light she could see perfectly well. She pulled the downstairs light cord, but it didn't work either. Morgan didn't pick up on any vibrations but there, in the corner, some old crates had been disturbed. In a second, her conversation with Moira came back to her-Moira asking for Morgan's old Books of Shadows, Morgan being vague. Oh, no.
The crate was open, and all her Books of Shadows were gone. Moira must have gotten them this morning before class. Her first Books of Shadows, with their entries about Cal, about Hunter. Moira might be reading them right now. She might be discovering the magnitude of what her mother had kept from her. Why did this have to happen now, when so much else was going wrong?
Morgan rubbed her forehead with one hand, trying to ease her tension headache. It had been good having Keady here for a while. Morgan had spilled about everything: the ruined carrots, the face in the window, the significance of the morganite, Moira being late, Moira apparently taking all of Morgan's early Books of Shadows. The poisonous smoke.
"It all seems to be building up to something," Morgan had told Keady.
Keady had frowned. "I agree, but what? It's no secret that Lilith isn't a fan of yours, but would she really go this far? This kind of coven infighting just doesn't happen that often. And simple disagreements and bickering wouldn't lead to out-and-out attacks, would they? Maybe we should contact the New Charter."
"Yeah, maybe so." Morgan couldn't help feeling a familiar twinge at the mention of the New Charter. Even after all these years she couldn't hear the words without thinking of Hunter.
Keady had stayed until she was sure Morgan felt better. Since she had left, Morgan had been lying on the couch downstairs, Bixby on her lap and Finnegan draped across her feet like a very heavy hot water bottle. She'd been thinking hard, trying to see some kind of pattern. Okay, assuming this was Ealltuinn, going after Belwicket and more specifically Morgan, why were they doing it now? Was this autumn significant in some way? Besides being the first autumn since Colm had died? Oh, Colm. Her heart ached for him, and she could almost see the appeal of creating a bith dearc, a window to the netherworld, in order to contact a loved one who had passed on. Almost, but not quite. After seeing the damage it had done to Daniel Niall, Morgan had no desire to mess with dark magick like that.
"Bixby, you're such a good boy," Morgan murmured, rubbing him behind his ears. He purred deeply, his orange eyes at half-mast.
Think, think. That piece of morganite. The face in the window. The hex pouch. The smoke. Even Moira and Ian- maybe Ians very presence in Moira's life was itself a clue.
Cal, Morgan couldn't help thinking.
Morgan and Finnegan both sensed Moira at the same time. Thank the Goddess she wasn't late, hadn't gone anywhere after class. Finnegan cocked one ear, opened one eye, then lay back down. Morgan braced herself to confront Moira.
Her daughter came in just as the sunlight faded and the wind started kicking up. She looked surprised to see Morgan lying on the couch during the day.
"Hi. What's wrong? Are you sick?"
"Not really," said Morgan. In an instant she remembered the awful fights she'd had with her own parents when she'd first discovered Wicca. They'd been not only offended, but truly afraid for her soul. They were still unhappy about it after all these years. Morgan remembered how she'd wished that they could try to be more understanding and thought now that their fears had made everything seem worse. She could try to do it differently.
"I saw that you found some of my old Books of Shadows in the cellar," she said, striving for a casual tone. "Have you been reading them?" Moira looked at her, seeming to weigh her answer. "I went and got them this morning," she finally admitted. "I know you wanted me to wait till you got them, but after the smoke and then everything Keady said Saturday-I'm just curious. I need to see how it all started." She shook her head. "I just feel like I need to know everything."
Morgan groaned inwardly at the idea of her daughter knowing everything about her life.
"I've only just started the first one," Moira said. She came to stand by the couch, looking down at Morgan. Moira's hazel eyes were full of secrets, worries, and concerns, but her face was closed, private.
"Do you have any questions?" Morgan's stomach was tight and her jaw ached from trying to keep her face relatively calm.
"I've not read much, like I said," Moira answered, sitting down in the rocking chair. "Just the beginning of the first one-it was where you had met Cal Blaire. I got as far as you discovering you were a blood witch, and then you thought you loved Cal. I've never heard you mention Cal, have I? Was he just a high school crush kind of thing?"
A startled laugh escaped Morgan. Jagged memories of Cal and what he had been to her flashed across her mind. In some ways the beginning of her involvement with Wicca had been so painful, so dangerous and huge, that Morgan had tried hard to live it down ever since. Maybe the truth was that she hadn't just kept those stories from Moira for Moira's sake-she hadn't wanted to relive that time herself.
At Moira's confused expression, Morgan coughed and said, "No, not exactly." She got up and took a Diet Coke from the fridge, then sat back down on the couch and pulled Bixby into her lap for comfort.
"It's stuff I never told you," she said. "I wanted to protect you, in a way." Moira's eyebrows raised. "Your dad knew some of it, but not all. The thing is, when I first found out about being a witch, being adopted, and being from the Belwicket clan-it was exciting and good because it answered a lot of questions and explained things about myself and my family. But it also introduced me to a world I didn't know existed. That world was not always good or kind or safe. And because of who I was-Maeve Riordan's daughter-people, other witches, were interested in me and whatever powers I might have. And on top of all that, Nana and Poppy were so horrified and unhappy and were so afraid I was going to burn in hell forever because I wasn't a good Catholic anymore. It wasn't like your experience here, the daughter of two witches, always knowing you were a witch, growing up in a community that accepts witches, our religion and powers. Just finding out I was a blood witch caused all sorts of pain and unhappiness, mostly for my family and some of my friends, but also sometimes for me."
Morgan was very conscious that she hadn't mentioned Ciaran MacEwan yet. She figured she could handle telling Moira only one difficult thing at a time.
"What do you mean?" Moira asked, pulling one knee up onto the seat of the chair.
"Well. Let me see." Even after nearly twenty years Morgan still felt a pang of embarrassment, of betrayal. "In high school I felt kind of like an ugly duckling. And Aunt Bree was my best friend. You remember Aunt Bree, from New York?"
"The one with the big house and three daughters?" Moira asked. "Yes. Bree is still gorgeous, but she looked like that in high school. Imagine being best friends with her."
"Ugh. Tess and Vita are bad enough, in their own ways."
"Right. So no guy ever noticed me-I had guy friends but didn't go on dates or anything. And I was almost seventeen. Then a new guy came to school, and he was drop-dead gorgeous." Morgan swallowed hard.
"Yeah?" Moira said with interest.
"Yeah," Morgan said, sighing. "That was Cal Blaire. He was really good-looking, and all the girls fell in love with him, including Bree and me. His mom was a witch, a dark Woodbane, but I didn't know about any of that at the time. She'd come to my town, Widow's Vale, to start a new coven and uncover any bent witches who would join in her dark magick or to flush out any strong witches so she could take their powers. She was a member of Amyranth."
Moira's eyes widened. Amyranth had been a coven dedicated to working dark magick and accumulating power, by any means neccessary. It had been disbanded for almost ten years, but they would be notorious for generations to come. "Amyranth," she breathed. "The real Amyranth?"
"Yes. But I didn't know about Woodbanes or Amyranth or any of that. I met Cal, and he wanted to start a coven, just kids, where we would celebrate the sabbats and stuff. And he was also supposed to find out if any of us had any real powers. He was surprised when I turned out to be a blood witch without even knowing it."
"I can't believe you were sixteen before you knew that." Moira shook her head. "Were you knocked over?"
"That's an understatement," Morgan said dryly. "But even then, untaught and uninitiated well, I could do stuff. Not well, and not safely, but things just came to me. Spells. Scrying. It was a little scary sometimes but also really fun. Mostly it was like- here was something special about me that none of my friends had. I was good in math, but so were lots of kids. I wasn't ugly but not really pretty. My family was fine but not rich or important But learning Wicca and having a blood witch's powers-that was all me and only me. It was incredibly thrilling and satisfying for me to be very, very good at something so unexpectedly."