Changeling
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"I don't think anyone can do it. It's too dangerous. I think Starlocket needs to disband and get out of town."
"Why don't they?" I asked.
He sighed. "Covens never do. When they're in danger, they stay together, no matter what. A coven never splits up if they can help it. Almost never," he paused, and I knew he was thinking about his parents. "Most covens feel they're less at risk if they stay together—the dark wave can't divide and conquer them."
Thinking about what Starlocket was facing, I once again felt the fear that I was sickeningly inadequate for this job. But somehow Hunter was thinking that, too, was enough to make me go forward.
"We still have nine days. This could still work," I said.
Hunter shook his head, looking out the car window at the darkness. "Want to go have something to eat?" he surprised me by saying.
"I already ate. I've been studying all afternoon, trying to get caught up."
"Deities? Correspondences? Basic forms of spell craft?"
"Uh, American history. For school."
Hunter nodded and looked away, and I felt that once again I had disappointed him somehow. Sometimes it seemed like everything I did was wrong.
"I flunked a test today, so I'm trying to catch up." Hoping to make Hunter smile, I said, "I'm so tempted to do a t`ath me`anma on my teacher so I wouldn't have to study the rest of the year."
His eyes flicked to me. "Morgan. Doing a t`ath me`anma with a regular human would likely leave that person an drooling vegetable."
"I was just kid—"
"Rules about things like that exist for a reason," he went on. "Witches have been using magick for thousands of years. Witches far more experienced than you have created these guidelines to benefit everyone. They saw what could happen if magick was unchecked."
"I was just kidding," I said stiffly. Sometimes Hunter seemed so inflexible and humorless. He wasn't, I knew, but he definitely seemed that way sometimes.
"Things are very clear for you, aren't they?" I asked almost wistfully. "Decisions seem clear, the right path is in front of you, you don't have to agonize over what's right or wrong."
He was silent for a few minutes. I cracked a window so we wouldn't die of carbon monoxide poisoning. "Is that how I seem to you?" he asked softly, his words barely reached me.
I nodded.
"It isn't true." His words were like velvety leaves, falling between us in the darkness. "Sometimes nothing is clear. Sometimes there is no right path, no correct decision. Sometimes I absolutely want what I shouldn't have and do what I shouldn't do. Sometimes I want to reach out, grab power from the air; and bend everything around me to my will." He gave a slight smile as I reacted to his words. "So far I haven't," he said more lightly. "Most of the time I do all right. But not always, and not without a struggle."
I'd never known this about him, and of course it made me fall even more in love with him than I already had. He had vulnerabilities. He wasn't perfect. Oh, Goddess, I wanted him so much.
"That's what magick is," he said. "Many choices, through your lifetime. How you are determines how you make them."
Wicca is full of pithy sayings like that. I was tempted to write them all down in a book and watch it become a bestseller: Chicken Soup for the Witch's Soul.
But I knew what he meant. I got it. I rubbed my hands down on my jeans. "I'll go call Killian."
"All right. Be careful. Call me if you need me. Don't do anything that feels unsafe."
I smiled wanly. "Yes, Dad."
In a move so fast I didn't see it, Hunter was across the seat, his arm around my back, holding me against him, hard. As I gasped in surprise, he slanted his mouth across mine and kissed me with a hunger and urgency that rocked me to the core. Yes, yes, yes. Just as suddenly he pulled back, leaving me wide-eyed and breathing fast and awash in a desire so strong, I didn't know what to do with it.
"I'm not your dad," he said, looking at me. Then he opened his door and got out. Agape, I watched him head to his own car, his long wool coat billowing around his legs like a cape. I was shaking, and my arms felt empty because he wasn't in them.
9. True Name
I am sorry for the delay in answering your last two letters. I have been ill. The summer grass sickness felled our community, and we have lost both Brother Sean and Brother Paul Marcus, God have mercy on their souls.
Myself, I owe my life to Nuala, who nursed me back from death not once but several times. In a babe's weak voice I bid that pawn of the devil to be gone. She laughed, her voice like a mountain stream. Surely you'll not think me evil, said she. Truly, we in Belwicket do more good than you, holed up in your Abbey of gloom.
Through my delirium I insisted she did the devils work. She bent close to me, so that her black hair fell across my chest. I a whisper she told me, "We do no work but that which should be done. My ancestors were gathering knowledge while your people were still fighting the Crusades."
I felt as if I were drowning. Today my head is clearer, and I do not know whether that interview took place. Remember me in your prayers, Brother Colin, I beg you.
—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, August 1768.
In American history I got a forty-seven on my test. I had never flunked a test before in my life, and my stomach clenched in a know of embarrassment.
"Morgan, can you see me after class, please?" said Mr. Powell. I nodded, my face flushing.