Sweep: Eclipse Part 3

"Hilary says you seemed upset when she came home." Translation: you've been being a jerk again, haven't you?

I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to blurt out everything, show Dad the letters, confide in him. Another part of me didn't want to ruin whatever memories he had of my mom. And another part didn't want him to look at me, for the rest of my life, and think, "Witch," which he definitely would once he read the letters and understood about blood witches. My shoulders shook silently as I dipped another cracker and tried to eat it.

"Honey, if you can't tell me, maybe Hilary-I mean, if it's a girl thing . . ."

As if. My soggy cracker broke off in the soup and started to dissolve.

"Or me. You can tell me anything," he said awkwardly. I wished that either one of us thought that was true. "I mean, I'm just an old guy, but I know a lot."

"That's not true," I said without meaning to."There's a lot you don't know." I started crying again, thinking about my mom, about how my whole childhood had been a lie.

"So tell me."

I just cried harder. There was no way I could possibly tell him about this. It was like I had spent fifteen years being one person and suddenly found out I was someone completely different. My whole world was dissolving. "I can't. Just leave me alone, please."

He sat for a few more minutes but didn't come up with a plan that would suddenly make everything all right, make up for our not being close, for my not having a mom, for his marrying Hilary next month. After a while I felt his weight leave my bed, and then the door closed behind him. If only I could talk to him, I thought miserably. If only I could talk to someone. Anyone who would understand.

And then I thought of Morgan.

"Morgan?" I called on Wednesday morning. I had been lurking in the parking lot, waiting for her and Mary K. to arrive. Mary K. had popped out of the car, looking cute and fresh, the way she always did. I'd waited till she'd gone off to hang with our other friends; then Morgan had wearily swung herself out of her humongous white car and I called to her. I'd seen Morgan in the morning before and wasn't sure it was smart to talk to her this early. Besides her usual non-morning-person vibe, today she looked a little haggard, like she hadn't been sleeping.

She turned her head, and I stepped forward and waved. I saw the faint surprise in her eyes-she knew I tried to avoid her sometimes. As I got closer, I saw that she was drinking a small bottle of orange juice, trying to slug it down before the bell rang. Hilary would be glad that at least Morgan was paying attention to her blood sugar.

"Hey, Alisa," Morgan said. "Mary K. went thataway." She pointed to the main building of Widow's Vale High, then glanced around us, as if to a.s.sure herself she was actually at school.

"Uh, okay. But actually I wanted to talk to you," I said quickly.

She slurped her drink.

"Are you okay?" I couldn't help asking.

She nodded and wiped her mouth on her jacket sleeve. "Yeah. I just . . . didn't get much sleep last night. Maybe I'm coming down with something." She gave another sideways glance, and I wondered if she was supposed to meet someone.

"Well, I have to tell you-I took your book on Monday." There. I'd gotten it out.

She gave me a blank look.

"Your green book. That you had Monday in your backpack. Well, I took it."

Morgan's brows creased: The rusty gears of her brain were slowly creaking to a start as the OJ flowed into her system. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder to her backpack-the scene of the crime-as if clues would still be there. "Oh, that green book? The Book of Shadows? You took it? Why?"

"Yes. I took it on Monday. And I read it. And I need to talk to you about it."

Suddenly she looked more alert. "Okay. Do you still have it?"

"Yeah. I want to keep it. It's . . . it's about a woman named Sarah Curtis, who lived in in Gloucester, Ma.s.sachusetts, in the seventies."

"Uh-huh." Go on, and feel free to start making sense, Alisa.

I gulped down some chilly air, hating what was about to come out. "Sarah Curtis, from that book, the witch, was my mother. I'm pretty sure." Like, positive.

Morgan blinked and shifted her weight. "Why do you think that?" she said finally.

"My mom's name was Sarah Curtis, and she lived in Gloucester, Ma.s.sachusetts. There were things in the diary that reminded me of things about my mom and that my dad has told me about her.And then, after I had read it, I went to the jewelry box she left me and found a secret compartment underneath. I opened it, and there were letters inside from an uncle I didn't know about, and he talked about magick. In one of the letters he said congratulations about your new daughter, Alisa. In Texas. Which is where I was born." I took a a deep breath."Sarah Curtis was a Rowanwand witch."

Now I had her complete attention. Her eyebrows raised up in pointy arches, and she seemed to stare right into my brain. "But your dad isn't, is he?" I shook my head. "So you think you're half witch?"

"Yes," I said stiffly.

She shifted her weight and glanced around again. What was with her? "Half witch. You. Jeez, how do you feel about it? It's kind of a shock."

I gave a dry laugh."Shock doesn't cover it. I'm so . . . worried. Really, really upset. I never knew any of this. I don't think my dad knew about it, either. But all of a sudden I'm something I didn't know, and I'm just . . . freaking. I don't think my dad knew about it, either. But all of a sudden I'm something I didn't know, and I'm just . . . freaking. I don't want to be a witch."

Nodding, Morgan looked understanding. "I know what you mean. I went through that last November. All of a sudden I was someone else."

knew that was when she'd found out she was adopted. "It's just that you-and Hunter-and the others, well, it scares me, some of the things you do.And now I find out I'm just like you-" Okay, this was not putting it well. But Morgan didn't look offended.

"And you wish you weren't, and you're worried, and you don't know what it means."

"Yes." A rush of relief washed over me-she did understand. Someone understood what I was going through.

The first bell rang then, and we both jumped as if poked with a cattle prod.

"I'll never get used to that sound," Morgan said, looking at the students filing into the buildings. "Listen, Alisa, I know how you feel. It wasn't easy for me to find out about my heritage, either. But talking to people about it can help. Why don't you come to the next Kithic circle on Sat.u.r.day? Everyone misses you. And you could talk to Hunter or me afterward.We could be your support group."

I thought for a moment. "Yeah, okay. Maybe I will." I looked down at my backpack."So I can keep the book?"

Morgan looked at me."I think it's already yours."

5.

Morgan.

*"Before the dark wave could be reproduced pretty much anywhere, the most we could have pulled off would be an epidemic, like the plague. And that's so hit-or-miss."

-Doris Grafton, New York, 1972*

Why am I doing this? I asked myself. I was sitting in Das Boot in front of Hunter's house, trying to work up the courage to just walk in. Yes, I wanted to have dinner with him; yes, I wanted to hear more about Rose MacEwan's BOS; yes, yes, I didn't mind escaping Mary K.'s "Thursday Dinner Special": spinach pie. But I also couldn't help feeling reluctant at having to see Daniel Niall again.

cast my senses out before I got out of the car-not that being in the car, even with the doors locked, was really any protection at all. Not against a witch as strong as Ciaran. I felt nothing, reminded myself dryly that this was not necessarily a guarantee, then hurried up the uneven front walk to Hunter's house.

He answered the door before I knocked.

"Hey," he said, and that one word, plus the way he looked at me, dark and intense, made my knees go wobbly.

"Hi. I brought these," I said, thrusting a paper-wrapped cone of flowers at him. I was too young to buy wine but hadn't wanted to show up empty-handed, so I'd gone to the florist on Main Street and picked out a bunch of red c.o.c.ks...o...b..They were so odd-looking, so bloodred, I couldn't resist them.

"Cheers." He looked pleased, and leaned down to kiss me. "Are you all right? Has anything out of the ordinary . . . ?"

"No." I shook my head. "So far, so good. I just can't shake the feeling. . . ."

Hunter pulled me close and patted my back."I know."

"He could be anywhere."

He nodded. "I do know, sweetie. But all we can do is be on our best guard. And know that if he does try anything, we'll battle him together."

"Together," I said softly.

Hunter smiled. "Well, take off your jacket and come sit down. Everything's almost ready."

Hunter's dad came in and looked at the table set for three. Hunter went into the kitchen, and I was left awkwardly standing there with a man who distrusted me and quite justifiably hated my father.

"Hi, Mr. Niall," I said, managing a smile.

He nodded, then turned and went into the kitchen, where I heard murmured voices. My stomach knotted up, and I wished I were at home, scarfing down spinach pie.

Five minutes later we were sitting at the small table, the three of us, and I was working my way through Hunter's pot roast with enthusiasm. A plate of Hunter's really good cooking went a long way toward making me able to stand Mr. Niall.

"Oh, so much better than spinach pie," I said, pushing my fork through a potato. I smiled at Hunter. "And you can cook." In addition to being a fabulous kisser, a strong witch, and incredibly gorgeous.

Hunter grinned back at me. Mr. Niall didn't look up. He was starting to lose his pinched look, I saw when I glanced at him. The first time I'd met him, he looked like someone had forgotten him under a cupboard-all gray and dried up. After more than a week, he was beginning to look more alive.

"Da, why don't you tell Morgan some of what you've been thinking about with Rose's book?" Hunter suggested. "The part about the spell against a dark wave?"

Mr. Niall looked like he'd suddenly bitten a lemon.

"Oh, you don't have to," I said, feeling a defensive anger kindle inside me. I clamped down on it.

"No, I want him to," Hunter persisted.

"I'm not ready," Daniel said, looking at Hunter. "I've gotten some help from the book, but not enough to discuss it."

Hunter turned to me, and I saw a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Da has been reading Rose's BOS. In it there are sort of clues that he thinks he could use to craft a spell, something that could possibly dismantle a dark wave."

"Oh my G.o.d. Mr. Niall-that's incredible!" I said sincerely.

Daniel set his napkin by his plate.Without looking at me, he said tersely, "This is all premature, Gomanach. I'm not getting enough from the book to make it work. And I don't think Ciaran's daughter should be included in our discussion."

Well, there it was, out in the open. I felt like the town tramp sitting in at a revival meeting.

Hunter became very still, and I knew enough to think, Uh-oh. His hands rested on the table on either side of his plate, but every muscle in his body was tensed, like a leopard ready to strike. I saw Mr. Niall's eyes narrow slightly.

"Da," Hunter said very quietly, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that they'd had this conversation before, "Morgan is not in league with Ciaran. Ciaran has tried to kill her. She herself put a watch sigil on him for the council. Now he's on his way here, or is already here, to confront her about it. They are on opposite sides. She could be in mortal danger." There was a terrible stillness in his voice. I'd heard him sound that way only a few times before, and always in intensely horrible situations. Hearing it now sent shivers down my spine. Coming had been a mistake. As I was debating whether or not I was brave enough to just get up, grab my jacket, and walk out to my car with as much dignity as possible, Mr. Niall spoke.

"Can we afford to take the chance?" His voice was mild, unantagonistic: He was backing down.

"The chance you're taking is not the one you think," Hunter said, not breaking his gaze. Silence.

Finally Mr. Niall looked down at his plate. His long fingers tapped gently against the table.Then he said, "A dark wave is in essence a rip in what divides this world from the netherworld. The spell to cast a dark wave has several parts. Or at least, this is my working hypothesis. First, the caster would have to protect herself, or himself, with various limitations. Then he or she would have to proscribe the boundaries of the dark wave when it forms so that it doesn't cover the entire earth, for example."

G.o.ddess. I hadn't realized that was possible.

"The actual rip, for lack of a better word, would be caused by another part of the spell, and it basically creates an artificial opening between the two worlds," Mr. Niall went on. "Then the spell calls on dark energy, spirits, ent.i.ties from the netherworld to come into this world. They form the dark wave and as a cloud of negative energy destroy anything that is positive energy. Which describes most of the things on the face of the earth."

"Are these ghosts?" I asked.

Mr. Niall shook his head. "Not exactly. For the most part, they've never been alive and have no individual ident.i.ty.They seem to have just enough consciousness to feel hunger. The more positive energy they absorb, the stronger they are the next time. The dark waves of today are infinitely stronger than the one Rose unleashed three hundred years ago.Then the last part of the spell gathers this energy in and sends it back through the rip."

thought. "So an opposite spell would have to take into account all the parts of the original spell. And then either permanently seal the division between the two worlds or disband the dark energy."

"Yes," Mr. Niall said. He seemed to be loosening up slightly. "I think I can somehow do this-if I have enough time, and if I can decipher enough of Rose's spell. I have knowledge of the dark waves, and my wife was a Wyndenkell, a great spellcrafter. But it's starting to look as if Rose was careful not to put the information I need in writing."

It was my ancestor who started all this, I thought glumly. It runs in my family. My family. I looked up. "Could I see Rose's book again, please?"

Hunter immediately got up and left the room. Mr. Niall opened his mouth as if to object, then thought better of it. In moments Hunter was back with the centuries-old, disintegrating Book of Shadows. I opened it carefully, trying not to harm the brittle pages.

"Does either of you have an athame?" I asked.Wordlessly Hunter went and got his. "Hold it over the page," I told him. "See if anything shows up."

"I've tried this already," Mr. Niall huffed.

"Da, I think you underestimate the benefit of Morgan's unusual powers," Hunter said evenly. "Beyond that, she's a descendant of Rose. She may connect with her writing in ways that you and I can't."

Hunter slowly moved the flat of the knife blade over the page, and we all peered at it. When I had first found my mother, Maeve's, Book of Shadows, I had used this technique to illuminate some hidden writing. I had a feeling it might work again.

I don't see anything." Hunter sighed.

I took the athame and slid the book closer to me. I let my mind sink into the page covered with tiny, spidery writing, its ink long faded to brown. Show me, I thought in a singsong. Show me your secrets. Then I slowly moved the athame over the page, just as Hunter had done. Show me, I whispered silently. Show me.

The sudden tension of both Hunter and Mr. Niall's bodies alerted me to it even before my eyes picked up on it. Below me on the page, fine, glowy blue writing was shimmering under the knife blade. I tried to read it but couldn't-the words were strange, and some of the letters I didn't recognize.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and put the athame on the table. "Did you recognize those words?" I asked.

Mr. Niall nodded, looking into my face for the first time all evening. "They were an older form of Gaelic." Then he picked up the athame and held it over the page. For a long minute nothing happened; then the blue writing shone again. Mr. Niall's eyes seemed to drink "This is it," he said, awe and excitement in his voice. "This is the kind of information I need. These are the secret clues I've been looking for." He looked at me with grudging respect. "Thank you."

"Nicely done, Morgan," said Hunter. I smiled at him self-consciously and saw pride and admiration in his eyes.

All of a sudden I felt physically ill, as if my body had been caught in a sneak attack by a flu virus. I realized I had a headache and felt achy and tired. I needed to go home.

"It's late," I said to Hunter."I better get going."

Mr. Niall looked at me as I turned to go. "Cheers, Morgan."