Blood Witch (17 page)

Weirdly enough, even the snow-covered ground betrayed no footprints, though it hadn’t snowed since before my visitors had arrived. I searched and searched but saw no trace of anyone’s having been in our yard at all—except me, just now. Frowning, I shook my head. Had it all been an illusion? Had it been part of my scrying? How much could I trust my own perceptions? But I remembered the images I had seen—so clearly, too—the sights, sounds, and smells that had accompanied my fire scrying.

Most of all I remembered Maeve, standing by her house, smiling and pointing.

Maeve had lived in Meshomah Falls, two hours away. I glanced at my watch, then went inside to call Cal.

 

“What happened to your car?” Robbie asked half an hour later. We were in the front seat of Das Boot; I had just picked him up. Thankfully the car still worked, although the right headlight had been shattered and there was a massive dent in the front bumper. When I had called Cal, he hadn’t been home—Selene had said he was out shopping, and she wasn’t sure when he’d be back. Somehow, speaking to Selene calmed me down. I thought of asking her if he’d gotten my witch message, but my mom was in the room and I didn’t want to bring it up in front of her. I’d ask Cal later.

Fortunately Robbie had been home, and he was a happy second choice for the road trip I had planned.

“I went into a ditch last night,” I said with a grimace. “Slid on the ice.” I didn’t mention the lights I’d seen. That was something I’d only talk to Cal about. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want to drag Robbie into it.

“Man,” said Robbie. “Were you hurt?”

“No. But I have to get my headlight fixed. Big pain.”

Robbie opened a map across the dashboard as I pulled away from his house. The day was rapidly clearing: I had a hope of actual sunshine before too long. It was still cold, but the snow and ice were melting slowly, and the streets were wet, the gutters running with water.

“You’re looking for a town called Meshomah Falls. It should be north, right up the Hudson,” I told him, turning onto the road that would lead to the highway. “About two, two and a half hours away.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, tracing his finger over the map. “I see it. Yeah, take Route 9 north until we get to Hookbridge Falls.”

After a quick stop for gas and a supply of junk food, we were on our way. Bree and I used to go on road trips all the time: just day trips to malls or cool places to hike or little artists’ colonies. We had felt so free, so unstoppable. But I tried not to dredge up those memories. Now they just filled me with pain.

“Want a chip?” Robbie offered, and I dug a hand into the bag.

“Have you talked to Bree yet?” I asked, unable to tear my mind from her. “About how you feel?”

He shook his head. “I’ve sort of tried, but it hasn’t actually come up. I guess I’m a coward.”

“No, you’re not,” I said. “But she can be hard to approach.”

He shrugged. “You know, Bree asks about you, too,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you always ask about her. Well, she asks about you, too. I mean, she never says anything nice about you, you both say mean things about the other one, but even a total idiot could tell that you two miss each other.”

My face felt stiff as I stared out the window.

“Just thought you should know,” he added.

We didn’t say another word for the next sixty miles—not until we saw a sign for the Hookbridge Falls exit. By then the sky had cleared, and it was open and blue in a way it hadn’t been for what seemed like weeks. The sun’s warmth on my face lifted my spirits. I felt like we were on a real adventure.

Robbie consulted the map. “We get off here and head east on Pedersen, which leads right into Meshomah Falls,” he said.

“Okay.”

A few minutes after we’d turned off the highway, I saw the sign announcing Meshomah Falls, New York.

A shiver ran down my spine. This was where I had been born.

I drove down Main Street slowly, staring at the buildings. Meshomah Falls was a lot like Widow’s Vale, except not quite as old and not quite as Victorian. It was a cute town, though, and I could see why Maeve and Angus had decided to settle here. I picked a side street at random and turned onto it, slowing even more as I looked carefully at each house. Next to me, Robbie chewed gum and drummed his fingers along to the radio.

“So, when are you going to tell me why we’re here?” he joked.

“Uh . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I guess I had been planning to pass this off as a simple joyride, just a chance to get out and do something. But Robbie knew me too well. “I’ll tell you later,” I whispered, feeling unsure and vulnerable. To tell him one part of the story would mean telling him everything—and I had yet to come fully to terms with that.

“Have you ever been here before?” Robbie asked.

I shook my head. Most of the houses were pretty modest, but none was immediately recognizable as the house I’d seen in my vision. And they were fewer and farther between now; we were heading into the country again. I started to wonder what the hell I was doing. Why on earth did I think I’d be able to recognize Maeve’s house? And if by some miracle I found it, what would I do then? This whole idea was stupid—

I slammed on the brakes. Das Boot squealed to an abrupt halt. Robbie glared at me. But I hardly noticed. The house from my vision, my birth mother’s house, stood right before my eyes.

The house was on the right side of the road, and as I glanced through Robbie’s window, it was as if a cool breeze suddenly washed across my face. I pulled up alongside it.

The walls were no longer white but painted a pale coffee color with dark red accents. The neat garden in front was gone, as was the large herb and vegetable patch to one side. Instead some clumpy rhododendrons hid the front windows on the first floor.

I sat there in silence, drinking in the sight of the place. This was it. This was Maeve’s house, and my home for the first seven months of my life. Robbie watched me, not saying anything. There were no cars in the driveway, no sign that anyone was home. I didn’t know what to do. But after several minutes I turned to Robbie and took a deep breath.

“I have something to tell you,” I began.

He nodded, a somber expression on his face.

“I’m a blood witch, like Cal said a couple of weeks ago. But my parents aren’t. I was adopted.”

Robbie’s eyes widened, but he said nothing

“I was adopted when I was about eight months old. My birth mother was a blood witch from Ireland. Her name was Maeve Riordan, and she lived in that house.” I gestured out the window. “Her coven was wiped out in Ireland, and she and my biological father escaped to America and settled here. When they did, they swore never to use magick again.”

I took another deep, shaky breath. This whole story sounded like a movie of the week. A bad one. But Robbie nodded encouragingly.

“Anyway,” I went on, “they had me, and then something happened—I don’t know what—and my mother gave me up for adoption. And then, right after that, she and my father were locked in a barn and burned to death.”

Robbie blinked. His face turned slightly pale. “Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “And who was your dad?”

“His name was Angus Bramson. He was a witch, too, from the same coven in Ireland. I don’t think they were married.” I sighed. “So that’s why I’m so strong in Wicca, why that spell I did for you worked, why I channel so much energy at circles. It’s because I come from a line of witches that’s hundreds or thousands of years old.”

For what seemed like a long time Robbie just stared at me. “This is mind-blowing,” he mumbled finally.

“Tell me about it.”

He offered a sympathetic smile. “I’ll bet things have been crazy at your house lately.”

I laughed. “Yeah, you could say that. We were all freaked out about it. I mean, my parents never told me, not in sixteen years, that I was adopted. And all my relatives knew and all their friends. I was . . . really angry.”

“I’ll bet,” Robbie murmured.

“And they knew how my birth parents died and that witchcraft was involved, so they’re really upset that I’m doing Wicca because the whole thing scares them. They don’t want anything to happen to me.”

Robbie chewed his lip, looking concerned. “No one knows why your birth parents were killed? They were murdered, right? I mean, it wasn’t suicide or some ritual gone wrong.”

“No. Apparently the barn door was locked from the outside. But they must have been scared about something because they gave me up for adoption right before they died. I can’t find out why it happened, though, or who could have done it. I have Maeve’s Book of Shadows, and she says that after they came to America, they didn’t practice magick at all—”

“How did you get your birth mother’s Book of Shadows?” he interrupted.

I sighed again. “It’s a long story, but Selene Belltower had it, and I found it. It was all a bunch of weird coincidences.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows. “I thought there weren’t any coincidences.”

I looked at him, startled. You’re absolutely right, I thought.

“So why are we here?” he asked.

I hesitated. “Last night I had a dream . . . I mean, I had a vision. Actually, I scryed in the fire last night.”

“You scryed?” Robbie shifted in his seat. Creases lined his forehead. “You mean you tried to divine information, like magickal information?”

“Yes,” I admitted, staring down at my lap for a moment. “I know, you think I’m doing stuff I shouldn’t be doing yet. But I think it’s allowed. It’s not a real spell or anything.”

Robbie remained silent.

I shook my head and glanced out the window again. “Anyway, I was watching the fire last night, and I saw all sorts of weird images and scenes and stuff. But the most realistic scene, the clearest one, was about this house. I saw Maeve standing outside it and pointing underneath it. Pointing and smiling. Like she wanted to show me something underneath this house—”

“Wait a second,” Robbie cut in. “Let me get this straight. You had a vision, so now we’re here, and you want to crawl under that house?”

I almost laughed. It didn’t sound bizarre; it sounded utterly insane. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

He shook his head, but he was smiling, too. “Are you sure this is the house?”

I nodded.

He didn’t say anything.

“So do you think I’m crazy, coming here?” I asked. “Do you think we should turn around and go home?”

He hesitated. “No,” he said finally. “If you had that vision while you were actually scrying, then I think it makes sense to check it out. I mean, if you actually want to crawl under there.” He glanced at me. “Or . . . do you want
me
to crawl under there?”

I smiled at him and patted his arm. “Thanks. That’s really sweet. But no. I guess I’d better do it. Even though I have no idea what I’m looking for.”

Robbie turned to the house again. “Got a flashlight?”

“Of course not.” I smirked. “That would make me too well prepared, wouldn’t it?”

He laughed as I slid out of the car and zipped up my coat. I hesitated only a moment before I unlatched the chain-link gate, then headed up the walk. Under my breath I whispered: “I am invisible, I am invisible, I am invisible,” just in case anyone was watching from one of the neighboring houses. It was a trick Cal had told me about, but I’d never tried it before. I hoped it worked.

On the left side of the house, past the shaggy rhododendrons, I found the place where Maeve had been standing in my vision. There was an opening between the low brick foundation and the floor supports. The opening was barely twenty inches high. I glanced back at the car. Robbie was leaning against it in case he suddenly needed to come to my aid. I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. He smiled back at me reassuringly. I was lucky. He was a good friend.

Crouching down, I peered underneath the house and saw only a dense, inky blackness. My heart was pounding loudly, but my senses picked up no people above or around me. For all I knew, I would find dead bodies and crumbling bones in there. Or rats. I would freak if I came face-to-face with a rat. I pictured myself screaming and scrambling to get out from under the house as fast as I could. But there was no sense in waiting. My magesight would guide me. I crept forward on my hands and knees. As soon as I had edged under the house, I paused to give my eyes time to adjust.

I saw a lot of junk, glowing faintly with time: old insulation foam, an ancient, dirt-encrusted sink, old pipes and chunks of sheet metal. I maneuvered my way carefully through this maze, looking around, trying to get some idea of what I could be looking
for.
I could feel the cold dampness seep through my jeans. I sneezed. It was dank under here. Dank and musty.

Again the questions festered in my mind. Why was I here? Why had Maeve wanted me to come here? Think, think! Could there be something about the house itself? I glanced upward to see if runes or sigils were traced on the bottom of the floor supports. The wood was old and dirty and blackened, and I saw nothing. I swept my gaze from side to side, starting to feel incredibly stupid—