[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
teachers and I have noticed a significant drop in your grades
this past quarter." He paused, as if waiting for me to explain.
I didn't know what to say.
"Morgan, I've heard... rumors."
I blinked. "Rumors? About what?"
"About Wicca. Students having witchcraft circles performing
rites." He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. How in the world
had he heard about that? Then I remembered the kids who
had come to one or two of Cal's first circles. They'd left---it
wasn't for them. I guessed they'd been talking about it.
"Do you know anything about it?" he pressed.
I felt like he was asking if I ever been a member of the
Communist Party, if I was gay, if I was Jewish. "Um, well, I
practice Wicca." Morgan takes a stand.
Mr. Powel looked nonplussed for a moment, then tapped his
fingers on his desk, thinking.
Final y he said, "Is this interfering in your schoolwork?"
"Yes," I almost whispered. Far from being surreal. I was
smack-bad in the middle of harsh reality. I was going to flunk
my junior year if I didn't get my act together.
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked.
"Study more?"
"Wil that be enough?"
"Do extra credit?" I offered hopefully.
"Let me think about it." He shut his notebook, no longer
seeming approachable.
"I'm sorry," I said, and he looked back at me.
"Morgan, you're only seventeen. You're extremely bright. You
could do anything you want with your life. Don't screw up this
young." He turned and walked out of the room, as if he was
personally hurt by my poor grade. I felt awful. I was being
slowly crushed by pressure from al sides. I just had to get
through and do the best I could do. The problem was, that
probably wouldn't be good enough. For anyone.
"Morgan!" Kil ian was waiting for me on his usual bench. But
as I started toward him, I heard Mary K.'s voice behind me.
My heart clutched suddenly---I didn't want them to meet.
Quickly I turned my back to Kil ian and went to meet my
sister.
"I didn't see you this morning." She grinned. "Let me guess.
You're having a hard time getting up in the morning."
"You know me too well. How are things at Jaycee's?"
My sisters face clouded. "It's fine," she said unconvincingly.
"Jacyee's got a new friend---you know her. Alisa Soto. And a
new boyfriend---Micheal Pulaski."
I wasn't sure, but I thought Micheal was a sophomore. "She
sounds busy."
"Yeah." Mary K. shook her head. "I guess I'm not real y used
to sharing Jaycee. And Alisa is into Wicca, and I don't want
Jaycee to get into it." This said with an apologetic glance. I
know she hated my involvement with Wicca. "And it's hard to
watch her being all happy and lovey-dovey with Micheal after-
--"
"Hmmm," I said. "Yeah, I can see how that would bother you.
Are you going to tel Jaycee how you feel about things?"
"No. It wouldn't do any good, and it'd just make me look
weird and clingy. Anyway. We're going to the mall tonight
'cause it's Friday. Alisa isn't going, and Micheal has hockey
practice."
"Good. You and Jaycee have a good time, then. And call me
tomorrow, okay? Since I won't see you at school."
She nodded. "Okay. Thanks." She gave me one of her quick,
sweet smiles, and I felt a rush of love for her. My sister.
After Mary K. had rejoined her friends, I walked over to Kil
ian. Raven was practical y in his lap. I wondered meanly how
she avoided getting pneumonia, showing as much skin as
she did. As I walked up, other members of Kithic drifted
toward us.
"Hey!" Killian greeted me. "I found something I wanted to
show you al . Do we have enough cars?"
And just that easily we were al swept into the Killian tide.
Fifteen minutes later I realized we were almost to the old
Methodist cemetery where our original coven, Cirrus, had
first made magick. Where Cal and Hunter had had a
showdown and I had put a holding spel in Hunter that he was
probably still pissed about. What had Kil ian found here?
"We've been here before," Matt told him as we gathered at
the edge of the property.
"You have? Then you know about power sink?" he looked
disappointed.
"What power sink?" I asked, and he perked up and began to
lead us through the overgrown brush to the actual graveyard.
"You know about power leys?" he asked. At our blank faces,
he went on. "All around the earth, like strings wrapped
around a ball, there are ancient lines of power that were
created when the world was made. If a witch stands on one,
works magick on one, their magick wil be enhanced, more
powerful. Anytime two or more of these leys intersect, the
inherent power is even greater. Right in this cemetery is a
huge power sink, probably five or more lines crossed
together."
It was somehow demoralizing that my party-guy,
irresponsible, devil-may-care half brother was so much more
knowledgeable than I was. Then we were standing in front of
the stone sarcophagus that Cirrus had used as an altar on
Samhain. The marker read Jacob Henry Moore, 1845-1871.
"Right here! Killian said enthusiastical y. "This is an
incredible power sink."
Bree met my eyes, and the other Kithic members were quiet.
Cal had brought us here several times. Obviously he'd been
aware it was a power sink and had used it to his advantage.
And none of us had known.
It occurred to me that of course Hunter knew about it also. He
must have felt it when he was here with Cal. The power sink
might even be the reason my holding spells had worked so
wel when I'd used them to stop Hunter and Cal from fighting.
But Hunter hadn't told me.
"Is a power sink important?" Bree asked.
"Oh, yes," said Killian. "It's like turbo charging your magick---
for both good and bad. I mean sometimes magick shouldn't
be turbocharged. Know what I mean?
"No," Robbie said.
"I mean, some spel s need to be gentle and shallow," Killian
explained.
While he was talking, I felt paranoia creeping into my veins.
Quickly I cast my senses out strongly, sweeping the area for
any kind of danger, anything out of the ordinary. Killian
looked at me, his brows knit together, but I didn't stop until I
was sure there was nothing unusual going on. Then I met his
gaze calmly, and he cocked his head to the side.
"Watch this," he said, and held out his left arm. He wore a
thick suede glove on his hand and pul ed the heavy wool
tweed of his coat over his wrist. Then he opened his mouth
and began to sing into the setting of the afternoon light. It was
an odd, unholy song, in a voice nothing like his own It
sounded inhuman but also frighteningly, hauntingly beautiful.
The notes rose and fel and waxed and waned, and al the
time my half brother, Ciaran's son, watched the sky. I realized
he was repeating the song over and over again, and we all
started to watch the sky also.
Slowly, in the deepening twilight, I became aware of a large
bird wheeling above us, dropping down toward us in
reluctant spirals of grace.
"Uh-oh," Ethan breathed, and Sharon moved closer to him.
I could see now that the bird was a large red-tailed hawk, big
enough to pick up a small dog in it's talons. It dipped and
swayed above us, descending ever slower as if being reeled
in on a kite string.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"I know it's true name," Killian said. "It can't resist me."
We all stepped back as the large, powerful predator
dropped the last eight feet, wings beating, to land on Killian's
arm, I couldn't breathe. This wasn't a zoo bird, wings clipped
so it couldn't fly. This was a raw piece of nature, a kil ing
machine, with eyes the color of liquid gold and a beak
designed for ripping open rabbits' stomachs like silk. Its
talons gripped Killian's coat sleeve, but if it hurt, he didn't
show it.
"So beautiful," Jenna whispered, looking mesmerized.
The bird was clearly nervous and afraid, not comprehending
why it was here, so against its wil , against its nature. I could
smel fear coming off it, an acrid fragrance overlaid by anger
and humiliation.
"That's one fine bird," Ethan said in awe.
"Incredible," said Bree. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
teachers and I have noticed a significant drop in your grades
this past quarter." He paused, as if waiting for me to explain.
I didn't know what to say.
"Morgan, I've heard... rumors."
I blinked. "Rumors? About what?"
"About Wicca. Students having witchcraft circles performing
rites." He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. How in the world
had he heard about that? Then I remembered the kids who
had come to one or two of Cal's first circles. They'd left---it
wasn't for them. I guessed they'd been talking about it.
"Do you know anything about it?" he pressed.
I felt like he was asking if I ever been a member of the
Communist Party, if I was gay, if I was Jewish. "Um, well, I
practice Wicca." Morgan takes a stand.
Mr. Powel looked nonplussed for a moment, then tapped his
fingers on his desk, thinking.
Final y he said, "Is this interfering in your schoolwork?"
"Yes," I almost whispered. Far from being surreal. I was
smack-bad in the middle of harsh reality. I was going to flunk
my junior year if I didn't get my act together.
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked.
"Study more?"
"Wil that be enough?"
"Do extra credit?" I offered hopefully.
"Let me think about it." He shut his notebook, no longer
seeming approachable.
"I'm sorry," I said, and he looked back at me.
"Morgan, you're only seventeen. You're extremely bright. You
could do anything you want with your life. Don't screw up this
young." He turned and walked out of the room, as if he was
personally hurt by my poor grade. I felt awful. I was being
slowly crushed by pressure from al sides. I just had to get
through and do the best I could do. The problem was, that
probably wouldn't be good enough. For anyone.
"Morgan!" Kil ian was waiting for me on his usual bench. But
as I started toward him, I heard Mary K.'s voice behind me.
My heart clutched suddenly---I didn't want them to meet.
Quickly I turned my back to Kil ian and went to meet my
sister.
"I didn't see you this morning." She grinned. "Let me guess.
You're having a hard time getting up in the morning."
"You know me too well. How are things at Jaycee's?"
My sisters face clouded. "It's fine," she said unconvincingly.
"Jacyee's got a new friend---you know her. Alisa Soto. And a
new boyfriend---Micheal Pulaski."
I wasn't sure, but I thought Micheal was a sophomore. "She
sounds busy."
"Yeah." Mary K. shook her head. "I guess I'm not real y used
to sharing Jaycee. And Alisa is into Wicca, and I don't want
Jaycee to get into it." This said with an apologetic glance. I
know she hated my involvement with Wicca. "And it's hard to
watch her being all happy and lovey-dovey with Micheal after-
--"
"Hmmm," I said. "Yeah, I can see how that would bother you.
Are you going to tel Jaycee how you feel about things?"
"No. It wouldn't do any good, and it'd just make me look
weird and clingy. Anyway. We're going to the mall tonight
'cause it's Friday. Alisa isn't going, and Micheal has hockey
practice."
"Good. You and Jaycee have a good time, then. And call me
tomorrow, okay? Since I won't see you at school."
She nodded. "Okay. Thanks." She gave me one of her quick,
sweet smiles, and I felt a rush of love for her. My sister.
After Mary K. had rejoined her friends, I walked over to Kil
ian. Raven was practical y in his lap. I wondered meanly how
she avoided getting pneumonia, showing as much skin as
she did. As I walked up, other members of Kithic drifted
toward us.
"Hey!" Killian greeted me. "I found something I wanted to
show you al . Do we have enough cars?"
And just that easily we were al swept into the Killian tide.
Fifteen minutes later I realized we were almost to the old
Methodist cemetery where our original coven, Cirrus, had
first made magick. Where Cal and Hunter had had a
showdown and I had put a holding spel in Hunter that he was
probably still pissed about. What had Kil ian found here?
"We've been here before," Matt told him as we gathered at
the edge of the property.
"You have? Then you know about power sink?" he looked
disappointed.
"What power sink?" I asked, and he perked up and began to
lead us through the overgrown brush to the actual graveyard.
"You know about power leys?" he asked. At our blank faces,
he went on. "All around the earth, like strings wrapped
around a ball, there are ancient lines of power that were
created when the world was made. If a witch stands on one,
works magick on one, their magick wil be enhanced, more
powerful. Anytime two or more of these leys intersect, the
inherent power is even greater. Right in this cemetery is a
huge power sink, probably five or more lines crossed
together."
It was somehow demoralizing that my party-guy,
irresponsible, devil-may-care half brother was so much more
knowledgeable than I was. Then we were standing in front of
the stone sarcophagus that Cirrus had used as an altar on
Samhain. The marker read Jacob Henry Moore, 1845-1871.
"Right here! Killian said enthusiastical y. "This is an
incredible power sink."
Bree met my eyes, and the other Kithic members were quiet.
Cal had brought us here several times. Obviously he'd been
aware it was a power sink and had used it to his advantage.
And none of us had known.
It occurred to me that of course Hunter knew about it also. He
must have felt it when he was here with Cal. The power sink
might even be the reason my holding spells had worked so
wel when I'd used them to stop Hunter and Cal from fighting.
But Hunter hadn't told me.
"Is a power sink important?" Bree asked.
"Oh, yes," said Killian. "It's like turbo charging your magick---
for both good and bad. I mean sometimes magick shouldn't
be turbocharged. Know what I mean?
"No," Robbie said.
"I mean, some spel s need to be gentle and shallow," Killian
explained.
While he was talking, I felt paranoia creeping into my veins.
Quickly I cast my senses out strongly, sweeping the area for
any kind of danger, anything out of the ordinary. Killian
looked at me, his brows knit together, but I didn't stop until I
was sure there was nothing unusual going on. Then I met his
gaze calmly, and he cocked his head to the side.
"Watch this," he said, and held out his left arm. He wore a
thick suede glove on his hand and pul ed the heavy wool
tweed of his coat over his wrist. Then he opened his mouth
and began to sing into the setting of the afternoon light. It was
an odd, unholy song, in a voice nothing like his own It
sounded inhuman but also frighteningly, hauntingly beautiful.
The notes rose and fel and waxed and waned, and al the
time my half brother, Ciaran's son, watched the sky. I realized
he was repeating the song over and over again, and we all
started to watch the sky also.
Slowly, in the deepening twilight, I became aware of a large
bird wheeling above us, dropping down toward us in
reluctant spirals of grace.
"Uh-oh," Ethan breathed, and Sharon moved closer to him.
I could see now that the bird was a large red-tailed hawk, big
enough to pick up a small dog in it's talons. It dipped and
swayed above us, descending ever slower as if being reeled
in on a kite string.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"I know it's true name," Killian said. "It can't resist me."
We all stepped back as the large, powerful predator
dropped the last eight feet, wings beating, to land on Killian's
arm, I couldn't breathe. This wasn't a zoo bird, wings clipped
so it couldn't fly. This was a raw piece of nature, a kil ing
machine, with eyes the color of liquid gold and a beak
designed for ripping open rabbits' stomachs like silk. Its
talons gripped Killian's coat sleeve, but if it hurt, he didn't
show it.
"So beautiful," Jenna whispered, looking mesmerized.
The bird was clearly nervous and afraid, not comprehending
why it was here, so against its wil , against its nature. I could
smel fear coming off it, an acrid fragrance overlaid by anger
and humiliation.
"That's one fine bird," Ethan said in awe.
"Incredible," said Bree. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]