Soon Da headed off to his lecture, not sure if he would be back that night, and I set off for Practical Magick. It was in Red Kill, about twenty minutes north of Widows's Vale, the town in midstate New York where I lived. As I drove, I thought about what Da had said. It was funny. For the last eleven years of my life I'd had no father. Now, at the age of nineteen, I had to get used to having a da to take an interest in me. But he was right about one thing: I did need a new life plan. All around me everyone had a purpose, goals-except me.
The doorbell jingled lightly when I entered Practical Magick. Its owner, Alyce Fernbrake, smiled a greeting at me as she rang up a purchase for a customer. I smiled and waved, then headed through a new doorway that had been cut into the right-hand wall of the store. The room next door was divided in two: a larger room that would stock store items and books, and a smaller room in back that people would be able to use privately. It was in this room that I worked, imbuing objects with low-level magickal properties.
For example, I might spell a small bottle of evening primrose oil so that it would be even more effective in easing menstrual cramps. Or I might spell different candles to increase their individual auras, make them more effective on rites or meditation. Alyce kept a small supply of spelled objects in a locked cupboard in the back room, to be bought and used only by witches she trusted. They didn't have to be blood witches, but she had to know them and be sure these things would be used only in the way they were intended.
For the first couple of days this had been amusing, even relaxing work. It allowed me to trot out all my basic second-year spells, brush up on my technique, my focus, and in general stay in tune with magickal energy. But now I was growing bored and restless. I still enjoyed being at Practical Magick, working with Alyce, but the repetition, the predictability of this job was starting to make me impatient. Da was right-I needed to find a vocation that would challenge me.
I was putting a light worry-not spell on a pale blue candle when my mobile rang, making me jump. I yanked it out of my pocket, then checked the number. It was Kennet, calling me back. I took a deep breath and answered it.
"Kennet. Thanks for calling me back."
"Hunter, how are you? No problems there, I hope?"
Not in the last week, I thought. It seemed that ever since I'd come to Widow's Vale, my life had been a roller coaster of huge events-not the least of which was meeting Morgan Rowlands, who's-well, she's more than my girlfriend. She's my mùirn beatha dàn-my soul mate.
I decided to dive in. "Kennet-you've had trust in me and put enormous effort into my training, and I've always appreciated it. I hope I've never let you down." Like you've let me down, I added silently. "Why do I feel you're about to?" he asked.
I took a deep breath. "I've decided to leave the council," I said. "I can't be a Seeker anymore."
There was silence on his end. I waited.
"I know you've been growing more and more dissatisfied, Gìomanach," he said, using my coven name. "And I know you were very upset at how the council handled telling you about your parents."
To put it mildly. Just thinking about it made my body tense. "Certainly that's part of it," I said, feeling anger rise up in my chest. "But there have been other problems, Kennet, other disappointments." I let my words hang there in the air for a moment. "The truth is, I feel I can't continue with the council in good faith. Not when I don't believe in it."
More silence. "Gìomanach, you know it's almost unheard of for anyone to quit the council, especially a Seeker." his voice was soft, but I sensed some anger behind his words.
"I know," I said. "But I have no choice. So I'm telling you officially-I'm leaving. I can't accept any more assignments. I'm sorry."
"How about a leave of absence?" Kennet asked carefully. "I could certainly okay that."
"No."
"Gìomanach," Kennet said with more authority, "this seems an extreme reaction. Surely it doesn't have to be all or nothing. Would you prefer a different assignment? Or to go to a different place? Perhaps your compensation-"
"No," I said. "It really isn't about any of that. It's just-the council itself."
"Would you like me to come there, to talk to you? Perhaps the two of us could come up with a more moderate decision."
"You can come if you'd like, but I don't feel it would change things," I said.
Kennet sighed. "I would be remiss not to tell you that this is not a wise move politically. I have no idea what the council's reaction will be, but I can't imagine that it will be positive."
"I understand," I said. Bugger the council and their reaction. My back ached with tension.
"As your adviser, I must caution you that you have surely made enemies during your time as a Seeker. The council will no longer be able to offer you protection should any of these people seek revenge."
I considered his words. It was true that making enemies was part of being a Seeker. Witches themselves, their friends and families-hardly anyone was glad when a Seeker came to call. But what kind of protection was the council able to provide? The council leaders were at odds with one another, working at cross-purposes. The council kept bungling things, kept making the easiest decision instead of the best one. I shook my head silently. There was no way I could rely on their protection anymore, anyway.
"I'll take my chances." I told Kennet.
"Gìomanach, as your mentor, I'm asking you to reconsider," he said cajolingly. "You are my protégé, the youngest Seeker the council has ever had. Please tell me you'll at least think more about this decision."
"No, Kennet," I said. "This is my final answer. I can no longer take part in what the council has become." It was very difficult for me, having to say this. In his day, before the council had started to slip out of hand, Kennet really had been an excellent mentor. I had relied on him a great deal during my first months as a Seeker. But things were different now.
"I can't tell you how disappointing this is to me personally, as it will ne to the rest of the council," he said, the warmth in his voice leading away. He didn't sound angry now so much as regretful and hurt.
"I realize that. But I know this is the right thing for me to do."
"I hope you'll give this further thought," he said, sounding stiff.
"Good-bye, Kennet."
Click. I looked at the phone in wonder. He'd hung up without saying good-bye. I hung up and pressed my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to dispel tension. The conversation had been difficult-every bit as difficult as I'd feared, perhaps worse. But it was done. I had quit the council. I rolled my shoulders, feeling like a huge weight had been removed. I felt relieved but also frightened: I wasn't trained to do anything else.
Automatically I picked up my phone and rang Morgan. She'd been through the whole decision-making process with me. I knew talking to her now would definitely help. Talking to her always helped.
"Hello?" Not Morgan.
"Hi, Mrs. Rowlands," I said to Morgan's mother. "It's Hunter. Is Morgan there, please?"
"I'm sorry, Hunter-Morgan's taken her sister to a friend's house. Can I have her call you?"
"Yes, thanks-or I can catch her later. Good-bye, Mrs. Rowlands."
"Bye, Hunter."
I hung up and sighed. No mediate Morgan. I rubbed the back of my neck and settled down again, this time to gift some dried lavender with extra soothing properties.
"Hunter?"
I looked up to see Alyce, followed by two middle-aged women. One looked slightly older than the other, I'd guess in her late fifties. She was lean and muscled like a former dancer, with crisp silver hair cut in a simple style that just skimmed her jawline. She was wearing off-white canvas pants, loose but not sloppy, a trim T-shirt, and an unconstructed canvas jacket over that. Everything about her showed confidence, maturity, self-control, an acceptance of self.
The younger woman was a striking contrast. She was perhaps in her early forties but as surrounded by layers of agitation as the first seemed pared down to the essentials. Her layered, wispy skirt and top flowed around her in batiked shades of olive green and soft brown. She was slightly plump. Her heavy makeup was almost like icing.
Without thinking, I cast out my senses: Alyce was curious but not disturbed. The two women were blood witches. From them I got uncertainty, mistrust, even an edge of fear.
"Hunter, these women were asking for you," Alyce supplied. She turned to them and gestured to me. "Celia and Robin, this is Hunter Niall."
The two women exchanged glances, and then, as if making a decision, the older woman nodded. "Thank you, Alyce," she said. It was a gentle dismissal, and Alyce raised her eye-brows at me when they couldn't see her, then left.
I took a moment to examine them with ingrained Seeker thoroughness. They both had relatively weak energy patterns-they were blood witches, but not powerhouses.
The older woman stepped forward. "I'm Celia Evans," she said in a smooth, modulated voice. She held out her hand, and I rose to shake it. Her grip was firm but not aggressive. "And this is Robin Goodacre." She gestured to her companion, who then stepped forward. Where Celia projected calm and confidence, Robin projected a fluttery distraction that I instinctively felt came from insecurity, or nonacceptance of herself.
I shook Robin's hand. "Hello," she said, in a nervous, breathless voice. I wondered what her relationship was to Celia.
"Hello," I said. There were a couple of unmatched chairs in the corner, and I pulled them over, then sat down again at my table. I gestured for the two women to sit, and they did.
"Can I help you with something?"
"Well, we've heard about you as aah" Robin began, then seemed to get stymied by self-consciousness.
Celia took over. "We've come to see you because we've heard that you're-experienced with good magick and withdark magick."
Hmmm. I nodded and waited for her to go on.
"Like the dark wave, for instance," Celia continued, beginning to seem slightly uncomfortable. "Or perhaps other kinds of dark magick."
Oh. Of course. "You need a Seeker?" I asked, and Robin visibly pulled back.
Celia looked alarmed. "We needsomeone to help us. Someone who would recognize what might be dark magick. And maybe know what to do about it."
"Well, I'm sorry, but I no longer work for the council. I could put you in touch with someone, though."
"Actually," Celia said slowly, "we hadn't realized you were a Seeker. We wouldn't have come if we'd known. It's much better for us that you're not a Seeker, not part of the council. Honestly, we need help, and we don't know where to find it."
Robin's plump hands fluttered around her skirt, playing with its folds. "It has to be the right kind of help," she said earnestly. "We can't make matters worse. But we don't know what to do." She twisted her hands together, her chunky rings clicking. "We heard you had experience with all kinds of things. We heardyou could be trusted."
That was interesting. I looked from Robin's round, earnest face, the distress in her brown eyes, to Celia's barely concealed tension.
"Can I ask who referred you to me?"
"Joanna Silversmith," said Celia. "Of Knotworthy. We went to school together."
Her name sounded familiar, but I didn't think I knew her personally. Knotworthy was a coven back in England, so maybe I had run across her there.
"Can you tell me a few more specifics about your problem?" I asked gently. "Then if I can't help you, maybe I'll know someone who can."
"It's our coven leader," Celia said, and took a deep breath. "We think she may be involved with dark magick."
3. Morgan
As I had done hundreds of times before, I parked my beloved Valiant, Das Boot, at the curb by my best friend Bree Warren's house and walked up the stone path to the double front doors. I rang the bell, and the door was opened almost instantly by Thalia Cutter, one of the other coven members. Our coven, Kithic, had the ideal number ofmembers, thirteen: our leader and my boyfriend, Hunter Niall, Bree, Robbie Gurevitch, Sharon Goodfine, Ethan Sharp, Simon Bakehouse, Thalia, Jenna Ruiz, Raven Meltzer, Alisa Soto (our youngest member), Hunter's cousin, Sky, who was in England right now, Matt Adler, and me. I had known most of these people my whole life. Bree and Robbie had been my best friends since first grade. Sharon, Jenna, Matt, Ethan, and Alisa all went to my high school. Thalia and Simon went to the other high school in town.
"Hi," said Thalia. Her long, wavy hair hung almost to her waist, and her oval face was smooth and serene. "Come on in. Bree's in the kitchen. We're setting up in the pool house."
"Okay." From experience we'd found that at Bree's, the slate patio in her pool's enclosure was best for channeling energy. I headed for the kitchen and passed Ethan carrying a talk pillar candle. Bree called after him, "Wait-take a paper plate to put it on. If we get wax on the slate, we'll never get it off."
Ethan took the plate from her, smiled a greeting at me,and went out.
"Hi," I called, walking into the Warrens' huge kitchen. Bree, looking beautiful as usual, was arranging some cut fruit on a plate. Her fine, mink-dark hair had grown out a bit and fell in feathery layers past her shoulders. I sighed. It wasn't easy being best friends with someone who looked like a model. We're talking high cheekbones, fabulous body, the works. Always impossibly, sophisticatedly hip, she was wearing an Indian-print cotton skirt that hung several inches below her belly button and a white peasant top that showed perfect, ivory skin both above and below.
I tried not to look down at my own ensemble of jeans and T-shirt. I was just about to start feeling bummed when I remembered Hunter- incredibly hot and irresistible Hunter-and the fact that he didn't seem able to keep his hands off me.
"Look-Bree's making food from scratch," said Robbie, cutting up fresh pineapple at one end of the Corian counter.
"Oh, so witty," said Bree, but she smiled at him, and he smiled back. It was obvious how strongly the felt about each other. She went back to artistically placing strawberries on the platter.