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and it was just like Catspaw: Woodbanes who had renounced everything to do with the dark side. But since I started going through his Turneval stuff, I’ve seen a whole new side of him. What a waste: oh, Patrick, if only you had shared this with me, the way you shared everything else!
    I wonder if he thought Turneval would horrify me. How could he not know I’d be open to anything, anything he wanted to show me, teach me, any kind of power? He must have known. Maybe he was biding his time. Maybe he wanted to show me but died too soon.
    I’ll never know. I only know that I would’ve loved being in Turneval with him, loved for him to teach me all that it meant to be Woodbane.
    On Samhain, instead of going to Catspaw’s festivities, I went to a Turneval circle. We started by making circles of power and invoking the Goddess, just like at Catspaw. Then everything changed. The Turneval witches knew spells that opened us to the deepest magick, the magick con tained in all the creatures and lives that are no longer part of this earth. For the first time I was aware of a universe of untapped resources, whole strata of energy and power and connection that I had never been taught. It was frightening and unbearably exciting. I’mtoo much of a novice to use this power, of course—I don’t even fully know how to tap into it. But Hendrick Samuels, one of Turneval’s elders, gave himself over to it, and he actually shape-shifted in front of us. Goddess, he shape-shifted! Covens talk about shape-shifting like it’s the story of Goldilocks—but it’s real, it’s possible. Before my eyes I saw Hendrick assume the form of a mountain lion, and he was glorious. I have to get close to him so he’ll share the secret with me.
    This is what Patrick spent his life studying, what he hid from me. It’s what I was meant to do, what I should have been born to but wasn’t. I see that now.
    —SB
     
    “Your folks don’t mind you skipping church?” Bree’s dark eyes were dimmed by the ribbon of steam coming from her coffee mug. We were in a coffee emporium in a strip mall off the main road. It was popular on Sunday mornings, and people surrounded us, drinking coffee, eating pastry, reading sections of newspaper.
    I made a face and loaded my currant scone with butter. “They mind. Somehow they would be more comfortable about my being Wiccan if I also remained a good Catholic.”
    “And that’s not possible?” Bree asked around a mouthful of bear claw.
    I sighed. “It’s hard.”
    Bree nodded, and we ate for a few minutes. I studied her covertly. While she was very familiar to me, still, we were both undeniably different people from who we had been three months ago, when Wicca and Cal came into both our lives. We were feeling our way back to being friends again. Things were still awkward between us sometimes, but it felt good to hang out and talk, anyway.
    “I like a lot of things about Catholicism. I like the services and the music and seeing everyone,” I said. “Feeling like I belong to something bigger than just my family. But it’s hard to wrap my mind around some of it. Wicca just feels so much more natural to me.” I shrugged. “Anyway, I just wanted to skip it this week. It doesn’t mean that I’m never going back.”
    Bree nodded again and tugged her black top into place. As usual, she looked chic and beautiful, perfectly put together, though she was only wearing jeans and a sweater and no makeup. Usually I felt like a lumberjack around her, with my flat chest, strong nose, boring hair, and lame wardrobe. Today I was surprising myself by feeling strong beneath my looks, as if the witch inside might someday be attractive enough for the Morgan outside.
    “How’s Mary K.?” Bree asked.
    I stirred my coffee. “She’s been kind of down lately. Since the whole Bakker fiasco, it’s like she’s walking around waiting for a ton of bricks to fall on her.” Bakker Blackburn, my sister’s ex-boyfriend, had twice tried to