had, of being in a rough sort of room while a woman held me and called me her baby, flashed through my head.What did this all mean?
Abruptly I shut off the machine. I stood up so fast, I felt dizzy and had to clutch the back of my chair.
I was almost certain that this Maeve Riordan had given birth to me.Why had she given me up for adoption? Or was I only adopted after she died? Was Angus Bramson my father? How had that barn caught on fire?
Moving slowly, I put all the microfiche files where I had found them. Then, my hands to my temples, I went upstairs and walked out of the library. Outside it was gray and overcast, and the library’s lawn was covered with bright yellow maple leaves. It was autumn, and winter was on the way.
The seasons changed with such a gradual grace, easing you gently from one to the next. But my life, my whole life, had changed in a bare moment.
5
Reasons
Samhain, October 31, 1978
Ma and Da just went over this Book of Shadows and said it was a poor one indeed. I need to write more often; I need to explain spells more; I need to explain the workings of the moon, the sun, the tides, the stars. I said, Why? Everybody knows that stuff. Ma said it’s for my children, the witches who come after me. Like how she and Da show me their books—they’ve got five of them now, those big thick black books by the fireplace. When I was little, I thought they were photo albums. It makes me laugh now—photos of witches.
But you know, my spells and stuff are in my head. There’s time to put them down later. Plenty of time. Mostly I want to write about my feelings and thoughts. But then, I don’t want my folks to read that—when they got to the parts when I was kissing Angus, they blew up! But they know Angus, and they like him. They see him often enough, know that I’ve settled on him. Angus is good, and who else is there for me here? It’s not like I can be with just anyone, not if I want to live my life and have kids and all. Lucky for me Angus is as sweet as he is.
Here’s a good spell for making love fade: During a waning moon, gather four hairs from a black cat, a cat that has no white anywhere on her. Take a white candle, the dried petals of three red roses, and a piece of string. Write your name and the name of the person you want to push away on two pieces of paper, and tie one to each end of the string.
Go outside. (This works best under a new moon or a moon the day before the new moon.) Set up your altar; purify your circle; invoke the Goddess. Set up your white candle. Sprinkle the rose petals around the candle. Take each of the cat’s hairs and set them at the four points of the compass: N, S, E, and W. (Hold them down with rocks if the night’s windy.) Light the candle and hold the middle of the string taut over the candle, about five inches up. Then say:
As the moon wanes, so wanes your love;
I am an eagle, no more your dove.
Another face, more fair than mine,
Will surely win your love in time.
Say that over and over until the string burns through and the two names are separated forever. Don’t do this in anger because your love really will no more be yours. You have to want to truly get rid of someone forever.
P.S. The cat hairs don’t do anything. I just put them in to sound mysterious.
—Bradhadair
I was in the kitchen, eating some warmed-up lasagna, when my parents and Mary K. came home late that afternoon. They all stared at me as if they had come home to find a stranger in their kitchen.
“Morgan,” said my dad, clearing his throat. His eyes looked red-rimmed, his face drawn and older than this morning. His thinning black hair was brushed tightly against his scalp, too long on the ends. His thick, wire-rimmed glasses gave him an owlish look.
“Yes?” I said, marveling at the cold steadiness of my voice. I took a sip of soda.
“Are you all right?”
It was such a ludicrous question, but it was so like my dad to ask.
“Well, let’s see,” I said coolly, not
Abruptly I shut off the machine. I stood up so fast, I felt dizzy and had to clutch the back of my chair.
I was almost certain that this Maeve Riordan had given birth to me.Why had she given me up for adoption? Or was I only adopted after she died? Was Angus Bramson my father? How had that barn caught on fire?
Moving slowly, I put all the microfiche files where I had found them. Then, my hands to my temples, I went upstairs and walked out of the library. Outside it was gray and overcast, and the library’s lawn was covered with bright yellow maple leaves. It was autumn, and winter was on the way.
The seasons changed with such a gradual grace, easing you gently from one to the next. But my life, my whole life, had changed in a bare moment.
5
Reasons
Samhain, October 31, 1978
Ma and Da just went over this Book of Shadows and said it was a poor one indeed. I need to write more often; I need to explain spells more; I need to explain the workings of the moon, the sun, the tides, the stars. I said, Why? Everybody knows that stuff. Ma said it’s for my children, the witches who come after me. Like how she and Da show me their books—they’ve got five of them now, those big thick black books by the fireplace. When I was little, I thought they were photo albums. It makes me laugh now—photos of witches.
But you know, my spells and stuff are in my head. There’s time to put them down later. Plenty of time. Mostly I want to write about my feelings and thoughts. But then, I don’t want my folks to read that—when they got to the parts when I was kissing Angus, they blew up! But they know Angus, and they like him. They see him often enough, know that I’ve settled on him. Angus is good, and who else is there for me here? It’s not like I can be with just anyone, not if I want to live my life and have kids and all. Lucky for me Angus is as sweet as he is.
Here’s a good spell for making love fade: During a waning moon, gather four hairs from a black cat, a cat that has no white anywhere on her. Take a white candle, the dried petals of three red roses, and a piece of string. Write your name and the name of the person you want to push away on two pieces of paper, and tie one to each end of the string.
Go outside. (This works best under a new moon or a moon the day before the new moon.) Set up your altar; purify your circle; invoke the Goddess. Set up your white candle. Sprinkle the rose petals around the candle. Take each of the cat’s hairs and set them at the four points of the compass: N, S, E, and W. (Hold them down with rocks if the night’s windy.) Light the candle and hold the middle of the string taut over the candle, about five inches up. Then say:
As the moon wanes, so wanes your love;
I am an eagle, no more your dove.
Another face, more fair than mine,
Will surely win your love in time.
Say that over and over until the string burns through and the two names are separated forever. Don’t do this in anger because your love really will no more be yours. You have to want to truly get rid of someone forever.
P.S. The cat hairs don’t do anything. I just put them in to sound mysterious.
—Bradhadair
I was in the kitchen, eating some warmed-up lasagna, when my parents and Mary K. came home late that afternoon. They all stared at me as if they had come home to find a stranger in their kitchen.
“Morgan,” said my dad, clearing his throat. His eyes looked red-rimmed, his face drawn and older than this morning. His thinning black hair was brushed tightly against his scalp, too long on the ends. His thick, wire-rimmed glasses gave him an owlish look.
“Yes?” I said, marveling at the cold steadiness of my voice. I took a sip of soda.
“Are you all right?”
It was such a ludicrous question, but it was so like my dad to ask.
“Well, let’s see,” I said coolly, not
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