[Author's Note] Dude. Long time, no update, I know. And I am so sorry to those who have been waiting. But I got caught up with school stuff, and dance, and all that jazz…But, here's chapter nine, and I hope you enjoy! You know the Disclaimer deal: This is based on Cate Tiernan's Sweep book series, anything you recognize from Sweep is property of Mrs. Tiernan, and the rest is property of yours truly, except for the slight references to Harry Potter, which are property of J.K. Rowling. *breathes* Okay. Enjoy! ((Katie))
Shadow Girl
Book Two: Soul Searching
[Chapter Nine: Truths Revealed]
I tore across my front lawn, yelling, "Mom! Mom!" I jammed my key into the door lock, opening the front door and slamming it closed behind me. "Mom!"
Mom came running down the stairs, out of breath. "Moira! What's wrong?"
I twisted the locks on the door, then traced a few sigils and muttered some words to spell it closed. I turned around to face her. "Mom, we're in trouble."
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"There's not much time to explain," I said, suddenly feeling like I was in an action-adventure movie. "I don't know how many of them will show up, but they're going to be powerful. Very powerful. We're going to need every defense spell, every ward-evil spell, binding spells, the works. And it really sucks that Dad's sick because we could use all the help we could get."
"Moira, I don't understand--"
"Mom! Stop trying to understand! We've got a witch battle to prepare for! Lock the doors, lock the windows, let's get going here!"
Mom just stared at me. "What have you gotten us into this time?"
"Look, Uncle Cal stalking me wasn't my fault," I told her. "But this is, because I let my guard down and now we're all in trouble, I'm serious. You need to heal Dad, now. With your powers. This is an emergency!"
"Moira--" my mom started. But then, the doorbell rang.
We both turned to stare at the door. Mom went to open it, but I grabbed her arm. "Don't answer that!"
"Let go of me," Mom said, looking down at me with an annoyed expression. The doorbell rang again, and my mom opened her mouth to say something. But I slapped my hand over her mouth.
"Do not even say a word," I instructed in a hiss. Mom mumbled a few cross words through my hand.
The doorbell rang a third time, and was accompanied by loud, persistent knocks. We stood there, silent, staring at the door.
Suddenly we heard padding feet behind us. Mom and I turned to see my father standing in his bathrobe, looking horribly sick. His eyes were puffy, his hair was disheveled, and his skin was even paler than usual. Dad looked at the two of us with a bewildered expression, then asked in a croaky voice, "Aren't either of you going to answer the blasted door?" He stepped towards the front door.
I turned and ran towards my room, throwing my backpack aside. "Moira, come back here!" my mother shouted after me.
I burst into my room and immediately dragged my trunk full of magick supplies into the middle of the floor. This was a race against time, one that I wasn't sure I'd win. I grabbed a piece of chalk from the trunk, drew a large circle around the trunk and myself, and quickly sprinkled salt around the circle. As I took out the equipment from the trunk, I realized my hands were shaking. I spread the tablecloth on my trunk and plunked a chunk of crystal, a bowl with a stick of burning incense in it, a bowl of water, and a candle in each corner of my altar. I tried to concentrate on the candle and light it, but my focus was unsteady and I accidentally set the altar cloth on fire. I squeaked and used the water to put it out, spilling the liquid on the flames and then beating it with the copper bowl.
"Moira?" I turned to see my mom standing in my doorway, looking worried, confused, and annoyed with me. "What is going--" She paused abruptly to sniff the air. "…Is something burning?"
I jumped up. "Mom, there's not much time, we have to do ward-evil spells and…where's Dad?"
"He answered the door."
I stared at my mother. "You let him answer the door?" I asked her in a horrified whisper. "You let him answer the door? You just let my father, who is currently the weakest witch we have on our side, answer the door for the unadulterated, unimaginable jaws of evil?!" I grabbed her arms and shook her a little. "For the love of God what were you thinking?!"
Mom stared back at me open-mouthed. "What are you talking about?!"
At that moment, my door opened, and my father stood in the doorway with none other than Jordan. I jumped and hid behind my mother, choking out the only words I could think of. "Cal! Cal with blonde hair!"
My dad and Jordan looked at each other. "I think I'm hallucinating," Dad said dazedly.
"Dad, get away from him," I said. "He's probably the reason why you're so sick. He wanted to weaken you!" Jordan winced at my words, and I looked at him hard. His jaw was set, and I could see a small bruise forming where I'd hit him. His usually bright green eyes were filled with pain and red around the rims.
"Moira, what do you mean?" Mom asked grimly, beginning to wrap her mind around what I was saying.
"He's a blood witch, Mom," I told her. "He's really powerful. He lied to me."
"No. I. Didn't." Jordan looked at me fiercely, though sadness reflected in his eyes. "I didn't lie to you, Moira. I never have, and I never will. I would never want to deceive you."
"You think I'm just going to believe you?" I asked him. "You almost killed someone. I will never forget that. Give me one good reason why I should ever trust you again!" I turned away from him, crossing my arms across my chest.
A silence followed. Mom touched my shoulder, but I shook it off. Then, I heard Jordan's voice. "I, your God, am a jealous God. Thou shalt have no other gods before me."
I whipped around, looking at him quizzically. Jordan continued. "Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain. Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy."
"What?" Nothing he was saying was making any sense to me. What was he talking about?
"Thou shalt honor thy father and mother. Thou shalt not murder. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal," Jordan said, looking deep into my eyes.
Dad looked as confused as I felt. I turned to Mom, who looked like she actually had an inkling of what was going on. "Mom, what's he talking about?"
"He's reciting the Ten Commandments," she explained quietly. "It's part of the Christian religion."
"If what you're saying is true," Jordan said evenly, "if I was raised a witch, and knew about the Wiccan religion my whole life, how would I know the Ten Commandments?"
I was undaunted. "A good cover?"
"Damn it, Moira!" Jordan lost control of his emotions then, and his explosion made me take a step back. If Jordan had been holding anything at the time, he would've thrown it across the room; I could tell. "What do I have to do to make you trust me?" he yelled at me, angry, pained tears spilling across his face. "I am trying to deal with the fact that my whole past is a lie, and the one person who might have the tiniest idea of what I'm going through thinks I'm evil. Sorry about what I did, I'll never try to save your life again."
Silence. Jordan was looking at me, breathing unsteadily, with tears still dripping down his cheeks. Mom looked shocked. Dad still looked like he'd be waking up from this strange dream any second now. And I was trying to accept the fact that maybe I overreacted about Jordan.
"Hunter, why don't you take Jordan downstairs?" Mom finally said quietly. "So Moira and I can talk."
"Oh, yes. Of course." Dad took Jordan's arm and led him towards my door. "You look like you could use some tea."
Jordan followed my dad, looking at me as he left. I had been rendered speechless. The whole day had felt surreal, and now I felt like the collective emotions in this house would suffocate me.
"Okay, sit down," Mom instructed, pushing me gently down onto my bed. "Explain, from the top. What was Jordan talking about, saving your life?"
I sighed. "Well, Saturday…wasn't all I cracked it up to be."
"Figures," Mom quipped, flopping down next to me.
"Well, I went to the woods to meet Jordan, like I planned, but I found these kids there instead, and one of them was that kid I used my magick against a few weeks ago, remember? So, he kind of had a score to settle…" I glanced down at my right ankle and said, "That's how my ankle got hurt. And…Derek probably would have killed me if Jordan hadn't shown up." I took a deep breath. "Mom, he threw white witch fire. He wouldn't be able to do that if he really didn't know he was a blood witch. You couldn't even do that when you first found out. It took a couple of months before you could throw white witch fire."
Mom looked totally perplexed. "So…he threw white witch fire. To protect you." I nodded. She thought for a few moments before speaking again. "Moira, I know you're not going to believe this, but I don't think Jordan is evil."
I stared at her. "Mom. He cracked a tree in half."
"He was trying to protect you," Mom reiterated. "Sometimes, when your emotions are strong enough, your power is stronger than it usually is. Jordan genuinely cares about you, and he was afraid you were going to die. So, his powers acted the strongest that they knew how." I just looked back at her, not willing to change my mind. Mom sighed, and said, "This is one of the reasons why I didn't want to tell you about what happened to me because of Cal. I didn't want you to grow up afraid."
"Mom, I'm growing up armed with facts. I'm prepared; I'm on my guard--"
"You're downright neurotic."
"I am not neurotic," I protested indignantly.
She rolled her eyes. "I let your father answer the door to the jaws of evil, remember? Jordan's sixteen years old! Even if he had evil intentions, he'd hardly be another Ciaran MacEwan." Mom shuddered slightly at her father's name.
I looked away from my mother, down at my hands folded in my lap. "Mom…you didn't see what I saw in the woods. Jordan could have killed someone. I can't forget that."
Mom nodded. "I know that what Jordan did was unsafe. Really unsafe. But, like I said, his powers reacted for him, and he wanted to protect you. It's not his fault."
"But, how could you even be sure of it? After Cal--"
Mom brought her finger to my lips, hushing me. "Sweetie, think about this. Do you really believe Jordan had any evil intent when he threw the white witch fire?" I closed my eyes, trying to detach myself from the fear I'd felt on Saturday. I replayed the scene in my head. Derek's friend held me against the tree. I kicked Derek in the stomach. Derek picked up the rock. Jordan threw white witch fire at Derek. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had seriously overreacted.
"I feel stupid," I declared inadequately.
"You're not stupid, just overly concerned," Mom told me, hugging me. "Now, let's go talk to Jordan."
We walked down the stairs together into the kitchen. Dad was just taking the kettle off the stove, and Jordan was sitting at the table. He looked like a wreck, so utterly defeated and depressed. Immediately I felt guilty about how I'd treated him. His eyes slid towards me, and then he turned his head to face me. How did I even begin to apologize to him?
"I'm sorry I punched you in the face." Well, that was one way to start.
Mom looked at me in disbelief. "You punched him?"
"He grabbed me!" I protested.
"You grabbed her?" my father squeaked at Jordan. "Where?!"
"By the shoulders, Dad," I clarified, rolling my eyes.
"She's got quite a punch," Jordan murmured. We all kind of shut up when we heard his voice, so sad and quiet. He took a deep breath. "All I want to know is what's happening to me. I don't understand any of this."
Mom sat down in a chair across from Jordan. "I know how you're feeling right now. I went through the same thing." She, too, took a deep breath, and said, "What you need to do is talk to your parents."
"My parents are dead," Jordan told my mom. "I live with my grandmother."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Mom apologized. "So, you should talk to your grandmother. I know it won't be easy, but that's the only way you'll get any answers."
Jordan looked down. "Okay. But I can't do it alone." He looked at me.
"Well, duh," I said, grabbing Jordan's arm and walking him towards our door.
* * *
A few minutes later Jordan and I were nearing his house. We hadn't said much to each other the whole way there. Things were still awkward between Jordan and me. In no time, we were standing at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the O'Briens' door.
Jordan turned to me. "Thanks for coming with me," he said quietly, looking into my eyes.
I shrugged. "It's nothing. Really."
"No, you don't get it," Jordan insisted. "I'm not…like you. I'm not bold or determined or anything. I just try to go with the flow. If I came alone, I wouldn't have the nerve to interrogate Grams. She's kind of unapproachable. I couldn't do it. You're tenacious. You don't let things go. You're strong."
"Well, the flip side of that is I'm stubborn, hard-headed, and annoyingly opinionated," I told him. "So don't envy my qualities too much." I took Jordan's hand, facing palm-up, and traced a symbol on it. "The rune Ur," I explained. "For strength."
Jordan took his hand away and looked at his palm. The mark I'd made had left a slightly raised design on his skin. He slid his hand into his pocket and nodded at me. "You ready?"
I nodded back, and we walked up the steps. Jordan opened the door and stepped inside. "Grams?"
An elderly woman walked through a hallway opposite the door. I was taller than her by two inches, at least, and she had gray hair pulled back in a bun and was wearing a classic white apron. "Jordan! I was expecting you sooner! Where have you been?" Mrs. O'Brien then noticed that I was standing next to Jordan. "Oh. Who's this?" She was eyeing my hair suspiciously. I stared back at her.
"Moira's from school," Jordan told her, and I suddenly realized that I'd gone unmentioned in the O'Brien household. Gee, I feel so important, I sent to Jordan in a witch message. His head snapped around to look at me, surprised. I simply raised my eyebrows.
"Oh." Mrs. O'Brien wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, is she staying for dinner?"
"I don't know," Jordan said, looking into his grandmother's pale blue eyes. "Grams, I need to talk to you." She raised her eyebrows. "I need to talk to you about my parents."
"Oh, Jordan, we've talked about your parents," Mrs. O'Brien dismissed him, waving the request off. "I told you what they were like. I've shown you pictures."
"One picture. You've shown me one picture," Jordan corrected her, sounding like he was starting to put puzzle pieces together. "I need to know the truth. The whole truth."
Mrs. O'Brien rested a hand on her hip. "Jordan, what's this about? Why are you doing this, especially in front of company?" Jordan began to cast his eyes downward, and my stomach fell. No, no, you can't let her intimidate you…
"He knows he's a witch." Jordan and Mrs. O'Brien turned to stare at me, and I immediately felt like I'd done the wrong thing. But I couldn't let Jordan back down.
I caught something in Mrs. O'Brien's eyes, though. It was a twinge of fear. "Jordan, what is all this?"
"It's true. I know I'm a witch," Jordan confirmed quietly, but firmly. "I know I have powers. I used them to save Moira."
"No," his grandmother whispered, almost to herself. "No. I took you away from this." Jordan stared at her.
"Why don't we all sit down?" I suggested, looking from grandmother to grandson. Jordan nodded curtly and led me into a small living room. Mrs. O'Brien followed us.
We all sat down, Mrs. O'Brien in an armchair and Jordan and I on the couch. "I need to know the truth, Grams," Jordan said, his voice sounding icy.
His grandmother took a deep breath. She looked like she didn't know where to begin. "Must we discuss this with Moira here?" Mrs. O'Brien asked Jordan, looking pained.
"It doesn't matter, I'd just tell her afterwards," Jordan replied. "Now explain."
Mrs. O'Brien looked slightly taken aback by Jordan's stern answer. "This isn't easy for me to talk about," she began slowly. I watched her with almost fascination. What exactly was she hiding? "I guess the best way for me to start is…Jordan, I'm not your biological grandmother. I was your grandfather's second wife."
Dun dun duuunnn, I added inside my head. Welcome to Soap Opera City.
"What?" Jordan whispered.
"Your grandfather's first wife died when your father was twelve. His older brother and sister were fourteen and fifteen, respectively. I never asked why or how." Mrs. O'Brien looked down at her hands, mulling things over. "I met Luke five years later. He seemed like a nice man, and his feelings for me were clear. But then I found out his secret. He was a witch, just as his first wife was, and his children." Her whole expression tensed, like she'd bitten into a lemon. "Of course, I didn't believe him. We were at a diner at the time, and I told him it was absolute nonsense. Witches weren't real. But he shook his head sadly. 'They are,' he told me. And then he did something…unnatural. He made the salt float up in the air. Right in public. Anyone could've seen. Of course, I was horrified. There's nothing normal about people making things fly. So I told him that I refused to see him again." I frowned. That didn't seem fair.
"So how did you end up marrying him?" Jordan asked, looking confused.
"Luke came to my house a few days later. He looked sick and pale. Luke told me he wasn't a witch anymore, that he'd stripped himself of his magick. I almost didn't believe him, but Luke swore to me his days of being a witch were over. So I said I'd see him again, and we got married the next year." Mrs. O'Brien's face became drawn as she continued. "Four years later Luke passed away. Your father and aunt and uncle all claimed that I was the reason, for forcing him to strip himself of his magick, for not accepting him for who he was."
And they were right, I thought grimly.
"I don't get it then," Jordan said. "Why do you have me? Are my parents really dead?"
"Yes, they're dead. And it was their magick that killed them."
Jordan suddenly looked furious. "You told me they died in a car accident."
"You ripped off J.K. Rowling," I added. They both stared at me, and I looked down at my hands. "Sorry. Shutting up."
"I told you they were found in a car," Mrs. O'Brien corrected him, sounding guilt-ridden. "Or at least what was left of the car. It couldn't be explained by the police, or by anyone else."
"So what happened?" Jordan asked. For the first time I deliberately tried to sense his feelings. Waves of confusion, sadness, and fear were coming off him. I reached out a little and put my hand over his.
"I asked your aunt and uncle the same thing, when they told me your father, Liam, and your mother, Mary Anne, had died. They said it was a destructive force." I sucked in a sharp breath of air as she said, "They called it a dark wave. Apparently, Liam and Mary Anne knew one was coming for their coven of witches. They could feel it, or something. So they took you and drove up to where your aunt Nora lived, and put you in her care. They died driving back to their home."
Jordan's breath was coming shallower now. "That still doesn't answer my question. What am I doing here?"
"Well, naturally when Nora told me she had you, I told her I'd take you in," Mrs. O'Brien told him. "I took you away from all that witchcraft. It's for your own good. I raised you to be a nice, normal boy--"
"You took him away from his family," I interrupted, not being able to listen to this anymore. "You went against his parents' wishes and you took him away from his real family. And because of what? Because they were witches? Because they were different?" I was standing now, angrier than I could ever remember being before. "Witches might be different, but that doesn't mean we're bad. That doesn't mean you're better than we are. It just means we're different, and you had no right--"
Mrs. O'Brien was standing now, too. She was staring at my neck. At my necklace. The one with the pentacle on it. My skin crawled at the way she was staring at me. "You…" she whispered, sounding almost strangled. "You…you're a witch."
Things happened quickly after that. Mrs. O'Brien grabbed my arm with a grip like a vise and hauled me out of the living room. I felt almost trapped; Mrs. O'Brien was an elderly woman and Jordan's grandmother. Step grandmother, actually. I couldn't be rough with her or anything. But soon I wish I had done something in my own defense, because in the next second Mrs. O'Brien had opened the front door and literally thrown me out.
I fell onto my side and rolled down the steps, scraping my face on the cement. "Grams!" Jordan shouted, sounding angry and shocked. I lay there on the ground for a few seconds, my jaw dropped open, too stunned to even feel the pain. I just got thrown down a flight of steps by a little old lady. "Grams, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled again.
I heard the sound of Mrs. O'Brien slapping Jordan, and I sprang up and faced her. "Go to your room!" Mrs. O'Brien screamed at Jordan, and then she turned her attention to me. "You stay away from my grandson."
"You can't hide his past from him forever," I shot back. I touched my lip gently, and when I pulled my fingers back, crimson blood covered them. I looked up at Mrs. O'Brien in disbelief. "You split my lip!" Mrs. O'Brien just gave me a look, then slammed the door.
I stood there, staring for a few moments, wondering if Jordan's step grandmother was more insane than my half-uncle Cal Blaire had been. Finally, I turned around and walked home. The shock of Jordan's parents' story still shook me, and I wished that I could be with Jordan. Jordan, I thought, remembering how I'd treated him. Goddess, if I'd only known then what we both know now. If we only knew…