Shadow Girl

Book Two: Soul Searching

[Chapter Ten: Fight]

      Later, April 19th

                        I never thought I'd say this, but I hate Grams.

                        She finally told me the real story about my parents. They were blood witches, so I am too. Moira stayed with me while I found out the truth—And I'm glad.

                         Grams hates the truth. She hates all blood witches, just because they're different. She took me away from the family my parents wanted me to have. And then she hurt Moira--she threw her down the front steps and cut her lip. All because she hates witches. And then she sent me up to my room when I yelled at her. I was so mad that I punched my wall and put a dent in it.

                        So now I know the truth. Grams isn't my biological grandmother. She's just my step grandmother. My parents didn't die in a car crash. Someone sent a dark wave to kill them. And this journal wasn't meant to be just a journal. My aunt sent me this to be my Book of Shadows, like Moira called it.

                        And it is.

                                                                                    --Jordan

            My parents were furious when I came home with a split lip. Luckily, I'd been wearing layers that day, so I'd taken off my top shirt and used it as a compress for my lip. They wanted to press charges against Mrs. O'Brien for physical assault, but I told them it wasn't worth it. She'd probably just find a way to blame me.

            The night wore on, and it was now late, in the earliest hours of morning. I was lying in bed, thinking. Jordan's parents had been killed by a dark wave. I sighed; I always felt a sick twist of guilt whenever dark waves were mentioned. My family had had their share of dark wave horrors: My father's parents had abandoned Dad and his brother and sister when they fled the dark wave that had been targeted on them. My grandmother, Maeve Riordan, had gone into hiding after a dark wave had wiped out her coven, Belwicket. And my parents had to face a dark wave when they were only seventeen and nineteen, because Ciaran MacEwan, my infamous grandfather, had targeted their coven when Mom wouldn't join him and his dark coven. The guilt I felt was due to my own connection to the dark wave: Ciaran MacEwan's ancestor, Rose MacEwan, had created the dark wave. Therefore making my mother and me descendants, as well. I knew my parents had Rose's Book of Shadows somewhere, but I'd never read it. I didn't really care about how she'd created the destructive force that became the Wiccan equivalent to a holocaust.

            I also thought about how Mrs. O'Brien's fear of witches had consumed her. My mom's adoptive parents had always been horrified by my powers, but they never threw me down a flight of concrete steps. I wondered with a twinge of fear what would happen now that Jordan knew about his Wiccan heritage. Would she finally learn to accept it? Would she force him to stop his Wicca training? She can't do that, I thought angrily. I wished that Mrs. O'Brien had never taken it upon herself to take Jordan out of his aunts' care. If she hadn't been so self-righteous…

            …You may have never met Jordan, a logical part of me reasoned. I folded my arms under my head and stared up at the ceiling. Maybe this all had to happen. Maybe Jordan had to go through this for a reason. Maybe this was all fated.

            That thought made me sit straight up in bed. Fated? Had that idea really been formed by me, the unbeliever of destiny?  I shivered. Was I really starting to believe that fate had to do with Jordan and me?

            A persistent tapping noise made me jump. I looked towards my window and saw Jordan's face pressed up against the glass. I got up from my bed and crossed my room quickly. Jordan was standing on top of a ladder leaned up against my house. I yanked the window open and let him in. "Jordan, what are you doing here?" I whispered. I looked back out the window. "Where'd you get the ladder?"

            "I carried it from home," he whispered back.

            I stared at him. "You walked all the way from your house carrying a ladder?"

            "How else was I supposed to get to your room?" Jordan asked me. A streetlight illuminated the top half of Jordan's face, making his eyes sparkle despite the pain inside them.

            "Why did you come? It's so late," I said, wondering what had happened after I'd been kicked out of Jordan's house.

            "I couldn't stay in that house," Jordan answered bitterly. His eyes lingered on my lip. It was swollen now. "I can't believe my grandmother…"

            "I've seen worse," I told him, cracking a wry smile.

            Jordan just looked into my eyes. I realized then that we'd never officially gotten back together. We'd never officially broken up, either. Who made these rules about dating, anyway? Were they actual rules or was I just making them up as I went along?

            I watched as Jordan leaned down, and his lips gently pressed against mine. My bottom lip stung a little, but I stayed in the kiss, putting my arms around Jordan. After a few seconds, I pulled away a little but kept my arms around Jordan, and he rested his forehead on my shoulder, holding onto me tight. He sniffled, and I could feel his tears soaking my shoulder. I stroked his dirty blonde hair and sighed, staring out the window at the moon. Jordan and I had only known each other for a short time, but we'd already been through so much. My thoughts flashed to Romeo and Juliet. They'd fallen in love, gotten married, and killed themselves in four days. Fate had seriously screwed them over. So what did it have in store for Jordan and me?

            "Moira?" Jordan and I disentangled ourselves from each other and I looked towards my door. Mom was standing in my doorway, squinting in the darkness. "Moira, what's going on?"

            "I'm sorry," Jordan apologized, wiping his arm across his face. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I just…I just couldn't stay at my grandmother's house." He glanced back at me. "And I'm really sorry about what my grandmother did to Moira. It was totally out of line, and I'm really sorry."

            Mom just nodded, twisting her unruly hair into a braid and letting it hang down her back. "I understand. But you're not going to be able to stay up in Moira's room all night."

            Jordan nodded, and I said, "I'll set him up on the couch." As Jordan walked past my mother and I followed, Mom stopped me. "You look…different." The tiny smile she wore on her face told me she'd sensed my feelings about fate.

            I scowled at her. "I've been listening to your mùirn beatha dàn psychobabble for way too long." Mom just giggled and went back to her room.

            I picked up an extra pillow and a blanket from the hall closet, and Jordan followed me downstairs. I propped the pillow up at one end of the couch and spread the blanket across the cushions. Jordan kicked his shoes off and sat down on the couch, looking pensive. "What I don't get is, when my parents gave me to my aunt…why didn't they just stay there? The dark wave wouldn't have killed them," Jordan said in a quiet, sad voice.

            I sighed. "They were targets of the dark wave," I told him. "If they had left their town, the dark wave would have just followed them, and if they had stayed at your aunts, then the dark wave would have gotten your parents and you and your aunt and her family. They did what was best." I sat down next to Jordan and put an arm around him. "I know it hurts, and I know that if the dark wave hadn't killed your parents, a lot of things would be different, but…sometimes things just have to happen. And I know it sucks, but…sometimes stuff has to happen."

            Jordan nodded sadly. "Well, I guess we better get to sleep…we have school tomorrow."

            I just looked at him. "Of all people, I didn't expect you to be worried about going to school tomorrow."

            He shrugged. "I just want things to be normal. I know that it's never really gonna be normal again, but…"

            I nodded, understanding. "It'll get better. Trust me." I kissed his forehead and got up from the couch. "Sweet dreams."

            "'Bout you."

            I glanced back at Jordan, a bit surprised. He wore the smallest grin, wry, but loving. I smiled and thought about what Mom had implied. Were Jordan and I really… mùirn beatha dàns?

            I've been listening to Mom waaaaay too long…

*  *  *

            The next morning, when I walked downstairs into the living room, Jordan was still sleeping. I considered letting him sleep—for a second. Then, an evil grin crept onto my face as I kicked off my sneakers and took a few steps back. Then, I did something I've always sort of wanted to do.

            "WAKE UP!" I took a few running steps and threw myself onto Jordan. He screamed and threw me back onto the floor, and I took the blanket with me.

            Mom hurried in from the kitchen. "What is going on in here?"

            I sat on the floor for a second. "Wow…that was fun!" Jordan just groaned and flopped down on the couch. Mom gave me a What am I going to do with you? look and went back into the kitchen. I smiled to myself and looked back at Jordan. His left jeans leg was scrunched up, and I caught a glimpse of something on his ankle. "Hey…"

            I got up and pulled his left foot up so I could look at it more closely. "Aw, Moira, come on," Jordan muttered angrily, trying to twist his leg away from my grip.

            "Mom, look at this!" I said, ignoring Jordan.

            My mother walked back out to the living room. "What is it now?"

            I tapped a small, dagger-shaped birthmark on Jordan's ankle. "Look. The Woodbane athame."

            "Oh, that's all?" Mom gave me a slightly annoyed look; she was still cranky about being woken up last night. I shrugged, and Mom went back into the kitchen.

            "What did you say?" Jordan sat up a little, looking at his foot in my hands. His hair was sticking up in all different directions. It looked adorable.

            "It's the Woodbane athame," I repeated, releasing his ankle. "It's something that most Woodbanes have somewhere on their bodies. Not all Woodbanes have it, but many do. I have one, in fact." I lifted my shirt a little bit to reveal my birthmark, which was on my upper stomach.

            Jordan ran his hand through his hair. "Wow. So back during the witch trials, when they looked for a devil's mark…there was actually something for them to look for?"

            "Well, since there's no devil in Wicca, it's not really a devil's mark. And, not all Woodbanes have it, plus there are six other clans besides. The other clans have their own characteristics, but none of them are as definitive as the Woodbane athame."

            Jordan looked at his birthmark in interest. "So I'm Woodbane."

            I nodded. "How do you feel about that?"

            He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm stuck between knowing the Woodbane history and knowing that not all Woodbanes are dark witches." Jordan shifted uncomfortably. "What if Grams was on to something? What if my real family is…evil?"

            I shook my head. "From what she told us, that seems very unlikely. Traditional dark Woodbanes fight for power at any cost—and your grandfather stripped himself of his magick in the name of love. That's not typical dark witch behavior. And usually, dark witches aren't the victims of dark waves—they're the creators. I don't think you have to worry about your family being evil."

            Mom walked into the living room, holding some of Dad's clothes. "You can borrow these, Jordan. The bathroom's upstairs. Moira, eat your breakfast. You're both going to be late." Jordan and I got ready for school quickly, and Mom drove us over in her antique car, Das Boot.

            Everyone stared at Jordan and me when we walked into school together. Crowds parted, jaws dropped. I slipped my hand into Jordan's and squeezed it. He squeezed back, and we walked to my locker.

            Claire, Jamie, and Courtney were there when we got to my locker, and they stared first at Jordan, then at me. Courtney's eyes were round and fearful; Claire's were narrowed and cynical; Jamie's were confused. "What's going on…?" Jamie asked slowly.

            Jordan and I glanced at each other. "Well," I said, "It's a long story, but the bottom line is, Jordan's not evil." The three of them stared. "Isn't that great?" I laughed nervously.

            "I'm thrilled, trust me," Claire said dryly, giving Jordan a calculating glare. Jordan matched her gaze evenly, but said nothing.

            "How can you be sure?" Courtney asked me.

            I sighed and twirled my combination lock open. "I just…am. I told you, it's a long story. But I know he's not evil."

            Rusty walked past then. He stared at Jordan and me together, and he immediately looked angry. He glowered scathingly at Jordan, and I slipped my arm around Jordan's waist. "We were wrong about Jordan," I told Rusty. "He's not evil."

            Rusty didn't say a word, just simply went on his way. You could practically feel a cold breeze sweep through the hallway. "Do you want me to talk to Rusty for you?" Jamie offered.

            "You can try, but that kid's a brick wall," I said shortly, slamming my locker shut. It looked like my first coven was about to be split in two.

*  *  *

            I ran out of the library as the end-of-fifth period bell rang. I'd been studying for the test in Global History next period. Just as I turned the corner and was about to go into my classroom, I heard someone yelling my name.

            "Moira! Moira!" I turned around and saw Courtney careening through the halls. She ducked around students, bisected a group of juniors, and leapt over a kid hunched over his untied shoe.

            "Wow," I said as she slowed to a quick halt in front of me. "Forget cheerleading, you could be the new quarterback."

            "Hurry," Courtney said, sounding out of breath. "You gotta come with me, quick…" She grabbed my arm and started running in the direction from which she'd come.

            "Wait, Courtney, I can't. I have a test this period, and Crandon's gonna kill me if I cut again!" My legs betrayed my better judgment, however, as they followed Courtney down the hall.

            Courtney pulled me down the stairs and around to a side door of the school. "Courtney, what is going--" My sentence was cut short as I squeaked and jumped out of the way of a flying Jordan.

            Yes. I said, a flying Jordan.

            He landed hard on his back, and I heard a painful groan. I whipped my head to the other side to see Rusty coming towards him. "What the hell is this, WWF Death Match?" I asked, running into the fray.

            I grabbed Rusty's arm and pulled him back, yelling, "Rusty! Stop it now." Not only was I worried about Jordan, but I'd seen what he could do when someone pissed him off enough. Rusty was taller, bigger, and stronger than Jordan physically, but Jordan was a sixteen-year-old uninitiated witch who could throw white witch fire. This had the potential to get seriously messy.

            "Get off me," Rusty growled, and he threw me off his arm, making me stumble backwards and fall.

            Jordan had gotten back up, and was standing in front of Rusty, looking defiant. Rusty took a swing at him, but Jordan ducked and shoved Rusty onto the ground. Around them kids were rooting them on, and I half expected someone to be taking bets on the outcome. Ugh. Testosterone. I got up and decided to take matters into my own magickal hands. I raised my arms, prepared to put a binding spell on them that would stop them dead in their tracks.

            "What is going on here?" I snapped my arms to my sides as Mr. Richter walked outside, traveling with long, purposeful strides. His eyes locked first onto Jordan and Rusty, and he took them both by the arm. Then Mr. Richter saw me.

            "You know what? I actually have nothing to do with this," I told him, holding my arms up in surrender. But Mr. Richter curled his finger towards me in a get your butt over here gesture, and I sighed grudgingly and followed him into the building.

            Once we got into Mr. Richter's office, Jordan and Rusty sat down in the two chairs in front of Mr. Richter's desk, and I stood behind them. Mr. Richter pulled two files out of his file cabinet and sat down in his leather chair. He looked them over. "Jordan O'Brien." Jordan nodded his acknowledgement. "Russell McDown." I blinked as Rusty shifted in response; I'd never heard him be called by his full name. "Neither of you have had anything like this on your records before. Jordan, you haven't even been here that long. Your permanent record in your old school was clear; I'm surprised you'd start now."

            "It's not my fault," Jordan grumbled.

            "Well, how did the fight start?" Mr. Richter asked, folding his hands on his desk. Jordan and I immediately looked at Rusty. Rusty looked sullenly back at us. "Well?"

            "Jordan's a witch," Rusty said. "Like Moira. Only evil."

            "You sound like you're five," I told him.

            Mr. Richter looked perplexed. "Jordan, is this true?"

            "All, except the evil part," Jordan said.

            The principal turned to me. "Moira?"

            I grinned. "Welcome to the new Salem."

            Mr. Richter sat back in his chair, blown away by this news. "Wow. I never gave much thought to there being other witches besides Moira. Russell, what made you think Jordan was evil?"

            "He attacked another student," Rusty told him. "Derek Boles."

            "And where have we heard that name before?" I retorted.

            "I didn't intend to attack Derek," Jordan said solemnly. "He was trying to hurt Moira when I found them, and stuff just…happened. I didn't even know I was a witch before yesterday."

            "They should just rename this place Dawson's Creek," I quipped, crossing my arms across my chest.

            "Moira, please," Mr. Richter said, rubbing his temples.

            "Hey, you dragged me in here."

            Mr. Richter focused once again on Jordan and Rusty. "Again, how did this fight start? Jordan?"

            Jordan sighed. "I was sitting alone at lunch, and about five minutes before the end of the period, Rusty grabbed me and dragged me outside and started fighting me. I was just acting in self-defense. Most of the time."

            "If you call in Courtney Hartford, she can probably testify," I added.

            "Moira, this isn't Law & Order, this is the Widow's Vale High justice system," Mr. Richter told me, sounding exasperated. Turning to Rusty, he inquired, "And your reason for grabbing Jordan was…?"

            Rusty shrugged. "I was worried about Moira." I rolled my eyes.

            Mr. Richter shuffled papers on his desk around. "Well, I'll be calling both your parents—your grandmother, in your case, Jordan. Rusty, you'll have two days of suspension, and Jordan, you will have one." Rusty began to protest, but Mr. Richter cut him off, saying, "Like Jordan said, he was acting in self-defense. You were looking for trouble. And Moira?"

            I arched my left eyebrow. "Yes?"

            "How do you keep getting yourself into messes like this?"

            I shrugged. "Guess I'm just lucky." We were all dismissed from the office, Jordan and Rusty sat in chairs in the main office, and for once, I walked free from the principal's office. I couldn't help but want to stay, though; the fury in Rusty's eyes wasn't going to be extinguished anytime soon.