Dark Angel, page 9
part #4 of Night World Series
Magic happens. She'd seen that on a bumper sticker somewhere. Now she clapped both hands to her mouth. There was something boiling up inside her and she wasn't sure if it was a scream or a giggle.
"My great-grandma is a witch?"
"Well, not exactly. She would be if she knew about her family. That's the key, you see-you have to know. Your great-grandma has the blood, and so does your grandma, and so does your mom. And so do you, Gillian. And now . . . you know." The last words were very gentle, very deliberate. As if Angel were delicately putting into place the last piece of a puzzle.
Gillian's laughter had faded. She felt dizzy, as if she had unexpectedly come to the edge of a cliff and looked over. "I'm . . . I've got the blood, too."
"Don't be afraid to say it. You're a witch."
"Angel . . ." Gillian's heart was beating very hard suddenly. Hard and slow. "Please ... I don't really understand any of this. And . . . well, I'm not."
"A witch? You don't know how to be, yet. But as a matter of fact, kid, you're already showing the signs. Do you remember when that mirror broke in the downstairs bathroom?"
"And when the window broke in the cafeteria. You asked me if I did those things. I didn't. You did. You were angry and you lashed out with your power . . . but you didn't realize it."
"Oh, God," Gillian whispered.
"It's a frightening thing, that power. When you don't know how to use it, it can cause all kinds of damage. To other people-and to you. Oh, kid, don't you understand? Look at what's happened to your mother."
"What about my mother?"
"She ... is ... a ... witch. A lost witch, like you. She's got powers, but she doesn't know how to channel them, she doesn't understand them, and they terrify her. When she started seeing visions-"
"Visions!" Gillian sat straight up. It was as if a light had suddenly gone on in her head, illuminating five years of her life.
"Yeah." Angel's violet eyes were steady, his face grim. "The hallucinations came before the drinking, not after. And they were psychic visions, images of things that were going to happen, or that might have happened, or that happened a long time ago. But of course she didn't understand that."
"Oh, God. Oh, my God." Electricity was running up and down Gillian's body, setting her whole skin tingling. Tears stung in her eyes-not tears of sadness, but of pure, shocking revelation. "That's it. That's it. Oh, God, we've got to help her. We've got to tell her-"
"I agree. But first we have to get you under control. And it's not exactly a thing you can just spring on her without any warning. You could do more harm than good that way. We've got to build up to it."
"Yes. Yes, I see that. You're right." Gillian blinked rapidly. She tried to calm her breathing, to think.
"And just at the moment, she's stable. A little depressed, but stable. She'll wait until after Monday. But Tanya won't."
"Tanya?" Gillian had nearly forgotten the original discussion. "Oh, yeah, Tanya. Tanya." David, she thought.
"There is something very practical you can do about Tanya-now that you know what you are."
"Yes. All right." Gillian wet her lips. "Do you think Dad will come back if Mom realizes what she is and gets it all together?"
"I think there's a good possibility. But listen to me. To take care of Tanya-"
"Angel." A slow coil of anxiety was unrolling in Gillian's stomach. "Now that I think about it ... I mean, aren't witches bad? Shouldn't you-well, disapprove of this?"
Angel put his golden head in his hands. "If I thought it was bad would I be here guiding you through it?"
Gillian almost laughed. It was so incongruous- the pale northern lights aura around him and the sound of him talking through clenched teeth.
Then a thought struck her. She spoke hesitantly and wonderingly. "Did you come here to guide me through it?"
He lifted his head and looked at her with those unearthly eyes. "What do you think?"
Gillian thought that the world wasn't exactly what she had thought. And neither were angels.
The next morning she stood and looked at herself in the mirror. She'd done this after Angel had first come to her and made her cut her hair-she'd wanted to look at her new self. Now she wanted to look at Gillian the witch.
There wasn't anything overtly different about her. But now that she knew she seemed to see things she hadn't noticed before. Something in the eyes-some ancient glimmer of knowledge in their depths. Something elfin in the face, in the slant of the cheekbones. A remnant of faery.
"Stop gazing and come shopping," Angel said, and light coalesced beside her.
"Right," Gillian said soberly. Then she tried to wiggle her nose.
Downstairs, she borrowed the keys to her mother's station wagon and bundled up. It was an icy-fresh day and the whole world sparkled under a light dusting of new snow. The air filled Gillian's lungs like some strange potion.
(I feel very witchy.) She backed the car out. (Now where do we go? Houghton?)
(Hardly. This isn't the kind of shopping you do
at a mall. Northward, ho! We're going to Woodbridge.)
Gillian tried to remember Woodbridge. It was a little town like Somerset-but smaller. She'd undoubtedly driven through it at some point in her life.
(We need to go shopping in Woodbridge to take care of Tanya?)
(Just drive, dragonfly.)
Woodbridge's main street ended in a town square bordered by dozens of decorated trees. The stores were trimmed with Christmas lights. It was a postcard scene.
(Okay. Park here.)
Gillian followed Angel's directions and found herself in the Woodbridge Five and Ten, an old-style variety store, complete with creaking wooden floorboards. She had the terrifying feeling that time had gone back about fifty years. The aisles were tight and the shelves were jammed with baskets full of goods. There was a musty smell.
Beyond asking questions, she stared dreamily at a jar of penny candy.
(Head on to the back. All the way. Open that door and go through to the back room.)
Gillian nervously opened the rickety door and peered into the room beyond. But it was just another store. It had an even stranger smell, partly delicious, partly medicinal, and it was rather dimly lit.
"Uh, hello?" she said, in response to Angel's
urging. And then she noticed movement behind a counter.
A girl was sitting there. She was maybe nineteen and had dark brown hair and an interesting face. It was quite ordinary in shape and structure-a country girl sort of face-but the eyes were unusually vivid and intense.
"Um, do you mind if I look around?" Gillian said, again in response to Angel.
"Go right ahead," the girl said. "I'm Melusine."
She watched with a perfectly friendly and open curiosity as Gillian moseyed around the shelves, trying to look as if she knew what she was looking for. Everything she saw was strange and unfamiliar-rocks and herby-looking things and different colored candles.
(It's not here.) Angel's voice was resigned. (We're going to have to ask her.)
"Excuse me," Gillian said a moment later, approaching the girl diffidently from the other side. "But do you have any Dragon's Blood? The-activated kind?"
The girl's face changed. She looked at Gillian very sharply. Then she said, "I'm afraid I've never heard of anything like that. And I wonder what makes you ask."
Gooseflesh blossomed on Gillian's arms. She had the sudden, distinct feeling that she was in danger.
CHAPTER 11
Angel's voice was taut but calm. (Pick up a pen from the counter. The black one's fine. Now-let go. Just relax and let me move it.)
Gillian let go. It was a process she couldn't have described in words if she'd tried. But she watched, with a sort of fascinated horror, as her own hand began to draw on a small white invoice slip.
It drew across the lines, in some kind of pattern. Unfortunately the pen seemed to be out of ink, so all Gillian could see was a faint scribble.
(Show her the carbon copy.)
Gillian peeled off the first sheet of paper. Underneath, in carbon, was her design. It looked like a flower-a dahlia. It was crudely colored in, as if it were meant to be dark.
(What is it, Angel?)
(A sort of password. Unless you know it, she's not going to let you buy what you need.)
Melusine's face had changed. She was looking at Gillian with startled interest.
"Unity," she said. "I wondered about you when you came in. You've got the look-but I've never seen you before. Did you just move here?"
(Say "Unity." It's their greeting. And tell her that you're just passing through.)
(Angel-is she a witch? Are there other witches around here? And how come I have to lie-)
(She's getting suspicious!)
The girl was looking at Gillian rather oddly. Like someone trying to catch a conversation. It scared Gillian.
"Unity. No, I'm just visiting," she said hastily. "And," she added as Angel whispered, "I need the Dragon's Blood and, um, two wax figures. Female. And do you have any charged Selket powder?"
Melusine settled back a little. "You belong to Circle Midnight." She said it flatly.
(Whaaaat? What's Circle Midnight? And how come she doesn't like me anymore?)
(It's a sort of witch organization. Like a club. It's the one that does the kind of spells that you need to do right now.)
(Aha. Bad spells, you mean.)
(Powerful spells. In your case, necessary spells.)
Melusine was scooting her chair behind the counter. For a moment Gillian wondered why she didn't get up, and then, as Melusine reached the
edge of the counter, she understood. The chair was a wheelchair and Melusine's right leg was missing from the knee down.
It didn't seem to hinder her, though. In a moment, she was scooting back with a couple of packets and a box in her lap. She put the box on the counter and took out two dolls made of dull rose-colored wax. One of the packets held chunks of what looked like dark red chalk, the other a peacock-green powder.
She didn't look up as Gillian paid for the items. Gillian felt snubbed.
"Unity," she said formally, as she put her wallet away and gathered up her purchases. She figured if you said it for hello, you could say it for goodbye.
Melusine's dark eyes flashed up at her intently and almost quizzically. Then she said slowly, "Merry part . . . and merry meet again." It almost sounded like an invitation.
(Well, I'm lost.)
(Just say "Merry part" and get out of here, kid.)
Outside, Gillian looked at the town square with new eyes. (The Witches of Woodbridge. So, are they, like, all over here? Do they own the Creamery and the hardware store, too?)
(You're closer than you think. But we don't have time to stand around. You've got some spells to cast.)
Gillian took one more look around the quiet tree-lined square, feeling herself standing in the bright air with her packages of spell ingredients. Then she shook her head. She turned to the car.
Sitting in the middle of her bed with the bedroom door locked, Gillian contemplated her materials. The plastic bags of rock and powder, the dolls, and the hair she'd gathered from the brush in Macon's bathroom last night.
Two or three strands of sun blond curls. Three or four long black glossy hairs.
"And you don't need to tell me what they're for," she said, looking at the air beside her. "It's voodoo time, huh?"
"Smart girl." Angel shimmered into being. "The hair is to personalize the dolls, to link them magically to their human counterparts. You've got to wind a hair around each doll, and name it out loud. Call it Tanya or Kimberlee."
Gillian didn't move. "Angel, look. When I got that hair, I had no idea why I was doing it. But when I saw those little wax figures-well, then I realized. And the way that girl Melusine looked at me. ..."
"She has no idea what you're up against. Forget her."
"I'm just trying to get things straight, all right?" Hands clasped tightly in her lap, she looked at him. "I've never wanted to hurt people-well, all right, yes, I have. I've had those-those images or whatever at night, like seeing a giant foot splat down
on my geometry teacher. But I don't really want to hurt people."
Angel looked patient. "Who said you were going to hurt them?"
"Well, what's all this for?"
"It's for whatever you want it to be for. Gillian, dragonfly, all these materials are just aids for a witch's natural powers. They're a way of focusing the power, directing it to a particular purpose. But what actually happens to Tanya and Kim depends on you. You don't have to hurt them. You just have to stop them."
"I just have to stop them from doing what they're planning to do." Gillian's mind was already sparking into action. "And Tanya's planning to write letters. And Kim's planning to spread the word. . . ."
"So what if Tanya can't write letters? And if Kimberlee can't talk? It would be sort of... poetic justice." Angel's face was grave, but his eyes were glinting with mischief.
Gillian bit her lip. "I think it would kill Kim not to talk!"
"Oh, I bet she could live through it." They were both laughing now. "So if she had, say, a bad sore throat. . . and if Tanya's arm were paralyzed . . ."
Gillian sobered. "Not paralyzed."
"I meant temporarily. Not even temporarily? All right, what about something else that could keep her from typing or holding a pen? How about a bad rash?"
"A rash?"
"Sure. An infection. One she'd have to keep bandaged up so she couldn't use her fingers. That would stop her for a while, until we can think of something else."
"A rash . . . Yeah, that could work. That would be good." Gillian took a quick breath and looked down at her materials. "Okay, tell me how to do it!"
And Angel walked her through the strange process. She wound the dolls with hair and named them aloud. She rubbed them with crumbled Dragon's Blood, the dark red chalky stuff. Then she dabbed the hand of one and the throat of the other with the iridescent green Selket powder.
"Now . . . may I be given the power of the words of Hecate. It is not I who utter them, it is not I who repeat them; it is Hecate who utters them, it is she who repeats them."
(And who the heck's Hecate?) She sent the thought to Angel wordlessly, in case speaking aloud would ruin the spell.
(Be quiet. Now concentrate. Pick up the Tanya doll and think Streptococcus pyogenes. That's a bacteria that'll give her a rash. Picture it in your mind. See the rash on the real Tanya.)
There was a certain satisfaction in doing it. Gillian couldn't deny that, even to herself. She pictured Tanya's slim olive-skinned right hand, poised to sign a letter that would destroy David's future. Then she pictured itchy red bumps appearing, another hand scratching. Redness spreading across the skin. More itching. More scratching . . .
(Hey, this is fun!)
Then she took care of the Kim doll.
When she was finished, she put both dolls in a shoe box and put the shoe box under her bed. Then she stood up, flushed and triumphant.
"It's over? I did it?"
"You did it. You're a full-fledged witch now. Hecate's the Queen of the Witches, incidentally. Their ancient ruler. And she's special to you- you're descended in a direct line from her daughter Hellewise."
"I am?" Gillian stood a little straighter. She seemed to feel power tingling through her, a sparkling energy, a sense that she could reach out and mold the world. She felt as if she ought to have an aura. "Really?"
"Your great-grandmother Elspeth was one of the Harmans, the Hearth-Women, the line that came from Hellewise. Elspeth's older sister Edgith became a big witch leader."
How could Gillian have ever thought she was ordinary, less than ordinary? You couldn't argue with facts like these. She was from a line of important witches. She was part of an ancient tradition. She was special.
She felt very, very powerful.
That night, her father called. He wanted to know if she was okay, and to let her know he loved her.
All Gillian wanted to know was whether he'd be home for Christmas.
"Of course I'll be home. I love you."
"Love you."
But she wasn't happy when she hung up. (Angel, we've got to figure things out. Is there a spell I should do on him?)
(I'll think about it.)
The next morning she sailed into school cheerfully and looked around for someone who would talk. She spotted the cropped red head of J.Z. the Model and waved hello.
"What's up, J.Z.?"
J.Z. turned hazy blue-green eyes on her and fell into step. "Did you hear about Tanya?"
Gillian's heart skipped a beat. "No," she said, with perfect truth.
"She's got some awful rash or infection or something. Like poison ivy. They say it's driving her crazy." As always, J.Z. spoke slowly and with an almost vacant air. But Gillian thought there was a gleam of satisfaction under the blank look.
She shot J.Z. a sharp glance. "Well, that's too bad."
"Sure is," J.Z. murmured, smiling absently.
"I sure hope nobody else catches it." She was hoping to hear something about Kim.
But J.Z. just said, "Well, at least we know David won't." Then she wandered off.
(Angel, that girl doesn't like Tanya.)
(A lot of people don't like Tanya.)
(It's weird. I used to think being popular meant everybody likes you. Now I think it's more like everybody's afraid not to like you.)
(Right. Let them hate you as long as they fear you. But, you see, you've done a public service, putting Tanya out of commission.)
In biology class, Gillian found out that Kim was absent and had canceled gymnastics practice for the day. She had something' like strep throat and couldn't even talk. Nobody seemed heartbroken over this, either.
(Being popular means everybody's glad when something bad happens to you.)
(It's a dog-eat-dog world, kid.) Angel chuckled.
Gillian smiled.
She had protected David. It gave her a wonderful feeling to be able to protect him, to take care of him. Not that she exactly approved of what he'd done. Buying an English paper and turning it in as your own-that was pretty bad. Not just wrong, but petty somehow.
