Free The Coven by Cate Tiernan

time it’s been just the two of us. His father left us when Cal was about four.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said again. She was speaking to me as if I were an adult, and for some reason this made me feel younger than sixteen.
    Selene Belltower shrugged. “I was sorry, too. Cal missed his father very much, but he lives in Europe now, and they don’t see each other often. At any rate—you shouldn’t be startled that my son confides in me. It would be silly for him to try to hide anything, after all.”
    I breathed in, trying to relax. So this was life in a blood-witch household. No secrets.
    Cal’s mother poured the cocoa into two brightly colored hand-painted mugs and handed one to me. It was too hot to drink, so I set it down and waited. Selene waved her hand over her mug twice, then took a sip.
    “Try this,” she suggested, looking up at me. “Take your left hand and circle it widdershins over your mug. Say, ‘Cool the fire.’”
    I did, wondering. I felt warmth go into my left hand.
    “Try the cocoa now,” she said, watching me.
    I took a sip. It was noticeably cooler, perfect to drink. I grinned, delighted.
    “Left hand takes away,” she explained. “Right hand gives. Deasil for increasing, widdershins for decreasing. And simple words are best.”
    I nodded and drank my cocoa.This one small thing was so fascinating to me. The idea that I could speak words, make movements that cooled a hot drink to the right temperature!
    Selene smiled, and then her eyes focused on mine sympathetically. “You look like you’ve had a rough time.”
    This was an understatement, but I nodded. “Has Cal . . . told you about . . . anything?”
    She put her mug down. “He’s told me you recently found out you were adopted,” she said. “That your biological parents must be blood witches. And this afternoon he told me you thought you were probably the daughter of two Irish witches who died here sixteen years ago.”
    I nodded again. “Not exactly here—Meshomah Falls. About two hours away. I think my mother’s name was Maeve Riordan.”
    Selene’s face became grave. “I’ve heard that story,” she said. “I remember when it happened. I was forty years old; Cal wasn’t quite two. I remember thinking that such a thing could never happen to me, my husband, our child.” Her long fingers played with the rim of her mug. “I know better now.” She looked up at me again. “I’m very sorry this has happened to you. It’s always somewhat difficult to be different, even if you have a lot of support. One is still set apart. But I know you must be having an especially hard time.”
    My throat felt like it was closing again, and I drank my cocoa. I didn’t trust myself to agree. I distracted myself with pointless details: If she had been forty sixteen years ago, she would be about fifty-six now. She looked like she was about thirty-five.
    “If you want,” said Selene, sounding hesitant, “I can help you feel better.”
    “What do you mean?” I asked. For a wild moment I wondered, Is she offering me drugs?
    “Well, I’m picking up waves of upset, discord, unhappiness, anger,” she said. “We could make a small, two-person circle and try to get you to a better place.”
    I caught my breath. I had only ever made a circle with Cal and our coven. What would it be like with someone who was even more powerful than he was? I found myself saying, “Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”
    Selene smiled, looking very much like Cal. “Come on, then.”
    The house was shaped like a U, with a middle part and two wings. She led me to the back of the left wing, through a very large room that I figured she must use for her coven’s circles. She opened a door that set into the wall paneling, so you could barely see it. I felt a thrill of pure, childlike delight. Secret doors!
    We stepped into a much smaller, cozier room furnished only with a narrow table, some bookshelves, and candelabras on the walls. Selene lit the candles.
    “This