Free Dark Magick by Cate Tiernan Page A

and asked if I could come over and of course I wanted to. I called Unser’s Auto Shop and canceled Das Boot’s repair appointment. Then I followed Cal to his house, where we could be alone.
     
    Cal’s room was wonderful. It ran the whole length and breadth of the big house since it was the attic. Six dormer windows made cozy nooks, bookcases lined the walls, and he had his own fireplace and an outside staircase leading down to the back patio. His bed was wide and romantic-looking, with white bed linens and a gauzy mosquito net looped out of the way. The dark wooden desk where he did his homework had rows of cream-colored candles lining its edge. I had never been in here without envying him this magickal space.
    “Want some tea?” he asked, gesturing to the electric kettle. I nodded, and we didn’t speak, enjoying the silence and safety of his room.
    Two minutes later Cal put a cup of tea into my hand, and I adjusted its temperature and took a sip. “Mmm.”
    Cal turned away and stood looking out the window. “Morgan,” he said. “Forgive me.”
    “For what?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
    “I lied to you,” he said quietly, and my heart clutched in panic.
    “Oh?” I marveled at how calm my voice sounded.
    “About my clan.” The words had almost no sound.
    My heart skipped a beat, and I stared at him. He turned to me, his beautiful golden eyes holding promises of love, of passion, of a shared future. And yet his words . . .
    He took a sip of tea. The pale light from the window outlined the planes of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. I waited, and he came close to me, so that his shirt was almost brushing mine and I could see the fine texture of his skin.
    Cal turned toward the window again and pushed his fingers through his hair, holding it back from his left temple. I caught a glimpse of a birthmark there, beneath the hair. I reached up and traced its outline with my fingers. It was a dark red athame , just like the one I had under my arm. The mark of the Woodbane clan.
    “Hunter was right,” Cal went on, his voice low. “I am Woodbane. And I’ve always known it.”
    I needed to sit down. I had been so upset when I first found out about my heritage, and Cal had said it wasn’t so terrible. Now I saw why. I put down my tea and walked across the room to the futon couch. I sank onto it, and he came to kneel at my side.
    “My father was Woodbane, and so is my mother,” he said, looking more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen him. “They’re not the Belwicket kind of Woodbanes, where everyone renounces evil and swears to do good.” He shrugged, not looking at me. “There’s another kind of Woodbane, who practices magick traditionally, I mean traditionally for their clan. For Woodbanes that means not being so picky about how you get your knowledge and why you use your power. Traditional Woodbanes don’t subscribe to the council’s edict that witches never interfere with humans.They figure, humans interfere with us, we all live in the same world, not two separate universes, so they’re going to use their powers to take care of problems they might have with humans, or to protect themselves, or to get what they need. . . .”
    I was unable to take my eyes off his face.
    “After my dad married my mother, I think they started to go different ways, magickally,” Cal continued. “Mom has always been very powerful and ambitious, and I think my father disagreed with some of the things she was doing.”
    “Like what?” I asked, a little shocked.
    He waved an impatient hand. “You know, taking too many risks. Anyway, then my dad met Fiona, his second wife. Fiona was a Wyndenkell. I don’t know if he wanted a Wyndenkell alliance or he just loved her more. But either way, he left my mother.”
    I was finally getting some answers. “But if Hunter was right and your father was also his father, then wasn’t he half Woodbane himself?” This sounded like some awful soap opera. The Young and the