Free Spellbound by Cate Tiernan Page B

found her at the bottom of the stairs. This is the third time in two weeks. Neither of us have mentioned it, but the fact is that she is old. She hasn’t taken care of herself, she’s worked too much magick with too few limitations, and she’s dabbled too freely with the dark forces.
    That’s a mistake I never make. Yes, I’m part of Turneval, and yes, I call on the dark side. But never without protecting myself. Never without precautions. I don’t drink from that cauldron without making sure it will be refilled.
    At any rate, Clyda’s health is Clyda’s concern. She doesn’t ask for or want my care, and now I need her less and less in my studies. Since the Great Trial, I can learn any thing easily; of course, the strength and the weakness of Wicca is that there’s always more to be learned.
    I just reread this entry and can’t believe I’m yapping on about an old woman’s health when just last night my life changed again. Clyda finally introduced me to some members of her coven, Amyranth. Even now my skin gets chilled, just writing the name. I won’t lie: they terrify me, by reputation, by their very existence. And yet I’m so drawn to them and their mission. I have no doubt I was meant to be part of them. From birth I was marked to be in Amyranth, and to deny that would be lying to myself. Oh, I have to go—Clyda is calling.
    —SB
     
    There were only four other cars in the parking lot of St. Mary’s when I pulled in to drop off Mary K. Probably thirty years ago, weekday-morning services were more attended, but nowadays it seemed amazing that Father Hotchkiss bothered to have them at all.
    “You sure you want to go?” I asked Mary K. “Wouldn’t you rather just go get coffee instead?”
    My sister shook her head but made no move to get out of the car.
    “What’s going on, Mary K.?” I asked. “You seem so unhappy lately. Is it because of Bakker?”
    Again she shook her head, looking out her window. “Not just Bakker,” she said finally. “All guys. I mean, look at you and Cal. And Bree and all her boy toys. Guys are just . . .”
    “Losers?” I suggested. “Jerks? Imbeciles?”
    She didn’t smile. “I just don’t get it,” she said. “It’s just—I feel like I never want to date again. Never want to be vulnerable again. And I hate that. I don’t want to go through my whole life alone.”
    I closed my mouth hard before I could say something stupid like,You’re only fourteen, don’t worry about it.
    Instead I said, “I know how you feel.”
    She looked at me, troubled, and I nodded.
    “I feel the same way sometimes. I mean, Cal was my first boyfriend, and look what a mistake that turned out to be. After that, how can I ever be sure of any guy again?”
    “You can be sure of Hunter,” she said. “He’s a good guy.”
    “I think so. But then I think, Cal seemed like a good guy, too.” I grimaced. “You know what the really sick thing is?”
    “What?”
    “I miss Cal,” I admitted. “I felt like I knew him, like I understood him. Now I know he was lying to me, using me, setting me up. But it didn’t feel that way at the time, so I don’t remember it that way. I’m drawn to Hunter, really drawn to him, but I feel like I don’t know him and never will.”
    We sat in Das Boot, feeling depressed. Instead of cheering her up, I had only brought myself down. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to go off on my own problems.”
    “Want to come to church with me?” Mary K. asked with a touch of humor.
    “No.” I gave a tiny laugh. “Want to come to Practical Magick with me?”
    “No. Well, I’d better go in. I’ll walk home after. Thanks for the ride.”
    “Sure.”
    “And thanks for talking, too.” She gave me a sweet smile. “You’re a good sister.”
    “You are, too,” I said. I loved her so much. She got out and walked up the church steps, and I put Das Boot in gear and headed north, to Red Kill and Practical Magick.
     
    I’d come to Practical Magick