muttering all the spells of power and strength that I knew. Then the first needlelike tingles of pain started in my fingertips, and I cried out.
It was a long, long night.
And here I am, alive, on the other side. I am wasted by fasting, by vomiting, by a sharp-edged sickness in my gut that makes me wonder if they fed me glass. This morning I saw myself in the mirror and screamed at the dull-haired, hollow-eyed, greatly aged woman I beheld. Clyda says not to worry: my beauty will come back with my strength. What is it to her? She was never beautiful and has no idea how it feels to lose it.
Yet hollowed out as I am, like a tree struck by lightning, I can tell the difference. I was strong before, but now I’m a force of nature. I feel like wind, like rain, like lava in my strength. I’m in tune with the universe, my heart beating to its primordial, deeply held thrum. I’m made of magick, I’m walking magick, and I can cause death or life with a snap of my fingers. Was the Great Trial worth this? The illness, the scream ing agony, the clawed, ripped hands, the gouges in my thighs made when I was shrieking in terror and desperation and try ing to feel anything normal, anything recognizable, even physical pain? My brain was split open and put on display, my body was turned inside out. Yet in the destruction is the resurrection, in the agony is the joy, in the terror is the hope. And now I’ve taken that terrible, mortal journey and I’ve come through it. And I’ll be like a Goddess myself, and lesser beings will follow me. And I’ll found a dynasty of witches that will amaze the world.
—SB
“So if your mother comes home, what should I do?” Hunter asked. “I mean, is she going to hit me with a cooking pan?”
I grinned. “Only if she’s in a bad mood.” It was Wednesday, my parents were at work, Mary K. was upstairs, and we were getting ready to study. “Anyway, I told you I could come to your place,” I reminded him.
“Sky and Raven are at my place,” he said. “I assume they wanted privacy.”
“Really?” I asked with interest. “Are they getting serious?”
“I didn’t come here to gossip,” he said primly, and I wanted to smack him. I was trying to think of a clever reply when he looked around the kitchen restlessly.
“Let’s go up to your room,” he said, and I blinked.
“Uh,” I began. Boys were so not allowed upstairs in our house.
“You said you’d made an altar,” he said. “I want to see it. Your room is where you do most of your magick, right?” He stood up, pushing his hand through his pale hair, and I tried to gather my thoughts.
“Um.” The only time Cal had ever been in my room was just for a minute, after Bree had almost broken my nose during a volleyball game at school. Even then my mom had gotten twitchy, despite the fact that I was a total invalid and hardly feeling romantic.
“Come on, Morgan,” he coaxed. “We’re working. I’ll try not to jump you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
My face burned with embarrassment, and I wondered what he would do to me if I zapped him with witch fire. I was almost willing to find out.
“Sorry,” he said. “Let’s start over. Please, may I see the altar you made in your room? If your parents come home unexpectedly, I’ll do a quick look-over-there spell and get the hell out of here, okay? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“It’s just that it’s my parents’ house,” I said stiffly, standing up and leading the way toward the foyer. “I try to respect their rules when I can. But let’s go up quickly. I want you to see it.” I plodded up the stairs, intensely aware of his quiet tread behind me.
I was thankful that my room was no longer pink and stripy. Sea grass window shades replaced my frilly curtains, complementing my new café-au-lait-colored walls. The old cream-colored carpet had been pulled up, and I had a simple jute area rug instead. I loved my new room but stood nervously by my
It was a long, long night.
And here I am, alive, on the other side. I am wasted by fasting, by vomiting, by a sharp-edged sickness in my gut that makes me wonder if they fed me glass. This morning I saw myself in the mirror and screamed at the dull-haired, hollow-eyed, greatly aged woman I beheld. Clyda says not to worry: my beauty will come back with my strength. What is it to her? She was never beautiful and has no idea how it feels to lose it.
Yet hollowed out as I am, like a tree struck by lightning, I can tell the difference. I was strong before, but now I’m a force of nature. I feel like wind, like rain, like lava in my strength. I’m in tune with the universe, my heart beating to its primordial, deeply held thrum. I’m made of magick, I’m walking magick, and I can cause death or life with a snap of my fingers. Was the Great Trial worth this? The illness, the scream ing agony, the clawed, ripped hands, the gouges in my thighs made when I was shrieking in terror and desperation and try ing to feel anything normal, anything recognizable, even physical pain? My brain was split open and put on display, my body was turned inside out. Yet in the destruction is the resurrection, in the agony is the joy, in the terror is the hope. And now I’ve taken that terrible, mortal journey and I’ve come through it. And I’ll be like a Goddess myself, and lesser beings will follow me. And I’ll found a dynasty of witches that will amaze the world.
—SB
“So if your mother comes home, what should I do?” Hunter asked. “I mean, is she going to hit me with a cooking pan?”
I grinned. “Only if she’s in a bad mood.” It was Wednesday, my parents were at work, Mary K. was upstairs, and we were getting ready to study. “Anyway, I told you I could come to your place,” I reminded him.
“Sky and Raven are at my place,” he said. “I assume they wanted privacy.”
“Really?” I asked with interest. “Are they getting serious?”
“I didn’t come here to gossip,” he said primly, and I wanted to smack him. I was trying to think of a clever reply when he looked around the kitchen restlessly.
“Let’s go up to your room,” he said, and I blinked.
“Uh,” I began. Boys were so not allowed upstairs in our house.
“You said you’d made an altar,” he said. “I want to see it. Your room is where you do most of your magick, right?” He stood up, pushing his hand through his pale hair, and I tried to gather my thoughts.
“Um.” The only time Cal had ever been in my room was just for a minute, after Bree had almost broken my nose during a volleyball game at school. Even then my mom had gotten twitchy, despite the fact that I was a total invalid and hardly feeling romantic.
“Come on, Morgan,” he coaxed. “We’re working. I’ll try not to jump you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
My face burned with embarrassment, and I wondered what he would do to me if I zapped him with witch fire. I was almost willing to find out.
“Sorry,” he said. “Let’s start over. Please, may I see the altar you made in your room? If your parents come home unexpectedly, I’ll do a quick look-over-there spell and get the hell out of here, okay? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“It’s just that it’s my parents’ house,” I said stiffly, standing up and leading the way toward the foyer. “I try to respect their rules when I can. But let’s go up quickly. I want you to see it.” I plodded up the stairs, intensely aware of his quiet tread behind me.
I was thankful that my room was no longer pink and stripy. Sea grass window shades replaced my frilly curtains, complementing my new café-au-lait-colored walls. The old cream-colored carpet had been pulled up, and I had a simple jute area rug instead. I loved my new room but stood nervously by my
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