Witch Moon Page 4

  "To make sure I was okay?" Mirabella asked.

  Rowan lowered her eyes. "Partly that."

  "Well, I'm okay. So we can go on to the other part."

  The girl licked her lips, lifted her head slowly, and stabbed Bella's eyes with her own. "Are you a Witch?"

  Mirabella lifted her eyebrows and sucked in a breath. It took her a moment to formulate a reply, but she managed to find one. "That's a very personal question, Rowan. Maybe a little bit too personal. May I ask what makes you want to know?"

  "Because...you can do things. And I want to know what it means."

  Bella waited, but Rowan stopped there. "Well, come on, Rowan. Don't leave me hanging. What kinds of things are you talking about?"

  Biting her lower lip, Rowan got to her feet, paced to the middle of the room, and turned to face Mirabella. "You shouted that warning before the truck ever came into sight. You knew it was coming."

  Lowering her head, Bella closed her eyes at the pealing of the warning bells in her mind. "How do you know I didn't just hear the truck coming?"

  "Because I didn't hear it."

  "You had your headphones on."

  "I yanked them off. There was no sound-not until a second or two later."

  Bella shook her head slowly and got to her feet. She didn't mention the woman she'd seen pointing frantically, because when she'd looked around for her in the moments after the near miss-she hadn't seen her. And she knew damn well that was because the woman wasn't someone physical. She was a spirit.

  Bella said none of this to Rowan. Instead, she said. "Come with me. We need tea."

  Rowan followed her into the kitchen, where Bella put on a kettle of water, and dug two antique metal tea balls from a drawer. She opened her cupboard, on rows of glass jars, each containing herbs most of which either she or Gwyneth had grown, dried, and ground themselves. As she dipped from one of the jars, she said, "This is my special, calming blend. Chamomile, valerian, a bit of lavender." She measured tea into each tea ball, then dropped them into a pair of china cups, leaving their chains dangling over the sides. Rowan took a seat at the small round table.

  "So you think I sensed that truck coming before I could see or hear it?" Mirabella asked.

  "Yes. I know you did."

  "And that makes you think I might be a Witch?"

  Rowan shook her head. "More than just that. I saw you coming out of that shop. Gwenyth 's Chamber. And you bought stuff in there. It was in your briefcase."

  "I like herbs. I make homemade teas. Does that make me a Witch then?" She was stalling, really. Fishing. She knew too well that Rowan was the girl in her dream. And she was scared to death of the idea that the child could die because of something Bella might teach her. Apparently, something about Witchcraft. She had to be extremely careful what she said to this child.

  She heard the water start to boil and poured it into the cups. Then she carried them to the table, went to the fridge for cream, set out the sugar, and finally sat down and moved the tea ball by its chain in slow circles in the cup, to calm her nerves.

  "Rowan, why don't we chalk it up to women's intuition and call it good, hmm?" She sipped again. "After all, why should it matter what I am?" She took a sip of her tea, but it was still weak.

  "Because I need to know what I am. Am I a Witch, Miss Saint A? Is there any way to tell?"

  The tea sort of gushed backward up Bella's windpipe and out her nose.

  Now that she'd started, though. Rowan rushed right on, speaking faster with every sentence and barely pausing for a breath in between. "The other day, someone called me a name in the hall at school, and I turned around, really angry, and when I did, the posters fell off the walls. All the way up the hall from where I was standing to where the other person was. It was a good ten feet. And I knew it was that rush of anger that knocked them all down. It was like I could feel it surging out of me, you know. And then last night, my dad got on my case for some stupid thing or other, and I went up to my room, spun around to slam the door, only it slammed itself, before I ever touched it." She set her tea down, got to her feet, and paced the room. "Miss Saint A, stuff like that happens to me all the time. More than just what could be coincidence or explained away. More than I can understand. Dad says it's all in my head, and to tell you the truth I was beginning to wonder if he was right. But then my mother started coming to me...in my dreams. And it's like she's trying to tell me something, and I don't know what it is, and-"

  Tears seemed to choke her. They welled up in her eyes, and her voice got tighter until it tightened into silence.

  Bella got up and went to her, clasped her shoulders, and looked right into her ocean blue eyes. "You're not crazy. There's nothing wrong or even all that unusual about what's happening to you, Rowan."

  Rowan sniffled and brushed at her eyes. "Really?"

  "I promise. I...." Mirabella closed her eyes, bit her lip. Hell, she was risking her job and Jonathon's anger by even saying a little. But the girl was in pain. What choice did she have? Could she really just bite her tongue and watch this incredible young woman suffer?

  No. She couldn't.

  So she chose her words carefully. "I believe we all have more than the five senses we acknowledge. A lot of other people believe it too. Doctors, scientists, world leaders."

  Blinking, searching her eyes. Rowan said, "What kinds of senses?"

  Bella shrugged. "Oh, psychism or telekinesis. Picking up on thoughts. Causing physical movement by the power of will and emotion. And there are lots of other extra senses we have too. Precognition...."

  "Like when I reach for the phone before it rings, and already know who's on the other end. Or hum a song and turn on the radio and hear it playing?"

  "Yes. Just like that. It's pretty widely accepted by those who study such things, that there are two times in life when these...other senses...are naturally strongest. One is when we're very young. Babies, toddlers. Before society has convinced us that such things don't exist. And the other time, is during puberty. Particularly in girls."

  The relief that flooded Rowan's face made Mirabella know it was worth the risk. She'd said very little. And somehow, she had given Rowan something she'd desperately needed; validation, assurance that she wasn't losing her mind.

  "You're not just saying this to make me feel better?"

  "No. I'm not."

  She smiled, though her tears were spilling over now. Down her cheeks. "Then...everyone has these powers? Not just...Witches?"

  "Everyone has them to one degree or another. Witchcraft is just the name given to the art of mastering them, learning to control them, and make them stronger. Well-that's a part of it, anyway."

  "And what's the rest of it?"

  Mirabella lowered her eyes. "You haven't even tasted your tea.'"

  Rowan returned to her seat, calmer now, and sipped the tea, then licked her lips and sipped it again. "It's good," she said. "Miss Saint A, what do you think my mom is trying to tell me?"

  "I don't know. Maybe she's just letting you know she's still with you, watching over you," Mirabella mused, returning to her seat as well.

  Rowan seemed to think on that for a moment. "I don't think that's it. She always seems...agitated. Worried about something. Her lips move like she's trying to say something, but I just can't hear her."

  Frowning. Mirabella sensed the girl was not referring to a dream. Not an ordinary one, anyway.

  Funny, how they'd both received messages during dreamtime, neither of which could be cast off as dreams. And how they seemed to be on a path that was determined to cross. "What was your mother's name. Rowan?"

  "Ashley." she said, softly, wistfully. "Ashley Rowan Hawthorne. And I'm Rowan Ashley."

  There was a powerful mother-child bond at work here. She could feel it clearly. "How do you feel when she comes to you?" she asked, hoping to get some clue what the message might be.

  Rowan closed her eyes. "First...it's just joy to see her. She's so beautiful. And so real. Dad says I look just like
her. But I think he's exaggerating. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to wake up at all, just so I could still be with her."

  A little bolt of alarm shot through Bella. "She wouldn't want that. Rowan—for you to leave this lifetime before you were meant to. She wouldn't want that at all."

  Rowan studied her, tilting her head to one side. "I know that." Then, sighing deeply, she took a small pouch out of her pocket. "I found this in the trunk in the attic, where my dad keeps all my mom's things." Gently, she opened the pouch, and tipped it up so its contents spilled out onto the table. A handful of crystals-quartz, tiger's eye, amber, and jet. Some rose petals. A seashell. A bit of hair, its color so deeply auburn it had to have been Rowan's own. The lock was fine, curling, baby hair, bound in a pink ribbon. There was a feather, raven or perhaps crow. And a silver five-pointed star, enclosed with a circle, on a long chain.

  "Does your father know you have this?"

  '"No. He wouldn't like it. Does it mean what I think it means? Was my mother...was she a Witch?" Rowan picked up the pentacle. "Isn't this an evil symbol?"

  Bella closed her hand over Rowan's around the star, then turning it palm up, opened the girl's fingers. She traced the star with her own. "Earth." she said, tracing the point in the three o'clock position. "That's your body and your home." She traced another point "Air, your mind and your breath." Tracing the next, she said, "Water, your blood and your emotions." And the next. "Fire, your energy and your passion." Finally, she moved her finger over the topmost point "Spirit—the life force that lives in all of us.

  "What most people call God or Goddess, is, to me, the Source from which we come, to which we return, and of which we are always a part. It's alive in each of us, and it's the sum total of us all. That's what the circle around the star means. That we're all connected. That's what your mother believed in, Rowan. That's why she wore this symbol There's nothing evil about that."

  Another tear, a relieved one. Bella thought, rolled slowly down Rowan's ivory cheek. She smiled, sniffed noisily. "Then she wasn't into murdering cats or anything like that?"

  Bella was probably getting herself in too deep. But she had come this far. She didn't suppose she could make things much worse by giving the girl one more kernel of knowledge, to ease her mind. "There's one cardinal rule in the Craft of the Wise, Rowan. And that is to harm none. No true Witch would hurt another living thing."

  Rowan looked up, eyes widening slowly. "You know so much about this...does that mean, you really are...?"

  "Yeah. I really am. But if it gets out, Rowan, especially with the stuff that's been going on in town lately, I could be in a lot of trouble. Not everyone understands. Not everyone wants to."

  "I'm not going to say anything to anyone," Rowan promised.

  "I don't want you to lie either. If you're asked, tell the truth. The thing is...by talking to you at all, I'm putting us both in an awkward position. I don't feel very good about discussing this stuff with you behind your father's back."

  Rowan lowered her head. "I don't understand why he's so against it. I mean, he had to know about Mom."

  "Maybe you need to talk to him. Openly and honestly. If you can get his permission, I'll help you learn to understand more about it all."

  "But what if he says no?"

  Mirabella lowered her eyes. "Then I'll give you suggestions for some good books on the subject and...and then, I don't know. We'll see." Reaching out, she stroked the girl's hair. "I promise you, it's better to be honest with him from the start. You don't want to get into the habit of sneaking around, hiding things, and lying to him. It can only lead to trouble."

  She sighed heavily. Bella knew she disagreed. "Listen, whatever you do, no drastic measures, okay? I'm on your side. Please remember that. And when it comes down to it, so is your dad. No one loves you more than he does."

  "I know that."

  "So?"

  She drew a breath, nodded as she blew it out again. "Okay. At least I know I'm not crazy."

  "No. You just inherited a special gift from your mom. More than one, even." She nodded at the little empty pouch on the table. "That was your mother's power bag. Put the things back inside and keep it with you all the lime. A lot of her energy lingers in those things. I felt it when I touched the pent. When you want to feel her near you, take them out, hold them. Wear the necklace if you want, under your blouse for now. But don't let anyone else handle them. You can add your own special treasures when they turn up, if you want to. Maybe hand it down to your own daughter one day."

  Rowan looked at her for a second, then she reached across the table, slid her hand over Bella's, and squeezed it just once. "You don't know how much this talk means to me," she whispered. "Thank you, Miss Saint A."

  "I think you may as well call me Bella, outside school, all right?" she said. Inexplicably, she felt tears brimming in her own eyes. "Now, do you need a ride home?"

  "I've got the four-wheeler."

  "And a helmet. I hope?"

  Rowan rolled her eyes. "You sound like my father."

  Bella walked her through the house, to the front door, and watched her leave. Then she turned to head back to the kitchen to clean up the tea cups, but when she passed by the antique oval mirror in the hallway, she stopped in her tracks, jerked her head to the side, and stared wide eyed at her own reflection.

  A pale skinned, auburn haired woman stood just behind her, but only for an instant. She met Bella's eyes with an intense, unreadable expression, then faded almost at once.

  Dad says I look just like her....

  Ashley, she thought. That's who the ghost was. She had to be Ashley Hawthorne. Rowan's mother.

  Jonathon's wife.

  Chapter Five

  By five-thirty. Jonathan had resisted calling her a half dozen more times. But the temptation remained, even while he drove the car home. So he postponed the inevitable by calling Rowan first.

  She snapped up the phone on ring number two, and her "hello" was so cheerful that he held the phone away from his ear and blinked at it in shock. Then he drew it back again. "Rowan?" he asked.

  "Hi. Dad. Are you on your way home?"

  "Yeah, I am. You sound in a good mood. Should I take that to mean you're fully recovered from your brush with disaster this morning?"

  "Fully," she said. "I'm as good as new. I was a little shaky, but then I talked to Miss Saint A this afternoon, and she-"

  "She went to school today?" he asked.

  "No. Actually...." She sighed.

  "Actually?" he prompted.

  "Miss Saint A says I shouldn't get into the habit of keeping things from you, so here goes nothing. I went home early. And I decided to go by her house to see how she was doing."

  He was quiet for a moment. "Thank you for that," he said softly.

  "You're not mad?"

  "No. Are you okay, hon? I thought you said you were feeling better."

  "Oh, I am. Now."

  "Good. So how was she, when you saw her?"

  "She was great, Dad. I mean, she wound up giving me some herbal tea and making me feel better. Even though she's the one who got banged up this morning."

  He nodded slowly. "So it's safe to say she wasn't resting when you got there."

  "No. Not really. Dad...I was there when you called."

  "Oh?" He tugged his tie loose and undid the top button of his shirt.

  "I know you like her."

  He licked his lips, shook his head at the phone. "I only just met her, Rowan."

  "I know. She's like that. I mean, I liked her the first time I met her too, and I usually hate teachers on sight, even if I don't know them yet. There's something...special about Bella, though."

  He lowered his head, gnawed his lip. His daughter was too perceptive for his own peace of mind.

  "And I hate to think of her all alone in that big house making her own dinner tonight. I mean, after what she did this morning-"

  "You want to invite her to dinner?" He battled a smile.

  "Can we?"


  "I guess. I don't know if she'll come, but-"

  "Why don't you stop and ask her? It's on your way home anyway."

  Yes, it was on his way home. He'd already been looking forward to driving by and trying to catch a glimpse of her as he passed. What was it about the woman...?

  "Dad?"

  "What? Oh, yeah. It's on the way. I'll stop and deliver the invitation. Good idea, Rowan."

  "I know it was," she said. "So I'll see you later, then?"

  "Sure will. Love you, kiddo."

  "You too, Dad."

  "Rowan?"

  "Hmm?"

  He swallowed hard. "Thanks for being up front with me. You always can, you know. No matter what."

  "It works both ways, Dad," she said.

  He paused, sighed. "You're right. There is something...special about Bella."

  "I know."

  The phone clicked, and he folded his in half and tucked it back into his pocket. Then he turned onto Sycamore, two blocks up, and into Mirabella Saint Angeline's gravel driveway. His feet crunched over the stones, tapped up the steps and across the porch, and then he rang the doorbell. He waited a few beats. No one answered. He tried listening for footsteps from within, but the place was far too noisy for that. She had at least a dozen sets of wind chimes out there, and beyond the tinkling of them, there were the birds. She had more birds flitting around than any other house on the block. Frowning, he rang the bell again, then peered through the glass. Odd.

  He was just about to start imagining she'd had complications from that bump on the head and was lying unconscious somewhere inside, when he heard a sound from beyond the house-one loud enough to be heard above the din. The back yard? He trotted down off the porch and around back. And there she was, standing on a wobbly ladder, pouring birdseed into a feeder. Which, he supposed accounted for all the birds.

  "Now that's what I call taking it easy," he remarked.

  She jerked her head around, apparently startled. The ladder tipped. The bag of seed hit the ground with a thump, and Jonathon shot forward to prevent the lady from doing the same. The next thing he knew she was in his arms. She'd fallen, and he'd caught her, awkwardly. His arms were tight around her thighs, and his face was pressed to her abdomen...mostly. Her hands braced on his shoulders. A rush of desire rose up inside him like a sleeping dragon that had been poked with a sharp stick. It had been a long time since he'd been this close to a woman or held a feminine body this tightly to his. And in spite of his usually chivalrous nature, he took advantage. He lowered her slowly. His face slid over her belly, pushing her shirt up a little on the way. His five o'clock shadow rasped over her skin. He heard her catch her breath. To his credit he pulled back a little to let her breasts slide by his face without quite touching, but he held tightly enough so the rest of her was pressed to the rest of him all the way down, until her feet touched the ground.