"She's awake," Ruth said. "Come on over."

The woman approached. She was strinking—definitely shades of Raven. Her hair long and auburn with a dramatic streak of blond in the front. She had a powerful body, with sleek, defined arms and a Celtic tattoo up near her right shoulder. The whole effect was set off by the formfitting black pants, sleeveless shirt, and black boots she wore. This was Kate, I guessed. She looked really tough, but also feminine. Pretty much exactly how you think a female defensive magick expert should look—kick-ass and cool.

"Alisa, this is Kate," Ruth said, confirming my suspicion.

"Hi Alisa," Kate said, sitting down on the floor next to me. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've just been hit on the head with a lot of plates."

She smiled. "Well, at least your sense of humor is still intact. That's a good sign." She looked up at Ruth, "Sam get anything?"

"Not yet." Ruth shook her head. "So, what do you think?"

"Well," Kate said, twisting one of her many silver rings, "it looks a little like Oona. I'm finding the same residual energy disturbance that I usually see after she graces us with her presence. It's not exactly the same, but it's close enough."

"But how can Oona be here?" Ruth asked, putting her hand to her head in concern.

"Beats me," Kate replied. "She's never transferred her energy like this before. This is totally new. Charlie covered this place well, but I'll add another layer of protection spells before I go. It's all I can think to do."

"Goddess," Ruth groaned, panic in her voice. "Oh, Goddess. It's spreading."

Sam came in from the kitchen. He looked to Kate, and she repeated what she had just said to Ruth. Then he came over to me.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, squatting down.

"Sorry about your dishes," I said.

He broke into a boyish grin and stroked my hair.

"Okay," Kate said, "I'd better get back. Don't worry, Alisa. We've been spelling this house for hours. Rest easy tonight. If you have any more trouble, Sam, I'm a phone call away."

Kate gave Ruth a gentle pat on the shoulder, pulled on a black leather jacket and a pair of gloves, and headed out.

"Do you want me to stay?" Ruth asked. "Or I'm sure Aunt Evelyn is home by now. We can call her…"

"No," said Sam, standing up. "Let's not. We've done all we can do. Alisa just has to be able to rest. There's nothing left here. I don't see any immediate threat."

She and Sam shared a long look, as if they were communicating telepathically. (Which they may have been able to do, I had no idea.) Ruth finally nodded.

"Leave these packs on for another half hour," she told Sam. "Also, put some marigold tisane and apple cider vinegar on a washcloth. You can apply that to the bruises tomorrow. But I'll check in and see how things are going."

After Ruth had gone, Sam and I sat down at the kichen table and drank tea out some paper cups he had left over from a picnic. Sam lent me a snuggly bathrobe to wear since I couldn't put my shirt back on over the packs that Ruth had attached to my chest with medical tape. The kitchen looked more or less normal, just with piles of broken glass swept into the corners.

"Tomorrow," he said, "I'm taking the day off. How about we go to Salem? You know, get out of here for a little while."

"Sounds great," I said, holding out a bandaged hand to accept a cookie he passed over to me from the counter. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn't quite know how to put it.

"What is it?" I asked, cracking the cookie in two.

"Some of those dishes," he said, his big blue eyes fixing on me hard, "I saw them burst in midair. They were being deflected."

"I have powers," I said quietly. Though there was nothing wrong with this fact, I treated it like it was my dirty secret. It still felt foreign.

"That's not possible," he answered, shaking his head.

"I don't know why or how, but I do," I said. "Honest."

"Goddess," he said. "So all this time, you've been fully capable of doing magick?"

"Yep," I said, biting my cookie. "Poorly, but I can."

Now that I thought of it, Sam would be the perfect person to teach me how to scry. Scrying seemed like a perfect way to get some information—maybe find out something about why I was supposed to come to Gloucester.

"You work in divination, right?" I said.

"Mostly," he replied.

"Can you teach me how to scry?"

"Scry?" He shrugged. "Sure. I can try. Not all witches can scry succesfully. It's a personal thing, and there are lots of different methods. You have to find out which one is right for you. We'll try method first. We're related, so we might use the same element."

He got up and went into the living room and returned with a large black bowl. He filled this from the contents of a jar he pulled from one of the kitchen cabinets.

"It's seawater," he said, setting the bowl down on the table. "I gather up a jar a week. A major rule of Wicca—never take more natural resources than you need, even from something as huge as the ocean."

Sam lectured me on the basics. I was impressed with the depth of his knowledge. Part of me always saw Sam as the goofy kid my mother had described in her book. Now I see what he really was: a mature and incredibly responsible witch with years of training. He placed five white candles around the bowl, elevating them on stacks of books so that they sat just above the rim. After lighting them with a match, he turned of the overhead light.

"All right," he said, taking my hands. "Relax. Breathe deep. Focus on the water."

I did. At first nothing happened. It was just us, sitting in the dark, staring into a bowl of water for about twenty minutes. Then I realized I was looking down through a square form, as if I was peering into a box. There was a flash of purple, then we were back to the water. I'd been hoping to see people, to hear them say clever, cryptic things. All I got was a box full of purple.

"I think I've had enough, Sam," I said, sighing.

"Did you see something?" he asked.

"I don't think it was anything," I said. "Just a flash of color."

"You're probably exhausted." He got up and turned on the light. "We'll try again when you're feeling better. For now, I think we both need some rest."

14. Witch Trials

March 21, 1953

Ostara already. I've been so busy the past few months, I've barely noticed how the time has gone by since the dearc. No visits from Oona, thank the Goddess. We seem to have been completely successful.

In the meantime the little child inside me grows. She is a girl, of this I am certain. I never knew what utter joy motherhood would bring. I have become even more aware of the turning of the wheel and the phases of the moon. I feel her movement when the moon is full. She tends to be sleepy when it wanes.

— Aoibheann

Salem is only a short drive away, and Sam took a scenic route along the water. The sky was finally clear, and it was breezy. Aside from a few little aches and the cuts and bruises, I was fine. It was nice to get out alone with Sam.

Pulling into the town, I was amazed by all the Wiccans I saw on the streets. Everyone seemed to have a pentacle necklace, or tattoo, or something kind of witchy. In fact, the witch thing seemed to be done to death. Every store window seemed to feature an picture of a little figure in a black pointed hat, riding a broom. Sam parked his car in a lot near the visitors' center.

"Come on," he said. "There's something I want to show you."

Tucked behind some buildings next to the lot was an ancient cemetery, with thin, frail headstones—some sunk halfway in the ground. Next to this was a square sectioned off by a low stone wall. Heavy slabs of stone jutted out from the wall at equal intervals, forming benches.