Origins Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Scotland, April 1682

  Chapter 2 - Gathering and Sanctifying Spring Herbs

  Chapter 3 - Charging an Amulet, Esbat, Seed Moon

  Chapter 4 - Drawing Down the Moon

  Chapter 5 - The Witch’s Jar: A Spell of Protection

  Chapter 6 - Night Visions

  Chapter 7 - Beltane Rites, the Fifth Day of May

  Chapter 8 - Esbat Rites, Mid-July

  Chapter 9 - On the Making and Charming of Poppets

  Chapter 10 - Lughnassadh

  Chapter 11 - Spelling a Death Drink with Dark Powers

  Chapter 12 - Reversing a Spell

  Chapter 13 - A Spell for the Darkest Hour

  Chapter 14 - Samhain

  Epilogue

  All quoted materials in this work were created by the author.

  Any resemblance to existing works is accidental.

  Origins

  SPEAK

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2002

  This edition published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc, 2008

  Copyright © 2002 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company

  Produced by 17th Street Productions,

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  are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Alloy, Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-440-65149-6

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  With thanks to Silver, And with love for my children of the Barley and Snow Moons

  Prologue

  “Hey, Morgan!”

  Afternoon sunlight bounced off the cars in the high school parking lot as I turned to face my best friend, Bree Warren. I knew that she was eager to catch up with me—I’d been kind of cranky and out of sorts all week—but at the moment I was in a huge hurry. I leaned against the driver’s side of my huge ’71 Plymouth Valiant, which I’d nicknamed “Das Boot.”

  “What’s up, Bree?”

  Bree ran up and stopped a few feet away from me, gasping for breath. “I just wanted to sort of check in, see how you were doing today.”

  I nodded. “Well, I heard from Hunter last night. I’m supposed to go to his house now.”

  Her eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh. So Hunter’s back.”

  “Apparently so.” Hunter Niall, my boyfriend of two months—was it possible it had been only that long? I couldn’t imagine life without him. I loved him with all my heart and soul and was fairly certain that he was my mùirn 2 origins beatha dàn, my soul mate. He had left a little over two weeks ago to find his parents.

  “Are you nervous?” Bree looked at me sympathetically.

  “A little.” I sighed. All the time Hunter had been gone, we’d had only one conversation. Worried, I had scried for him and found him with another woman. Not kissing or anything romantic—thank the Goddess for that—but locked in a passionate conversation. I wasn’t sure what to make of the whole thing. I was afraid to think too hard about it.

  “I’m sure it’ll be okay,” she said confidently. “Hunter loves you, Morgan. You can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. You have nothing to worry about.”

  I looked up at Bree, feeling a little comforted. “Thanks. I just love him so much. . . . Well, you know how I feel.”

  She nodded. “I don’t want to keep you, then.” She smoothed down a lock of shiny dark hair and gave me a concerned frown. “Listen, I hope everything’s okay. I know you’ve been worried. Let me know if you need to talk, all right?”

  “All right.” I smiled. It seemed like Bree had gotten even more beautiful, more caring, more empathetic since she had fallen in love with my other best friend, Robbie Gurevitch. Not that she’d been totally selfish before—she just seemed warmer now, more open.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “’Bye.”

  Bree headed back toward the school and Robbie, and I climbed into Das Boot and swung out of the parking lot. It was mid-March, and the sidewalks were still covered with glistening, melting snow. I tried to calm my nerves as I drove toward Hunter’s rented house on the other side of town. But the truth was, I was very afraid. Afraid of what Hunter would tell me. Afraid that I wouldn’t want to hear it.

  After I arrived, I sat in Hunter’s driveway for a few minutes with the car running, trying to collect my thoughts. On the one hand, this was Hunter. Hunter, whom I loved and had missed terribly—I couldn’t wait to see him. But on the other hand, what if he had found something new and wonderful in Canada? What if that was why he hadn’t called me? What if he had been afraid to tell me something hurtful over the phone?

  Sighing, I pulled the key from the ignition and smoothed my worn cords. I ran a quick hand through my long brown hair and decided that taming it was a lost cause. Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of Das Boot and headed for the door. I reached out my hand to ring the doorbell, but before I could get there, the door opened.

  “Morgan.”

  “Hunter.” As soon as I saw Hunter’s face—serious, loving—my fears and anger faded away. I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face in the crook of his neck, and breathed in his warm, familiar scent.

  “I missed you,” I murmured into his collar. “I was so worried.”

  “I know, love.” I could feel Hunter’s hand rubbing my back, his other hand reaching up to stroke my hair. “I missed you, too. I wanted you there with me every moment.”

  “Every moment?” I asked, unable to prevent myself from picturing him arguing with the woman from my vision.

  “Every moment.” Hunter leaned back and looked at me, then turned and gestured to his living room. “Sit down for a moment and let me get you some tea. There’s lots to talk about.”

  I nodded, pulling off my coat and looking around. “Where’s your father?” Our phone conversation the night before had been very brief, largely due to the fact that it was after midnight and my mother was standing beside me in the hallway with steam coming out of her ears because he’d called so late. All I had learned from Hunter was that he had found his dad, who was in poor health, and that he had convinced him to come back with him to Widow’s Vale. His mother, unfortunately, had died three months earlier, around Yule. Hunter hadn’t said as much, but I could sense his frustration at not finding her in time and his grief over losing the mother he’d had so little time with.

  “He’s asleep,” Hunter called, heading for the kitchen. “He’s been sleeping almost nonstop since we left his cottage. I’m hoping that all the rest will be good for him. He certainly needs it.”

  I settled on the sofa, and after a few minutes Hunter joined me, holding two cups of chamomile tea. “For you,” he said, han
ding a cup to me and sitting down. “I think we could both use some soothing after the past couple of weeks.”

  I sipped my tea, closed my eyes, and tried to let all of my fears, all of my insecurities and anger run out of me. “Hunter,” I said finally, feeling more calm, “tell me what happened in Canada.”

  Hunter’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and I saw a darkness pass over his eyes. “It was . . . difficult.” He paused and sipped his tea. “I feel like I’ve been tested in ways I never could have predicted or imagined. My mum is dead.” He looked at me briefly, and I nodded slowly. “She and my da had been on the run from the dark wave for all those years—eleven years.” He sighed. “It was Selene, you know. Selene Belltower sent the dark wave after them because she couldn’t forgive my da for leaving her and Cal.”

  I gasped. Selene Belltower and her son, Cal, had first introduced me to the world of Wicca. It was Cal who told me I was a blood witch. I’d then realized that I was adopted, that I was the biological daughter of Maeve Riordan and Ciaran MacEwan—two very powerful, and very different, witches. I had thought that Cal was my true love, my mùirn beatha dàn, but it turned out that he was a pawn of his mother, who wanted to harness my power for her own dark uses. And I’d learned that before Hunter was born, his father had loved and married Selene, making Cal Hunter’s half brother. Both Cal and Selene were dead now—Selene had died trying to steal my power, and in the end Cal had died trying to save me.

  “It was Selene?” I asked finally, and Hunter nodded.

  “My mum scried for the dark wave in Mexico, and she got too close. She was never the same after that, and she died last December. After that my da moved to a tiny village in French Canada. He was living in filth, like a madman. I found out he was acting as a sort of medicine man to the local population, selling his services as a witch, which was bad enough. But I soon realized that he was also doing something much worse—he was contacting the villagers’ dead loved ones through a bith dearc and receiving payment for it.”

  I looked at Hunter in disbelief. “Contacting the dead? I didn’t think that was possible.”

  Hunter nodded again. “It is. A bith dearc is an opening into the shadow world where spirits reside after they die. It doesn’t naturally occur very often, and it’s very rarely used by ‘good’ witches—only when it’s imperative to get information. My father began using the bith dearc to try to contact my mother. He’s utterly lost without her.” Hunter’s mouth twisted into a strange expression—he looked angry, sad, and understanding of his father’s devotion all at the same time.

  “Wow,” I said softly. “How horrible for your dad. How horrible for you.” I touched his arm, and he looked up at me gratefully.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “while I was there, he succeeded in contacting my mum. So I got to say good-bye to her, which was—priceless. But a bith dearc saps a living witch’s strength, and my da was fading every day. I had to get him away from that village before he killed himself. The council gave me an assignment in a town three hours away, and I took him with me. While we were there, he agreed to come here to live with me for a while.” Hunter turned to me and smiled and shrugged, as if to say, “The end.”

  “That’s not everything, though,” I challenged. “There was a woman. I saw you with her. I know you felt me scrying for you.”

  Hunter’s smile faded, and he nodded. “Justine,” he said quietly. “Justine Courceau. She was my assignment from the council.”

  Hunter was a Seeker for the International Council of Witches, which meant that he investigated witches suspected of using dark magick. “What was she doing?” I asked.

  Hunter sighed. “She’s a kind of . . . rogue. She’s the only witch in her small town, and she believes that knowledge is pure—any knowledge. She was collecting true names . . . of people.” My eyes went wide. That was a major Wiccan no-no. “I was sent there to stop her and destroy her list.”

  “Did you?” I asked, remembering the emotion on Hunter’s face when I had scried for him.

  “Yes.” Hunter frowned, and his voice grew softer. “Justine was very passionate about what she believed in. When you saw us, we were arguing about whether the list was inherently bad. I was under a lot of stress, and she was very . . . persistent.”

  I stared at him, dreading his next words.

  “I kissed her,” Hunter continued, and my heart plunged. “I knew as soon as I did it that it was a mistake. I was lonely and . . . sad. I missed you. I wanted you.” Hunter groaned softly. I turned away. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. I couldn’t look at him right now.

  “How does kissing another woman . . . mean that you want to spend time with me?” I stared at the wall. I couldn’t imagine wanting to kiss anyone else, anyone but Hunter, for any reason. I struggled to get it all to make sense, but I just couldn’t.

  I could hear Hunter’s sigh. “I don’t know, Morgan, and I’m sorry. So sorry. If there was some way that I could undo it, I would.”

  I shook my head. “But you can’t.”

  “I know.” I felt Hunter’s fingers touch my back, but I scooted away. “Morgan, I don’t know what to say, how to explain it all to you. I love you very much. You’re my mùirn beatha dàn, and I know that.”

  I let out a ragged breath, like I was about to cry. Dammit—no! I took a deep lungful of air, not wanting to fall apart in front of Hunter. I wanted to hear what he had to say about this. I wanted to act like an adult.

  Hunter went on. “The whole drive home, you were all I could think about. If you want to know why in that moment I kissed Justine, I can scarcely figure it out myself. It happened quickly. I felt like everything in my life was going the wrong way. My job with the council, my father—”

  “—and me,” I finished for him. “Because I scried for you. Without asking. And before you left—” My voice caught again. Before Hunter left, we had been planning to make love. But at the last minute Hunter had backed out. He’d said he didn’t want to love me and leave me—he wanted to be there for me, my first time, on the morning after. I had felt ridiculous then, and I felt even more so now.

  Hunter put his hand on my shoulder, and this time I was too busy trying not to cry to pull away. “Morgan, this has nothing to do with what happened before I left. I love you, and of course I want to make love with you—it just wasn’t the right time. You know that. I was startled when you scried for me, and everything else was going wrong. I suppose I was angry. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. Justine means nothing to me. It’s you I love.”

  Sniffling, I tried to calm myself down. I reached for my tea and took a sip, then sighed and slowly turned my body to face Hunter. “I know you do,” I whispered. “It just . . . hurts. And I still don’t understand.”

  Hunter frowned, leaning forward to brush my hair out of my eyes. “Maybe I can’t make you understand,” he said softly. “I can only say again that I love you, and I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

  I looked up into Hunter’s eyes—they were warm, filled with concern and love. But I still hurt. “Maybe,” I said softly. “I can’t say I forgive you yet. You’ll have to give me some time.”

  Hunter nodded, and I could see sadness welling up in his eyes. “Morgan, I can’t say I’m sorry enough.”

  I looked down at my tea, cradling the cup in my hands. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say anymore.

  Hunter sat back in the sofa. “Morgan, there’s more news—if you want to hear it.”

  I turned the teacup in my hand, feeling utterly overwhelmed. “What next?” I asked sarcastically. I was dreading his next revelation. Everything up to this point had been awful.

  “First,” he said after a moment, “the council. Morgan, the council had been in contact with my parents months ago—back when my mother was sick, before she died. They knew where my parents were and didn’t tell me.”

  I turned to look at him. “What? How do you know? Are you sure?”

  Hunter nodded. “My da told me. He
thought I already knew. My mentor, Kennet—he sent a healer for my mum back in December.”

  I frowned. “So—”

  “So they betrayed me. They probably wanted me here, to protect you. And I don’t regret that—truly, I don’t regret that at all. But they didn’t give me the choice. They let me believe that my parents were still missing.”

  I stared at him, at the hurt in his face. I could see how this would affect him. He had missed seeing his mother alive because he’d had to stay here and protect me. Hunter had placed all of his trust in the council since he had become their youngest Seeker a year ago, and this was how they treated him. “What are you going to do?”

  Hunter shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  I slowly put my cup down. “Was there something else?” I asked shortly, dreading the answer.

  Hunter nodded, looking stung. I knew he wanted forgiveness, but I wasn’t ready to give him that. “Stay here for a moment,” he said as he slid off the couch and went upstairs to his bedroom. In a few seconds he thumped back down the stairs, holding an ancient-looking book under his arm.

  “What’s that?”

  Hunter came closer and held it out to me. “This is very interesting. It’s a record of sorts. My father found it in Justine’s library.”

  I shuddered at hearing her name again, but I composed myself and took the book from him carefully, so that I didn’t have to touch his hands. I ran my hands over the cover, which was made of torn and faded leather. Opening it, I could see that the pages were handwritten. “A Book of Shadows?”

  “Not a Book of Shadows, exactly.” Hunter flipped the pages back to the beginning, where a handwritten title page read, A Book of Spelles and Memories, by Rose MacEwan. “It’s more like a memoir.”

  “Rose MacEwan,” I whispered. “Do you think . . . ?”

  Hunter nodded gravely. “She lived in Scotland during the Burning Times. It’s very likely that she was an ancestor of yours. This book could be invaluable for what it can tell us about the dark wave spell and how it came into being. My da’s read most of it, but I haven’t looked at it at all.” He closed the cover of the book and looked up at me hopefully. “Would you like to read it with me, Morgan?”