Chapter 13
SIRONA
Because of a minor emergency with Sabrina that Bronwen had to deal with, we didn”t end up having our sister meeting on Wednesday. So Grant drops me off after a lovely dinner with his family, and I immediately hop on my bike and head for Morgan”s house. I could walk, but by the time we”re done, it”ll be dark, and I”d rather ride on the roads than navigate the paths in the dark.
Bowie, Morgan”s owl familiar, is perched on the porch railing when I get there. We all have similar large Victorian houses—apparently architectural preference is a family trait—but where mine is purple, Morgan”s is royal blue with light blue trim. Bowie nods at me as I walk up the steps, Koko trailing behind me.
The clomp of hooves on the driveway makes me turn. Bronwen and Lake, her goat, are heading up the pavement. ”Hey,” I say.
Bronwen waves. ”Any idea what this is about?”
I shake my head. ”No clue.”
It”s not like Morgan to be excited about, well, anything. Or cryptic. She”ll tell you exactly what she”s thinking at all times. Whether or not it”s the nicest thing to say. She was sick the day they handed out tact.
Lake—short for Live, Laugh, Lake, a joke from five years ago when Bronwen got the goat—wanders off to graze on Morgan”s lawn. Which it desperately needs. She hasn”t been keeping up on lawn maintenance. The gardener in me wants to do a quick spell to trim the grass for her, maybe prune the overgrown bushes. But she would hate me meddling, so I refrain.
We find our middle sister in her home office, a huge room that doubles as her spell room. We all have similar rooms in our houses. Nana”s is her entire third floor.
Morgan”s sprawled on the navy-blue velvet loveseat, looking through what looks like an old leather diary. She sits up when we come in, frowning. But she”s usually frowning, so that doesn”t mean much.
”Hey.” Bronwen drops onto the overstuffed armchair.
Morgan nods to Bronwen, then at me. I take a seat in her desk chair, the only other seating in the room since Morgan”s occupying the entire loveseat.
”How”re things with Grant?” Morgan doesn”t look up from the journal as she addresses me.
”Yeah. Is it true love yet?” Bronwen adds.
I blush, heat spreading over my face and down my chest. Surely I”m as red as my hair right now. The way he kissed me good night in his car… The way he touched me, kissed me yesterday before we pried ourselves apart to go to separate bedrooms. I don”t think either of us will last the weekend without having sex. I know I won”t, unless he”s adamantly against it. Which I”m positive he isn”t.
I can”t wait to get inside you.
He whispered that to me before I got out of his truck tonight.
”OK, so we know the sex is good.” Bronwen rolls her eyes.
My hand goes to my chest. My skin is hot. ”I didn”t say that.”
”You”re tomato red.”
”Yeah, but good sex doesn”t mean anything,” Morgan adds. “We”ve all had good sex. I mean shit, we know you”ve had sex a few times.” She gestures to our little sister.
”Fuck off,” is little sister”s reply.
It was a kind of rude thing to say. Just because Bronwen didn”t mean to get pregnant, doesn”t mean she deserves derision. Sure, Sabrina”s dad is kind of a douchebag. But Sabrina is awesome and Bronwen is a better mom than I would have guessed her to be.
”Anyway. I”m pretty sure you didn”t call an urgent sister meeting because you needed an update on my romantic life,” I say. I don”t need the two of them to get into it. Of any pair of us, they fight more than either of them fight with me.
Morgan glances at the armchair in the corner, frowning, like she’s listening. I assume Maria is there, saying something Bronwen and I can’t hear.
“That’s not at all what I told you.” Morgan sighs and sits up a little straighter, turning her attention away from the chair and toward us. ”I”ve been helping Mom out, cleaning out her extra bedrooms so Gary can use them as an office and a workout room when he moves in.”
”She say any more about the wedding?” I ask. She”s been oddly quiet about details, despite Gary joining us every week for dinner. Sometimes his son, Zach, joins him too. But he”s so quiet, I can”t get a read on him. Gary, at least, is very friendly and genuinely seems to want to get to know us. And for some reason, he and Grant have really clicked.
”No,” Morgan says. ”She seems more focused on Gary moving in than planning things.”
”It”s so weird that we didn”t even know she was dating,” Bronwen muses.
”Yeah, you”d think a love witch might notice that sort of thing.”
”Morgan, don”t start. Please?” I say before it can become a thing. Morgan is always the most quiet and sullen of the three of us. But she seems extra grumpy today.
There”s a weighty silence that stretches on long enough, it makes me want to squirm.
Morgan mumbles something, presumably to Maria, but I don’t catch it.
”OK, so what about Gary”s office and Mom”s bedroom?” I finally say to cut the tension.
”I found this.” Morgan holds up the leather-bound journal. Long strings of leather hang from it.
She opens it to the first page and holds it out toward me. Since the desk chair has wheels, I roll closer.
The first page has printed in gold ”Grimoire Property of” and a line. In Mom”s familiar script, it says her name. The dates have it starting right after Morgan was born, up through her getting pregnant with Bronwen. And our dad dying.
He didn”t live long enough to see Bronwen born.
”What is it?” Bronwen asks, sitting forward in the chair.
”Mom”s Grimoire.” A Grimoire is like a journal where witches keep notes about their magic, spells, any communication with deities, anything else we want to record related to being a witch.
As Morgan fans the pages, it”s easy to see Mom used her Grimoire as more of a diary about everything, not just about magic.
”OK, so it”s Mom”s record of a chaotic time in her life.” I shrug. ”We shouldn”t be reading her personal stuff unless she wants us to.” What if there”s something awful in there, like her saying she didn”t want a third child? Or wishing, after Dad died, she wasn”t pregnant?
Worse, what if somehow she was glad he?—
Nope. She would never.
Now Morgan sits up all the way and turns her knees toward me. Shutting Bronwen out. I slowly roll my chair toward my little sister so we can include her. If it”s about Mom, I don”t care what petty crap is happening between them; it involves all three of us.
”I normally wouldn”t, but there was this spirit there, pushing me.”
”Who was it?” Bronwen asks.
”I don”t know. But he was insistent. Wouldn”t leave me alone until I agreed to read it. Then hung around while I did.”
Morgan pauses, then says, “Maria is convinced he was in the mob when he was alive. Not that it matters to anyone but her.”
Not for the first time, I thank the deities for gifting me with healing as my strength, not communication with spirits. I don”t need some ghost telling me what to do.
”So, what?” I ask.
Oh shit. What if Dad isn”t Bronwen”s father? Mom wouldn”t, would she? No, that can”t be it. She went into such a deep depression after Dad died. She wouldn”t have done that if she”d cheated on him.
”It”s... I can”t.” She shoves it at me. She”s holding it open to a specific page. ”Read it.”
My eyes scan the first few lines and they seem fine. ”Fred and I are desperate for another baby.” Thank deities. They wanted Bronwen. And Mom wanted her with Dad.
I take a deep breath to clear the suspicions from my head. ”OK, so they were a little desperate to get pregnant again.” I check the date at the top of the page. ”This is right around when she would”ve gotten pregnant with Bronwen, so she probably didn”t know yet.” I shrug. It”s also only three days before Dad died. But I don”t like thinking about that.
”Keep reading,” Morgan bites out.
”Read it out loud,” Bronwen says.
”Fine.” I focus on the book. ”Fred says I should be more patient, that Morrigan is only one. We have time. And I can”t put my finger on it, I just know it has to happen soon. So we”re going to do a fertility spell.”” I skim the rest of the page. It”s just details about the spell. ”You really want me to read a fertility spell?”
Morgan looks up like she”s thinking. ”It”s a few days later.”
I frown, unease creeping over me. ”What, the day he died?”
Morgan”s face turns to stone. She nods.
”OK. ”Oh fuck. Oh no. No, this cannot be happening. We started the spell and” That”s it. That”s all there is that day.” Of course she didn”t finish writing that day. Her husband had a sudden heart attack and died.
”OK, I guess it”s the next day.”
”Damn, Morgan. Forgetful much?” Bronwen says, irritation heavy in her voice.
Before Morgan can respond, I read again. ””It”s my fault. All my fault. It was too much pressure. Too much. I was too much. We never should”ve done it. He”s gone, and it”s my fault. And I missed my period today. What if I really am pregnant? We didn”t even need to, and I pushed him and it”s all my fault and now I”m alone to raise these girls. His girls. And the possibility of a new one. How do I raise three children—his children—without him? How do I go on without him?””
After this, several pages are torn from the book. Which is definitely odd.
I stop. I can”t read my mother”s private grief like this. My chest is aching, and tears are pressing the backs of my eyes. ”We shouldn”t be reading this. This is private.” I have only the faintest snapshots of memories from that time. Mom spent months in her room, and there wasn”t a single spell that could cut through her grief. Nana and our aunts took care of us.
My only real vivid memory of that time was going into her room, wanting my mommy. I took my favorite book with me for her to read me before bed. One thing I distinctly remember is my footie pajamas with rabbits and polka dots on them. She was visibly pregnant then, lying on her side, staring into space. I tried to hand her the book, but she wouldn”t take it. Then Morgan started crying, and Mom, still not looking at me, smoothed my hair and told me to go be a good girl and take care of my sister.
There”s a reason I remember it so distinctly even though I was only three. It was a formative moment. I understand enough about psychology to know it”s why I take care of everyone and why I don”t trust them to take care of me in return. I”m trying to get better about that.
Trying.
Morgan snatches the book from my hands, pulling me out of my memory. ”That”s the important part.” She looks at me expectantly, eyes wide.
I stare back. ”What? What am I not getting?”
She glances at Bronwen, who looks as confused as I do.
”They did a spell. He died. She says it was her fault.” Morgan stares at me as if this should be obvious. “And then she ripped out a bunch of pages.”
I get what she”s implying, but she”s reading way too much into it. ”Yeah, and she says it”s because she put so much pressure on him. She must have thought that pressure was what caused his heart attack.”
Morgan huffs in frustration. ”Or the spell went wrong—we know a little something about that—and she killed him. On accident, but she killed him.”
”No way.” Bronwen gets up and starts pacing. Which I”ve never seen her do before. ”There is no way Mom could keep that kind of secret. She”s terrible at keeping secrets.”
It”s true. She tried to throw me a surprise eighteenth birthday party. I knew right away, because she drops these obvious hints she thinks are subtle. She conjures all our Yule and birthday presents after we”ve gone to bed that night because otherwise she”d tell us what she got us.
”Exactly. She could never keep something this big to herself.” Concerned, I keep an eye on Bronwen. She seems stressed about what Morgan”s suggesting, even though she says she doesn”t believe it either.
”Besides,” I add, ”Nana would figure it out. Since she has that ability to just know everything.” It was how Mom knew the next morning that our spell went wrong. Nana sensed it, figured it out, and told Mom.
”And Nana would kill Mom herself if her magic went that wrong.” Bronwen pauses at Morgan”s desk, picks up her athame, and starts fiddling with it. Fortunately it”s carved cherry wood, so it won”t cut her.
”She hasn”t killed us for our spell going wrong,” Morgan argues. She”s sitting ramrod straight now, glaring at Bronwen as she plays with the tool.
”We were just kids. And Nana would be furious if our magic killed someone. Our spell didn”t kill anyone,” I say.
”No, just our love lives,” Bronwen mutters.
I refrain from glaring at her along with Morgan.
Bronwen drops the athame. ”This is ridiculous. And I am not sitting here trying to talk you out of being delusional. Get your shit together, Morrigan.”
With that, she storms from the room.
Another heavy silence falls over us. I want to leave too, because Morgan is clearly going through something she doesn”t want to really talk about if she”s projecting this onto Mom. But I”m not sure how to do so gracefully. I don”t need to storm out like Bronwen did.
”We have to say something to her,” Morgan finally says.
”To Bronwen?”
”No. To Mom.” Morgan looks at me like I”m supremely stupid for not following her wild theory.
”Yeah, no. We are not talking to Mom about this. Because there”s nothing to talk about.”
”But what if there is?” Morgan raises her voice. ”If you”re right, she”ll tell us we”re nuts. And if I”m right, she”ll admit it.”
”Yeah, as if it would be that easy.” OK, she probably would admit it. Because of the whole not keeping secrets thing. ”If you”re wrong, which I am certain you are, then we effectively tell Mom we think she”s capable of killing our father. You really want to do that? You want this coming between you and her forever? No good will come of confronting her.”
”Then we”ll know!” Morgan yells.
”We already know!” I yell back.
I never yell. Damn Morgan for getting me this upset.
”Besides, spirits that are restless, which Dad”s would certainly be if he had been killed by his wife, come talk to you. Dad”s spirit is clearly at peace since he”s never wanted to talk to us.” It would be nice if he wanted to say hi, just once. But he”s never talked to Morgan or Nana. Or at least that Nana has shared with us.
”Fuck you,” Morgan spits at me. ”Get out.”
I”m angry enough I don”t care that I hit a sore spot. I probably poked it a little bit on purpose. I stand and head for the door. ”Gladly.”
I”m happy to leave my sister to her inane theories.