“By, like, two years,” Reagan protested.
“We’ve been practicing magic longer; it just makes sense,” Cora said, and then scowled as Reagan cut her a sideways look and sucked her teeth.
Grandma King ignored Meiner. “Dayna’s right. We’re on your home turf, Bronagh, so we’ll assist you with yours.”
There was silence, and everyone looked at Yemi, who finally sighed heavily and said, “Oh, all right, then. I suppose it was going to be inevitable.”
Dayna felt her chest swell with excitement. Beside her, Reagan burst up from her chair and hugged her, and Dayna laughed as she jumped up and down. Then she danced halfway around the table to hug her mother, and Yemi smiled reluctantly and patted her arm.
Dayna glanced over at Meiner. The older girl was staring at her grandmother with the kind of pure loathing that made a shiver drop down her back. A second later it was gone, and Meiner’s face was completely composed again. Like a marble mask.
If she’d blinked, Dayna thought, she might have missed it.
But why should she feel bad? This was just as much their right. And she’d been waiting for ages. She hadn’t counted on it coming so soon; she’d thought it would be at least another year. A witchling was supposed to be able to ascend as soon as she hit her sixteenth birthday, but Yemi had been so cautious. When they’d both turned seventeen, Reagan had joked despairingly that they would be Bronagh’s age by the time they were allowed.
But now she might be a mere day from a direct connection to her goddess, to becoming a full witch.
She felt like she was vibrating in her chair; the excitement was really setting in. Soon she and Reagan would be full witches.
And the most important part: ascending meant having access to the type of power that could help protect her coven. They were stronger if she and Reagan ascended. Safer from whatever they might have to face.
There was a sudden thud, and Dayna jerked, startled. Cora had shot up, tipping her chair over. She scowled at Grandma King. For a moment it seemed she was about to say something, then she stomped out of the kitchen and vanished down the hall.
The witches looked at one another, all but Meiner, who stared straight ahead, her body rigid. Dayna could see a muscle in her jaw twitching. It looked like she was debating following Cora.
Dayna almost wished she would.
“Good.” Bronagh nodded sharply, as if that settled it. Apparently it did, because Grandma King began to shuffle for the stairs.
“Very well. The quarter moon it is.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
DAYNA
When Dayna came downstairs on Sunday morning, she found her father at the kitchen table with an unfamiliar woman. She had long, pin-straight hair, the same brown as Dayna’s. Her eyes were dark and set a little too deep, perhaps made more obvious by the bruise-like shadows underneath. The woman’s eyebrows were very thick and black, and they knit together as she stared at Dayna.
A great deal of things hit her at once. Recognition first, swiftly followed by horror.
Your mother’s coming home this weekend, her father had said. She’s doing well enough to be released.
She’d completely pushed it out of her mind after everything that happened.
Dayna had seen pictures of Fiona before—there were portraits hanging in the guest room—but the woman at the table barely looked like that person anymore. It occurred to her exactly how little she knew about her.
When Dayna was younger, her father had explained that Fiona Walsh had gone away because she was very sick, and camp was full of fresh air. And she’d believed him for a while. Until little things began chipping away at this story. Dayna remembered the day she’d told Reagan, how her friend’s reaction had made her realize other families didn’t simply send people away.
A year later, she’d found flyers for Camp Blood of the Lamb in the church office and discovered people were sent there when they didn’t fit in with the church. When they were unstable, or sinful. Or they were simply inconvenient.
After this realization, things had been different. Church members had commented to her father about what a quiet child she was. How well-behaved. Nobody knew it was because Dayna was petrified of being sent away. If she screamed too loud at a birthday party. If she cried when she fell down. If she didn’t do her homework.
If she made her father angry, he might send her away.
Fiona’s thirteen-year stay at camp seemed to have drained all color from her face and narrowed her down. She was incredibly skinny, collarbone showing above the sleeveless cardigan she wore. Her arms jutted out at her sides, pencil thin, and she held her teacup awkwardly, like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She sat very straight in her seat.
All Dayna could think in that moment was What the hell did they do to this woman?
The reverend spoke first. “Dayna, this is Fiona.”
As if he were introducing her to a friend at brunch.
The woman at the table stood, unfolding long limbs. As she moved toward Dayna, it felt rather like being approached by a praying mantis. She lifted an arm, and Dayna flinched, almost expecting some sort of awkward embrace. Instead the woman’s hand darted out, and she seized something between her finger and thumb. Her necklace, Dayna
realized.
Fiona Walsh plucked at the cross pendant, examining it with a strangely intense interest. “This is an interesting piece.”
“Saint Brigid’s cross,” Dayna said automatically, still staring at the woman’s face.
“How lovely. I don’t wear jewelry. It tends to—” She stopped abruptly, her face blank, still staring at the charm pinched between her fingers.
The reverend was there suddenly, looming over them. He took Fiona’s arm and steered her back toward the table, his face grave. “Did you take your medication yet today?”
Fiona blinked rapidly. “Oh yes. I did, this morning before you picked me up.”
Dayna watched this exchange, a bitter, ashy sort of taste growing in her mouth. He’d pulled her away so quickly, and the way he was looking at Fiona now…it was strange.
The entire thing was strange, actually. For years she’d snuck into the guest room and stared at the pictures on the wall, wondering what Fiona had been like before she’d grown sick and left. And now here she was in the flesh, and she was nothing like Dayna had imagined. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but she didn’t feel anything when she looked at her. Maybe a faint sense of trepidation.
Suddenly she was quite certain she didn’t want to be here. Not with the reverend, and certainly not with this strange woman she didn’t recognize.
She turned, stepping into the hallway. “I think I need a minute.”
The reverend frowned. Stepping forward, he took her arm and bent close, dropping his voice low. “Listen, Dayna, she’s here because she’s better. We can finally be a family again.”
She clamped her lips shut, even though she wanted to tell him she knew what he was trying to do, and that it wasn’t going to work. It was too late. He couldn’t absolve himself of guilt or make things better by trying to make them a family again. He had irreversibly screwed that up three months ago.
Besides, she already had a family, and he wasn’t a part of it.
Dayna turned on her heel, blood thundering in her ears. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I’m going back to Reagan’s.”