Power of the Witch

Chapter 8

But Meg was racing on. ''You're the one who's going to unite the shapeshifters and the witches. You're going to marry a prince of the shapeshifters, and then we're all going to be like this.'' She held up two intertwined fingers. Rebecka stared at her. ''I'm only seventeen. I'm not marrying anybody.'' ''Well, you can do a promise ceremony; that's binding. The witches would accept it, and I think the shapeshifters would.'' She glanced at Rachel for confirmation. Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. ''I'm just a grunt; I can't speak for the 'shifters.'' Meg was already turning back to Rebecka, her curls shaking with earnestness. ''Really, you know,'' she said, ''it's incredibly important. Right now, the Night World is split. Vampires on one side, witches on the other. And the shapeshifters - well, they could go either way. And that's what could determine the battle.'' ''Look--'' ''The witches and the shapeshifters haven't been allies for thirty thousand--'' ''I don't care!'' Full-blown hysteria. It was about as scary as a six-week-old kitten hissing, but it was the best raving Rebecka could manage. Both her small fists were clenched, and her face and throat were flushed. ''I don't care about the shapeshifters or the witches. I'm just a normal kid with a normal life, and I want to go home! I don't know anything about fighting. Even if I believed all this stuff, I couldn't help you. I hate PE; I'm totally uncoordinated. I get sick when I see blood. And--'' She looked around and made an inarticulate sound of exasperation. ''And I lost my purse.'' Rachel stood up. ''Forget your purse.'' ''It had my mum's credit card in it. She's going to kill me if I come home without that. I just - where's my purse?''

''Look you little idiot,'' Rachel said. ''Worry about your mother, not about her credit card.'' Rebecka backed up a step. Even in the middle of a hysterical fit, she was beautiful beyond words. Strands of angle-fine hair stuck to her flushed, wet cheeks. Her eyes were dark as twilight, shadowed by heavy lashes - and they wouldn't quite meet Rachel's. ''I don't know what you mean.'' ''Yes, you do. Where''s your mum going to be when the end of the world comes? Is a credit card going to save her then?'' Rebecka was in an corner now. Rachel could hear both Meg and Ruby making warning noises. She knew herself that this was the wrong way to get someone on their side. But patience wasn't one of Rachel's great virtues. Neither was keeping her temper. ''Let's see,'' Gabriel said, and his voice was like cool water flowing through the room. ''Maybe we could take a little break--'' ''I don't need advice from you.'' Rachel snapped. ''And if this little idiot is too stupid to understand that she can't turn her back on this, we have to show her.'' ''I'm not an idiot!'' ''Then you're just a big baby? Scared?'' Rebecka sputtered again. But there was unexpected fire in her grey-violet eyes as she did it. She was looking right at Rachel now, and for a moment Rachel thought that there might be a breakthrough. Then she heared a noice. Her ears picked it up before either Meg's or Ruby's. A car on the street outside. ''Company.'' Rachel said. She noticed that Gabriel had stiffened. Had he heared it?

Meg was moving to stand behind the door; Ruby slipped as quietly as a shadow to the window. It was dark outside now, and vampire eyes were good at night. ''Blue car.'' Ruby said softly. ''Looks like them inside.'' ''Who?'' Rebecka said. Rachel gestured at her to be quiet. ''Meg?'' ''I have to wait until they cross the wards.'' A pause, then she broke into a smile. ''It's her!'' ''Who?'' Rebecka said. ''I thought nobody was supposed to know we were here.'' Good thinking. Logical, Rachel thought. ''This is someone I called. Someone who came all the way from Nevada and has been waiting to see you.'' She went to the door. It took a few minutes for the people in the car to get out - they moved slowly. Rachel could hear the crunch of footsteps and the sound of a cane. She opened the door. There was no light outside; the figures approaching were in shadow until they actually reached the threshold. The woman who stepped in was old. So old that anyone's first thought on first seeing her was How can she be alive?  Her skin was creased into what seemed like hundreds of translucent folds. Her hair was pure white and almost as fine as Rebecka's, but there wasn't much of it. Her already tiny figure was stooped almost double. She walked with a cane in one hand and her other tucked into the arm of a nondescript young man. But the eyes that met Rachel's were anything but senile. They were bright and almost steely, grey with just the faintest touch of lavender. ''The Goddess's bright blessings on you all,'' she said, and smiled around the room. It was Meg who answered. ''We're honoured by your presence - Grandma Harman.''

In the background, Rebecka demanded plaintively for the third thime ''Who?'' ''She's your great-great-aunt.'' Meg said, her voice quiet with awe. ''And the oldest of the Harmans. She's the Crone of all the Witches.'' Rebecka muttered something that might gave been, 'She looks like it.' Rachel stepped in before Meg could attack her. She introduced everyone. Grandma Harman's keen eyes flickered when Gabriel's turn came, but she merely nodded. ''This is my apprentice and driver, Klaus.'' she told them. ''He goes everywhere with me, so you can speek freely in front of him.'' Klaus helped her to the couchm and everyone else sat, too - except Rebecka, who stubbornly stayed in her corner. ''How much have you told her?'' Grandma Harman asked. ''Almost everything.'' Rachel said. ''And?'' ''She - isn't quite certain.'' ''I am certain.'' Rebecka piped up. ''I want to go home.'' Grandma Harman extended her knobby hand toward her. ''Come her, child. I want to take a look at my great-great-niece.'' ''I'm not your great-great-niece.'' Rebecka said. But with those steely-but-soft eyes fixed on her, she took one step forward. ''Of course you are; you just don't know it. Do you realize, you're the image of my mother when she was your age? And I'll bet you great-grandmoter looked like her, too.'' Grandma Harman patted the couch beside her. ''Come here. I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Aylaine, and your great-grandmother was my little sister, Casedy.''

Rebecka blinked slowly. ''Great-grandmother Casedy?'' ''It was almost ninety years ago that I last saw her. It was just before the First World War. She and our baby brother, Elijah, were spearated from the rest of the family. We all thought they were dead, but thet were being raised in England. They grew up and had children there, and eventually some of those children came to America. Without ever suspecting their real heritage, of course. It's taken us a long time to track down their descendants.'' Rebecka had taken another involuntary step. She seemed fascinated by what the old woman was saying. ''Mum always talked about grat-grandmother Casedy. She was supposed to be so beautiful that a prince fell inlov with her.'' ''Beauty has always run in our family.'' Grandma Harman said carelessly. ''Beauty beyond comparison, ever since the days of Hellewise Hearth-Woman, our foremother. But that isn't the important thing about being a Harman.'' ''It isn't ?'' Rebecka said doubtfully. ''No.'' The old woman banged her cane. ''The important thing, child, is the art. Witchcraft. You are a witch, Rebecka; it's in your blood. It always will be. And you're the gift of the Harmans in this last fight. Now, listen carefully.'' Staring at the far wall, she recited slowly and deliberatly: ''One from the land of kings long forgotten; One from the hearth which still holds the spark; One from the Day World where two eyes are watching; One from the twilight to be one with the dark.'' Even when she had finished, the words seemed to hang in the air of the room. No one spook.

Rebecka's eyes had changed. She seemed to be looking inside herself, at something only she could see. It was as if deeply buried memories were stirring. ''That's right.'' Grandma Harman said softly. ''You can feel the truth of what I'm telling you. It's all there, the instinct, the art, if you just let it come out. Even the courage is there.'' Suddenly, the old woman's voice was ringing. ''You're the spark in the poem, Rebecka. The hope of the witches. Now, what do you say? Are you going to help us beat the darkness or not?''