Bishop’s in the air again before I can protest.
“Wait!” I cry out. “Where are you going?”
He looks across the horizon. Something wet drips on my head—it’s raining.
“I have to go.”
“Go where?”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “They want me. Now listen, Indie, this is important: secrecy at all costs, okay?” He gives me a pointed look.
I nod. “But what about the Priory?”
“They have the book. They have no reason to come after you now.”
“When will I see you again?” I ask, because apparently I have no dignity left.
“Never,” he says. “Good luck.”
13
Paige sets the steaming kettle onto a pot holder on the coffee table. I don’t know why she bothers, since no one touches it or any of the Dream Puffs she put out for a snack. A cookie—no matter how strawberry-and cream-filled and delicious—is just not going to help after what I’ve had to reveal. But for as long as Paige has been my next-door neighbor, she’s been like this: trying to be helpful even when there’s nothing she can really do to make things better. I guess it’s a nice quality in a person. I mean, she didn’t leave me at the Hollywood sign like most people would have if they’d been dragged from their warm beds in the middle of the night, only to be ditched on a dark, deserted mountaintop.
Mom draws her knees up to her chest, which makes her look as fragile as a bird. “This is all so … wow. So, let me get this straight: we find out … we find out if you’re a witch in three days?”
I nod. Only my mom would skip over the whole “sneaking out and jaunting aimlessly around L.A. with a strange boy” bit to seriously zero in on the part where I tell her I might be a witch. “According to this Bishop guy, anyway. Who knows what to believe?”
“I believe it.” She stares into her lap without seeing. “I just … feel it.”
The grandfather clock in the dining room ticks away the seconds of silence.
“Sugar?” Paige poises a spoon over the sugar bowl.
Mom shakes her head. “Black is fine. Thank you, Paigey.” The corners of her lips twitch as she forces a smile and accepts the cup Paige proffers. She slurps a tiny sip, then sets the cup down on the table.
“So, Ind …” Mom still won’t look up as she picks invisible lint off the patchwork quilt covering her legs. “Did this Bishop say anything about why I didn’t know almost any of this? I mean, except that the Bible was important, this is all new to me.” Her voice hitches, and she laughs to cover it up.
My cheeks grow hot. All this time I’d been thinking about myself, and I never even stopped to think what this would mean to Mom. Her own mother was a witch, and somehow I was the one to recount her family history to her. She should have known. She should have been the one to tell me.
Her eyes glisten, and my heart is ripped from my chest. And there’s nothing, nothing I can do. I have no idea why she wasn’t told.
“No big deal.” Mom gives me a tiny smile. “Must be a witch-only kind of thing. At least she gave me the Bible. You know, trusted me to protect it. That means a lot.”
She breaks down, sobbing. I pull her into a hug, taking in her scent—a combination of Pantene Curly Hair Series, Chantilly perfume, cigarettes, and something else uniquely Mom. “I’m sure there’s a good reason, Mom. There has to be.”
Paige shifts on the love seat opposite us as Mom releases deep, shuddery sobs.
“You could be in danger,” Mom says between gulps for air. “And it’s all my fault.”
“What?” I draw back to get a good look at her face.
“The Bible,” she says. “It was my job to—”
“And you were unconscious,” I interrupt. “And those were superpowerful sorcerers. A human would be no match for them. You shouldn’t feel bad.”
She gives a minute shake of her head.
“Seriously,” I continue, “it’s the Family’s fault for not coming for the Bible sooner, after Grandma died, when you had no way to protect it.” I can’t believe that, in just hours, I’ve gone from a nonbeliever to casually name-dropping the Family in conversation.
“Does seem a little strange,” Mom mutters.
“Exactly.” I sling my arm back around her shoulders.
“I just …”
“What?” I ask.
She sighs. “Well, I just wish that I could coach you through all this. I don’t know anything about this type of stuff. Wicca and this, they’re completely different ball games. I mean, flying?” She lets out a hopeless laugh.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Bishop said he’ll show me the ropes if I turn.”
At my lie, Paige shoots me a look, which I put down with a discreet throat-cutting gesture. Mom doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now. And anyway, the full moon’s three days away. Lots of time to plan something between now and then.
“Plus,” I add, “Bishop said there’s nothing to worry about. The ball’s out of our court. We just need to get back to normal life.”