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Strife

Sweep Series, Book 9

Cate Tiernan

To the real Erin Murphy

1.  The Meeting

At the end of the summer the sea always seems to be railing against the thought of another long, fierce new England winter. The waves hurtle themselves against the rocks with blind rage. Fishermen think of August as a terrifying month, but for me, it’s the most thrilling. Maybe it’s because my family has lived in Gloucester for generations. OR maybe it’s because we’re Wiccans, and that puts us in greater tune with nature.

It’s ironic to think that my family settled so close to Salem—we were very lucky to survive the witch trials. It’s strange to think that Wicca could inspire such terror when it’s such a gentle, loving, nurturing religion. I guess people are always afraid of power that they don’t understand. And Wicca does deal with raw power, although the way my family practices, it’s never destructive. Both Mom and Dad are very into responsible uses of magick, which they drummed into me before my initiation three years ago. Now they are teaching the same thing to my younger brother, Sam. He won’t be initiated for another seven months, but already I can see the energy beginning to spark n him. I know he’s going to be a powerful witch. I’m looking forward to his rites, but it’s hard not to envy him sometimes. My own power is more fickle, although I like to think that it is growing ad I continue to study and practice.

Every day I pray to the Goddess to make me worthy of my family.

— Sarah Curtis

Calm down, I told myself as I gazed into the bathroom mirror and struggled to pull my long brown hair into a tidy French braid. This is going to be fine. I glanced at my watch. My boyfriend, Hunter Niall, was due any minute. Normally I would have been thrilled to be spending an evening with him, but tonight was no ordinary night.

No—tonight was the official meet-the-parents dinner, and I was beginning to feel sick with tension.

I was distracted by a quick tap on the door.

“Come in,” I called.

My sister, Mary K. , walked into the bathroom. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked, staring at my faded blue jeans and soft purple fleece shirt.

I looked down at my outfit. “What’s wrong with this?”

Mary K. just sighed and marched through the bathroom to the door that led into my bedroom.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To find that shirt Aunt Eileen gave you for Christmas,” Mary K. said. “I know it’ll look great on you, and besides, she and Paula are already downstairs, waiting for us. ”

“That shirt is practically see-through!” I argued as Mary K. rummaged through my drawers.

“Which is why you’ll wear it with this,” she countered, holding up a pale pink tank top. Mary K. pulled the sheer, stretchy shirt off a hanger in my closet and handed it and the tank top to me. “At least you’re wearing low jeans,” she said as I yanked off my fleece. “You’ve got the body for them. ”

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