Divine by Blood. P.C. Cast

mom might be one of the voices you hear. She would want to watch over you. I think another voice might be that of Epona herself. The Goddess was close to your mother. But I also think that the evil that whispered to your mother might also be trying to influence you.”

      “We’re not telling you this to scare you, hon,” Grandma had said.

      “Nope, nope. I wouldn’t have told you about this until you were older. But you already hear the voices, so it’s important you know that you have to be careful,” Grandpa had said.

      “And be smart.” G-ma had smiled at me. “You’re a smart girl. Like Grandpa says, don’t be afraid, just be careful.”

      “But how do I know if I’m listening to the wrong voice?” Morrigan remembered exactly how confused and afraid she’d felt, despite their hands on hers and their assurance that she didn’t need to be afraid.

      “If it feels wrong, don’t listen to it,” G-pa had said firmly. “If it’s selfish or mean or a lie, don’t listen to it.”

      “And always look to the light, hon. The trees and the rocks and the spirits you feel in the earth are not evil,” G-ma had added.

      “And we’ll be here to help you, Morgie old girl,” Grandpa had said gruffly, patting my hand again.

      “Always, hon. We’ll always be here for you.”

      Morrigan smiled, remembering how G-ma had hugged her afterward and then thought that she’d totally distracted her granddaughter by asking Morrigan to help her cut a batch of fudge into squares. But she hadn’t been distracted, or at least not for long. Later that night she’d gone down to the end of the east pasture to the huge willow tree and the headstone that rested under it. There was one stone for both of them that simply said:

      SHANNON AND CLINT

      BELOVED DAUGHTER AND

      THE MAN BORN TO LOVE HER

      Morrigan hadn’t realized then, when she was just a little girl, how weird the headstone was. That most gravestones had full names and dates of death and birth carved on them. She’d eventually asked G-pa about it and all he’d ever say was that what the stone said was all that was important.

      That day she’d stepped within the curtain of the weeping willow that framed the grave and brushed off some dead leaves from the top of the stone. Then Morrigan had traced her mother’s name with her finger.

      “I wish you were here,” she’d whispered. “Or at least I wish I could tell for sure if one of the wind’s voices is yours.” Morrigan listened hard, hoping to hear her mom tell her that she really did talk to her daughter on the wind. But she’d heard nothing but the rustle of the willow’s hanging leaves.

      It hadn’t been till she was turning away from the grave that it had happened. Morrigan remembered that the sun had gone behind a cloud and she’d shivered as the wind whipped around her cold and sharp. And on that wind she suddenly heard, Listen to your heart’s desires and you will know me…

      Morrigan blinked, bringing herself back to the present. She closed the old journal with finality and shoved it in the box. She didn’t want to remember that day. Her grandparents’ words had followed her enough in the years since. She didn’t need to relive it again today. She grabbed another journal.

      “Something happy…something light…that’s what I need,” she muttered, and then with a glad little cry, she caught sight of a bright pink leather journal and lifted it from the others. “It’s in this one. Yeah, here it is!” She smiled as she began reading the journal entry she had made when she was thirteen.

       November 4

       Dear Journal,

       Oh my gosh! The coolest thing happened today! Well, okay, it was freezing out, but Dove needed to be exercised so I was riding her up Oak Grove Road so that we could gallop through that big empty field. So in the middle of the field these stupid wild turkeys flew up and scared the crap outta Dove and me. She jumped forward and her hoof must have hit something because she tripped and I FELL RIGHT OFF OF HER. Can you believe it? I never fall off. Anyways, it didn’t hurt much and even if it had I was too worried about Dove’s leg to worry about me. She was kinda limping around and I thought she’d broken it. So I made her hold still and felt down her leg. I was scared and shaking and crying and all of a sudden I realized MY HANDS WERE GLOWING! Okay. Really. It was like I made a light come out of them, like a little candle or something. I cannot wait till G-ma and G-pa get home so I can tell them!

       Oh, P.S., Dove’s leg is just fine.

      Morrigan smiled at her thirteen-year-old self, remembering fondly her childhood with the sweet gray mare who was now retired to Grandpa’s greenest meadow to spend Morrigan’s college years lazing in clover, round and happy. Laughing softly, Morrigan lifted her hand. Holding it palm up she stared at it, concentrating hard. After what seemed like forever, a tiny flicker of light danced around her palm, but it was gone almost before she could be sure she saw it there. Morrigan sighed and rubbed her hands together—her right palm still felt warm and tingly. But nothing else. She could do it again, but only just a little. Her grandparents had no explanation for her weird ability. Like her, they were clueless about where it came from or what it meant.

      The wind wasn’t clueless, though. Over the years it had whispered affinity for flame and you can bring light and other equally cryptic things to her. Morrigan didn’t understand what the voices were trying to tell her, and she was afraid to ask them to help her understand. What if that meant she was asking evil to help her? It was way too confusing.

      “Morgie, hon, it’s getting late.”

      Morrigan jumped away from her grandma’s soft touch like her hand was a live wire. “Oh, crap, Grandma! Don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared me so bad you almost made me pee my pants!”

      “Watch your language, hon,” G-ma said sternly, but she smiled to soften her reprimand. “And I didn’t sneak up on you. I called you three times. Looks like you were busy woolgathering.”

      Morrigan felt silly sitting there in the middle of her journals. She shouldn’t be dredging up the past and messing with a weird ability she’d need to keep hidden when she was at OSU. What she should be doing was focusing on the future. “Sorry, G-ma,” she said quickly, shoving the last of the journals into the storage box. “Guess I was daydreaming.”

      “Well, come on out. Your breakfast is getting cold, and those kids will be here before you know it. The Alabaster Caverns are three hours away. You need a good meal before you go.” She called the last over her shoulder as she headed back to the kitchen.

      Morrigan hurried to do as her grandma had asked, enticed by the smells of bacon and coffee and blueberry muffins wafting down the hall to her room. G-ma had probably packed her—and her friends—a great lunch, too. Shaking off the weird feeling calling the flame to her hands always gave her, Morrigan grabbed her shoes and a sweatshirt and headed into the familiar warmth of the kitchen.

      She ignored the echo of laughter that seemed to float on the air around her.

      2

      “Mama Parker kicks ass in the kitchen,” Gena said around a big mouthful of steak hoagie.

      “Yeah, but if she heard you say ass she’d tell you to watch your language, hon.” Morrigan did a more than passable imitation of Mama Parker that made the girls laugh.

      “No way would I say ass around your grandma. I don’t want to piss her off. She might stop cooking for us,” Gena said.

      “No shit,” Jaime agreed.

      “Mama Parker is too sweet to piss off. Plus, that wouldn’t be smart,” Lori said. “We might have to start eating my mom’s cooking. Then we’d be saying goodbye to yummy homemade hoagies and chocolate-chip cookies and hello to mac and