December 14, 1976

Circle last night at the currachdag on the west cliffs. Fifteen of us in all, including me, Angus, Mannannan, the rest of Belwicket, and two students, Tara and Cliff. It was cold, and a fine rain fell. Standing around the great heap of pat, we did some healing for old Mrs. Paxham, down to the village, who's been ailing. I felt the cumhachd, the power, in my fingers, in my arms, and I was happy and danced for hours.

— Bradhadair

My mother looked like she was about to have a stroke. Dad's mouth dropped open. Mary K. stared at me, her brown eyes wide.

Mom's mouth worked as if she was trying to speak but couldn't form the words. Her face was pale, and I wanted to tell her to sit down, to take it easy. But I kept silent. I knew this was a turning point for us, and I couldn't back down.

"What did you say?" Her voice was a raw whisper.

"I said I'm a witch," I repeated calmly, though inside, my nerves were stretched and taut. "I'm a blood witch, a genetic witch. And if I am, you two must be also."

"What are you talking about?" Mary K. said. "There's no such thing as a genetic witch! God, next you'll be telling us there are vampires and werewolves." She looked at me in disbelief, her plaid pajamas seeming young and innocent. Suddenly I felt guilty, as if I had brought evil into the house. But that wasn't true, was it? All I had brought into the house was me, a part of me.

I raised my hand, then let it fall, not knowing what to say.

"I can't believe you," Mary K. said. "What are you trying to do?" She gestured toward our parents.

Ignoring her, Mom said faintly, "You're not a witch."

I almost snorted. "Mom, please. That's like saying I'm not a girl or I'm not human. Of course I'm a witch, and you know it. You've always known it"