She ought to laugh. That was funny, the idea of Great-grandma, with her sensible shoes, being a witch.
And besides, witches didn't exist. They were just stories-
-like angels-
-or examples of New Age grown-ups acting silly.
"Angels," Gillian gasped in a strangled voice. She was beginning to feel wild inside. As if rules were breaking loose.
Because angels were true. She was looking at one. He was floating about two and a half feet off the floor. There was absolutely nothing under him
and he could hear her thoughts and disappear and he was real. And if angels could be real...
Magic happens. She'd seen that on a bumper sticker somewhere. Now she clapped both hands to her mouth. There was something boiling up inside her and she wasn't sure if it was a scream or a giggle.
"My great-grandma is a witch?"
"Well, not exactly. She would be if she knew about her family. That's the key, you see-you have to know. Your great-grandma has the blood, and so does your grandma, and so does your mom. And so do you, Gillian. And now... you know." The last words were very gentle, very deliberate. As if Angel were delicately putting into place the last piece of a puzzle.
Gillian's laughter had faded. She felt dizzy, as if she had unexpectedly come to the edge of a cliff and looked over. "I'm... I've got the blood, too."
"Don't be afraid to say it. You're a witch."
"Angel..." Gillian's heart was beating very hard suddenly. Hard and slow. "Please ... I don't really understand any of this. And... well, I'm not."
"A witch? You don't know how to be, yet. But as a matter of fact, kid, you're already showing the signs.
Do you remember when that mirror broke in the downstairs bathroom?"
"And when the window broke in the cafeteria. You asked me if I did those things. I didn't. You did. You
were angry and you lashed out with your power... but you didn't realize it."
"Oh, God," Gillian whispered.
"It's a frightening thing, that power. When you don't know how to use it, it can cause all kinds of damage. To other people-and to you. Oh, kid, don't you understand? Look at what's happened to your mother."
"What about my mother?"
"She ... is ... a ... witch. A lost witch, like you. She's got powers, but she doesn't know how to channel them, she doesn't understand them, and they terrify her. When she started seeing visions-"
"Visions!" Gillian sat straight up. It was as if a light had suddenly gone on in her head, illuminating five years of her life.
"Yeah." Angel's violet eyes were steady, his face grim. "The hallucinations came before the drinking, not after. And they were psychic visions, images of things that were going to happen, or that might have happened, or that happened a long time ago. But of course she didn't understand that."
"Oh, God. Oh, my God." Electricity was running up and down Gillian's body, setting her whole skin tingling. Tears stung in her eyes-not tears of sadness, but of pure, shocking revelation. "That's it. That's it.
Oh, God, we've got to help her. We've got to tell her-"
"I agree. But first we have to get you under control. And it's not exactly a thing you can just spring on her without any warning. You could do more harm than good that way. We've got to build up to it."
"Yes. Yes, I see that. You're right." Gillian blinked rapidly. She tried to calm her breathing, to think.
"And just at the moment, she's stable. A little depressed, but stable. She'll wait until after Monday. But Tanya won't."
"Tanya?" Gillian had nearly forgotten the original discussion. "Oh, yeah, Tanya. Tanya." David, she thought.
"There is something very practical you can do about Tanya-now that you know what you are."
"Yes. All right." Gillian wet her lips. "Do you think Dad will come back if Mom realizes what she is and gets it all together?"
"I think there's a good possibility. But listen to me. To take care of Tanya-"
"Angel." A slow coil of anxiety was unrolling in Gillian's stomach. "Now that I think about it ... I mean, aren't witches bad? Shouldn't you-well, disapprove of this?"
Angel put his golden head in his hands. "If I thought it was bad would I be here guiding you through it?"
Gillian almost laughed. It was so incongruous- the pale northern lights aura around him and the sound of him talking through clenched teeth.
Then a thought struck her. She spoke hesitantly and wonderingly. "Did you come here to guide me through it?"
He lifted his head and looked at her with those unearthly eyes. "What do you think?"
Gillian thought that the world wasn't exactly what she had thought. And neither were angels.
The next morning she stood and looked at herself in the mirror. She'd done this after Angel had first come to her and made her cut her hair-she'd wanted to look at her new self. Now she wanted to look at Gillian the witch.
There wasn't anything overtly different about her. But now that she knew she seemed to see things she hadn't noticed before. Something in the eyes-some ancient glimmer of knowledge in their depths.
Something elfin in the face, in the slant of the cheekbones. A remnant of faery.
"Stop gazing and come shopping," Angel said, and light coalesced beside her.
"Right," Gillian said soberly. Then she tried to wiggle her nose.
Downstairs, she borrowed the keys to her mother's station wagon and bundled up. It was an icy-fresh day and the whole world sparkled under a light dusting of new snow. The air filled Gillian's lungs like some strange potion.
(I feel very witchy.) She backed the car out. (Now where do we go? Houghton?)