Divine by Blood. P.C. Cast

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СКАЧАТЬ that the tone of his voice had made her stomach hurt.

      “You think I’m crazy because I hear the wind,” she’d blurted.

      “No, hon!” G-ma had patted her hand. “Grandpa, tell her we believe her and don’t think she’s crazy.”

      “Nope, nope,” he’d grumbled. “You’re not crazy. We believe you can hear voices in the wind.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “It’s like how you used to draw pictures of rocks and trees with hearts in them when you were a little girl. Remember what you told us about that?”

      Of course she’d remembered. “I told you that I drew hearts in them because I knew they were all alive.”

      “Right,” Grandpa had said. “The wind talking to you is like you knowing the trees and rocks have spirits.”

      “The wind is just another spirit in the world?” Morrigan had brightened, thinking that if the voice was like the trees and rocks then it should be okay. Maybe one of the voices, that really pretty girl voice, was Epona!

      “It’s not that simple, hon,” G-ma had said.

      “The rocks and trees are good. But the voice you hear—”

      “Voices,” she’d interrupted. “It’s not always the same voice, but I always think of it as wind.”

      G-pa gave G-ma a long look before he continued. “You know that there’s good and evil in the world, right?”

      “Yeah, we’re studying WWII in history. Hitler was evil.”

      “That’s right.”

      “And lots of kids believe in Satan. He’s evil.”

      “Yes. But sometimes evil isn’t as easy to identify as Hitler or Satan, just like not all that’s good seems good at first.”

      Morrigan had scrunched up her nose and said, “Like brussels sprouts tasting nasty but being good for me?”

      That had made him chuckle. “Just like brussels sprouts.”

      Morrigan remembered that she’d suddenly realized what he was trying to tell her. “You mean that the voices in the wind might be bad?”

      “Not all of them, hon,” G-ma had said.

      G-pa had taken a deep breath, and she remembered thinking that he looked really tired. Then he’d said, “Your mom heard voices. Whispered voices. Some of them were good. She could even hear the sound of Epona’s voice.”

      She’d sat there, awestruck that her mom had actually listened to a goddess. And if her mom had heard Epona, then maybe she could hear her, too! Then the rest of what G-pa was saying was like he’d thrown ice water on her.

      “But she could also hear a voice that was evil. She listened to it, too, until after a while it changed her, and it wasn’t until you were born that she realized she had made a mistake and let evil get a hold of her.”

      “But you said my mom was a good person.” Morrigan had felt like crying.

      “She was. There was a lot of good in her. For a while it just got smothered out by the whispers of evil.”

      “Like the voices I hear?”

      “Morrigan—” G-pa had leaned forward and put his big, rough hand over mine “—I think your 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

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