Awakening by Cate Tiernan Page B

and the glow of a wood-burning stove. The room ran the length of the house. Its back wall was covered with windows. A door led out to what seemed to be a deck. The windows rattled slightly, and I could hear the wind sighing through the trees.
    An altar sat at one end of the room, holding more candles, a stick of burning incense, a shell, a dish of water in which purple blossoms floated, a pale blue crystal, and a stone sculpture of a woman. The sculpture was rough, the face barely defined, yet it was completely sensuous, a vision of the Goddess. You had only to look at it to know that it was made with love. I looked at Hunter. Had he sculpted it?
    “Will you form a circle, please?” Hunter began. He sounded terribly proper and polite, very British. Once again I missed Cal with a pang and once again felt stupid and angry at myself for missing someone who had hurt me so badly.
    I joined the others as Hunter drew a circle with white chalk around us. It was reassuring to feel Robbie on one side of me and Sharon on the other. I felt uneasy, though. I wondered if it was the threat of Selene and Cal or if it was Hunter. His presence always unsettled me, and being in a circle was so intimate. I wondered what it would be like to share this experience with him.
    With the chalk Hunter traced four runes on each of the directional points. “I’ve chosen these runes specifically for our first circle together,” he said. “Thorn is for new beginnings and opening gateways,” he said, pointing to the rune at the east. “Beorc is a rune of growth. Ur is to create change and healing and strengthen all magick. Eolh is for protection.”
    I tried to quell the flutters in my stomach. What was my problem? Hunter hadn’t done anything unusual so far.
    “Did everyone bring the stones Cal gave out?” Hunter asked. When people nodded, he added, “Toss them into the middle of the circle, please.”
    Everyone but me pulled their stones out of their pockets. When they were all in a heap in the center of the chalk ring, Hunter drew a pentagram around them. At each of the five points he drew a symbol I didn’t recognize.
    “These sigils are from an older runic alphabet than the one we usually work with,” he explained. “They’re for protection and purification and will help strengthen our spell. We’re going to use the circle itself to purify these stones. Now, have you all done the basic breathing exercises?”
    Matt spoke up. “Cal taught us that.”
    “Then let’s begin there,” Hunter said. “May the circle of Cirrus always be strong.”
    We all joined hands, and I heard the familiar sound of Sharon’s bracelets jingling against each other. I began to concentrate on my breathing, on pulling each inhalation deep into my stomach and then releasing it. Gradually I felt myself relax and become aware of the pattern of breathing within the circle. Hunter had the deepest, slowest breaths. Jenna, who was asthmatic, had the shallowest.
    Hunter began to sing in a low voice. It was a simple chant in English, praising moon and sun, Goddess and God, asking them to be with us in our circle, to protect us from all evil intent, and to guide us through the cycle of the seasons, the cycle of life. His voice was lilting, smooth and soft, yet with a core of strength. It resonated beautifully in the space. I never would have imagined that he could sing with such passion and simplicity. But for some reason, I couldn’t hold on to the words. The others did, though, and as they sang together and we all moved widdershins, I saw their faces change. They were feeling something that I wasn’t. A connection. Their voices gained power as some kind of energy surged through them. And I, the blood witch, the prodigy of Cirrus coven, felt nothing.
    I became aware of Hunter’s gaze on me. I closed my eyes, trying futilely to deepen my concentration, to snatch at the ethereal thread of magick that seemed to dance just out of reach. But I couldn’t touch it, and