Blood Witch by Cate Tiernan Page B

a second-rate witch with delusions of grandeur.”
    “Delusions is right,” I murmured, remembering how Hunter had claimed his cold was the result of a spell. That was so obviously ridiculous that maybe I should just forget about everything else he’d said, too. But somehow I couldn’t.
    Cal glanced at me. “He told you that you were Woodbane?”
    “Yes,” I said stiffly. “And I went inside and found it in Maeve’s BOS. I am Woodbane. All of Belwicket was. Did you know?”
    Cal didn’t answer right away. Instead he seemed to weigh my words. He looked at the fire. “How do you feel about that?” he finally asked.
    “Bad,” I said honestly. “I would have been really proud to be Rowanwand or even anything else. But to be Woodbane ... it’s like finding out my ancestors are a long line of jail-birds and lowlifes. Worse, really. Much worse.”
    Cal laughed again. He turned to me. “No, it’s not, my love. It’s not that bad.”
    “How can you say that?”
    “It’s easy,” he said with a grin. “Nowadays it isn’t a big deal. Like I said, people have sort of a prejudiced view of Woodbanes, but they’re ignoring all their good qualities, like strength, and loyalty, and power, and pursuit of knowledge.”
    I stared at him. “You didn’t know I was a Woodbane? I’m sure your mom does.”
    Cal shook his head. “No, I didn’t know. I haven’t read Maeve’s book, and Mom didn’t discuss it with me. Listen, knowing you’re Woodbane isn’t a bad thing. It’s better than not knowing your clan at all. Better than being a mongrel. I’ve always thought the Woodbanes have gotten a bad rap—you know, revisionist history.”
    I turned back to the fire. “He said you were Woodbane, too,” I whispered.
    “We don’t know what we are,” Cal said quietly. “Mom has done a lot of research, but it isn’t clear. But if we were, would it matter to you? Would you not love me?”
    “Of course it wouldn’t matter,” I said. The flames crackled with life before us, and I rested my head on Cal’s shoulder. As upset as I had been, I was starting to feel better. I kicked off my shoes and stretched my feet out to the fire. My socks hung loose. The heat felt delicious on my toes, and I sighed. I still had more questions to ask.
    “Why did Hunter say he was your brother?”
    Cal’s eyes darkened. “Because my dad’s a high priest and very powerful. Hunter wants to be that way, too. And he is the son of the woman my father married after he left my mom. So we’re at least stepbrothers.”
    I swallowed, wincing. “Ouch,” I murmured. “I’m sorry.”
    “Yeah. Me too. I wish I’d never met him.”
    “How did you meet?” I asked cautiously.
    “At a convention, two years ago,” Cal answered.
    I was startled into laughter. “A witch convention?”
    “Uh-huh,” said Cal, smiling a little. “I met Hunter, and he informed me we were only six months apart and brothers. Which would mean that my father had deliberately gotten another woman pregnant while my mom was pregnant with me. I hated Hunter for that. I still don’t want to believe it. So no matter what Hunter says, I say that his father is someone else, not my dad. I can’t accept that my father, total jerk that he is, would have done that.” He put his arm around me, and I rested my chin on his chest, hearing the steady thumping of his heart, sleepily watching the fire.
    “Is that why Hunter is acting this way?”
    “Yeah, I think so. Somehow he’s all . . . I don’t know, bent and twisted. It must have something to do with his childhood. I know I shouldn’t hate him—it’s not his fault my dad’s life is so messy. But he just—got off on telling me that my dad fathered him. Like he enjoyed hurting me.”
    I gently stroked Cal’s wavy hair. “I’m sorry,” I said again.
    Cal gave a rueful chuckle, and I wanted to comfort him, the way he had comforted me so many times. Gently, I kissed him, trying to give him love he could be sure of.