Witch

Chapter One

JULIA Florence didn’t think of herself as a witch. She didn’t ride a broom. She didn’t cast spells. She didn’t even own a cat. But she had abilities few seventeen-year-old girls had. She could heal those who were sick. She could also see what was happening in distant places. There was even a time she saw the future.

It happened at the beginning of her senior year in high school. It was a Friday. The first week of school had just ended, and the first football game was only a couple of hours from starting. Julia was at home, wondering if she should go. The entire summer she had stayed close to home, except when she hiked alone in the quiet woods that stretched for miles beyond her back door. The lush forests were interrupted only by sparkling streams and fields. Julia lived in northern Idaho, two miles outside a modest-size town named Indian Pole. The area had been home to her for her entire life.

Indian Pole High was her alma mater. It had an imposing totem pole in its courtyard, of course—and a dismal football team. Deciding whether to attend the game, Julia asked herself if she needed to see her school lose once again. She knew they would lose, and not because she was a witch. They had lost every game the year before. They weren’t a big school and didn’t have a large pool of football talent. Word was that this would be their weakest team ever.

But Julia loved football. She loved all sports. The reason she was hesitating to attend the game, she realized with a start, had nothing to do with the team’s win-lose record. She was feeling sorry for herself again. She didn’t want to go to the game because her mother couldn’t accompany her as she had before. Her mom had died three months earlier, the same day school had let out for the summer.

Julia still wasn’t over it. She knew she never would be. Her mom had been the most wonderful person in the world. She had also been a powerful witch. She was one of the few people on earth who understood Julia’s gifts. But those gifts, Julia thought bitterly, had been of no use to save her mom.

Julia felt terribly lonely. Yet she chose to be alone. She was afraid to see other people, to let the hurt go. She was afraid that if she did, the memories of her mother would also go. They would fade and become like the ash of her mother’s remains, to be lost on the wind.

The phone rang. It rang and rang. Julia waited a full minute before answering it, deciding if she wanted to. It was her best friend, Amy Belle. Julia had seen Amy at the most twice all summer.

How are you? Amy asked.

Great, Julia said. How are you? What’s up?

Are you going to the game?

I don’t know.

Julia!

We’re just going to lose.

You said you’d go, Amy said.

I didn’t say that.

Liar! Scott is standing right here. Did Julia say she was going to the game? Scott says you swore you’d be there. What kind of person are you? You lie to your friends. Scott is crying now. He says he’s going to slit his wrists if you don’t come. He’s picking up a knife. God, he’s sharpening it! You’ve got to come. We’re playing Saddleback tonight. You’ll get to meet Jim.

Scott Hague was a long-time buddy of both Julia and Amy. Jim Kovic was Amy’s new boyfriend. Julia had heard only good things about Jim. He played fullback for Saddleback High. Julia was glad that Amy had finally met someone she could really care about. Amy deserved to be happy, Julia thought.

Where’s Jim now? Julia asked. Is he there?

No. Amy laughed. Is he with you?

It was an old joke that Julia always stole Amy’s boyfriends. At least Julia thought it was a joke. Several of Amy’s boyfriends had called Julia up and asked her out. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except they were still going with Amy at the time. Julia had told them all no. She didn’t understand why so many guys wanted her.

I’m in the kitchen, Julia said. He might be in my bedroom.

Then tell him to get out, Amy said. He’s half Saddleback’s offense. Seriously, you have to come. Scott and I insist. He’s still sharpening his knife. He misses you. We’ll pick you up. We’re on our way. Bye!

Wait! The game doesn’t start for a couple of hours.

Then we’ll have good seats, Amy said. Come on, say yes.

Julia sighed to herself. Yes.

Great! We’re on our way.

No, Julia said firmly. I’ll meet you there.

Why don’t you come with us? Amy asked.

I have some things to do first. Don’t worry about me.

Amy lowered her voice. I do worry about you, Julia. You know that.

Julia was touched. I know. But don’t. Please? I’m OK. I’ll see you soon. I promise. Tell Scott I swear it in blood.

Amy believed her. They exchanged goodbyes. Julia set down the phone and looked out the back window. There was plenty of daylight left. She decided to go for a walk. She thought she might visit the pond.

There was a chill in the air, but Julia didn’t bring a sweater or coat to cover her bare arms. She always walked briskly, so she knew she’d be warm in a couple of minutes. Besides, she loved to feel the air on her skin. She loved all of nature. As she strode away from her back porch, beneath the tall pines, she immediately felt more at ease. It was ironic, in a way. Walking in the woods and open countryside brought back the strongest memories of her mother. The two of them had spent hours searching out-of-doors for medicinal herbs. Her mother had had a wonderful knowledge of healing plants. She’d worked as a nurse in the local hospital, and the hospital patients were often treated to herb teas that Mrs. Florence brewed for their individual conditions. The doctors at the hospital knew what her mom did and didn’t seem to mind. Several of them swore her teas worked better than any medicine.

But what the doctors didn’t know was that it was her mom’s touch that was the real healer. Julia’s gift in this area was nothing compared to her mom’s. Her mom could take away a fever simply by putting her hand on someone’s forehead. Yet it wasn’t all that simple. There was a price to be paid. Julia knew her mom took on part of the sickness from those she cured. Usually it was only a small portion. Once when her mom helped a baby with a life-threatening lung infection, she immediately developed a mild cough, which lasted a couple of days. A cough was a small price to pay for a life, Julia realized, but she always worried that her mom was taking on too much. That all the small prices would one day add up to something serious.

It was that girl who killed her. The one from the motorcycle accident.

Julia’s mother had died of a sudden cerebral hemorrhage. It said so on her death certificate. She died on Friday, June fourteenth, at six thirty-five in the evening. But Julia knew her mom had filled out her own death certificate a week earlier when she’d tried to heal a severely injured teenage girl. The girl had been brought to the hospital with massive head injuries. A five-hour operation by the best neurosurgeon in the county had failed to stop the buildup of innercranial pressure. Her mother had sat with the girl for three days, and when she’d finally gone home, Julia remembered, she had been white as a bedsheet and drained of all energy. She’d gone straight to bed for two days and hadn’t even been awake when the hospital called to say the girl was dead. And then, two days after that, her mother had joined the girl.

It had all been for nothing, Julia thought.

It had also been a mistake. Hadn’t her mother warned her against such extraordinary intervention? Why had she gone against her own advice?

We’re not gods, Julia. We’re helpers. That’s all. People have called us terrible things in the past. But that was only because they didn’t understand us. That understanding is for the future, a time not long from now. You may live to see it. Then perhaps you can work openly, but for now, keep your gifts to yourself. Serve in what way you can, without attracting attention to yourself. Never flaunt your abilities. Never think you hold the power of life and death. Only God has that power. When it’s a person’s time, nothing can save them.

Yet her mom had tried to save a girl whom the doctors said had no chance. Why? Julia didn’t know. She considered calling her aunt to ask her opinion, but Julia didn’t really trust the woman. When her mom had died, Julia’s aunt had shown no sign of grief, and Mrs. Florence was her own sister. Julia wondered if her aunt had foreseen her mom’s death. Her mother had hinted that the woman could see the future.

Now there was a witch.

The last words her aunt had said to Julia three months earlier were You watch yourself, girl. Her aunt hadn’t been concerned about Julia’s welfare. She was telling Julia not to abuse her powers, or else she would come after her to stop her. That was how Julia had taken the remark, at least.

Julia didn’t know how old the tradition of Helpers was. Her mother said it probably went back to the beginning of mankind. The gifts followed certain bloodlines and were only passed on to females. Often the gifts didn’t follow unbroken from one generation to the next. Her mother said that the gifts could disappear for centuries and resurface depending on the needs of a given time. It made Julia wonder about the needs of this time and how she would help.

The only other Helpers Julia knew were friends of her aunt’s. They were a severe lot, and she and her mother had kept away from them.

They are so busy, Julia, trying to help the world that they’ve forgotten how to help themselves. They’ve forgotten how to be happy, and it is a happy man or woman who helps the world most.

Julia took a deep breath. She could taste the approaching autumn and was glad. The change of seasons always inspired her. She would shake off her gloom, she promised herself. She promised it to her mother as well. She knew her mom was near. When Julia walked in the woods, she could feel her mother stirring inside her.

The pond she was moving toward was located a mile from her house, at the base of a granite hill that thrust so precipitously out of the earth it could have been a pillar raised by ancient gods. Julia had climbed the hill once, and only once. The sides were steep, and it had taken her the better part of a day to creep back down—and she was no coward when it came to risks. The climb had been worth it though. She had reached the top just when the sun was directly overhead. Looking straight down on the sun reflecting in the perfectly circular pond, she had found it easy to imagine that down was up, and vice versa—the reflection was that clear. For some reason the perception had filled her with extraordinary joy. For a few seconds she felt as if she could step off the granite tower and not fall. She would only be stepping into the sky, she thought. Into the sun.

Fortunately for her mortal bones, she remembered that her gifts did not include the ability to fly.

It was when she sat beside the pond and stared into the water that she saw things that were happening far off. The water had to be perfectly still, and there had to be sunlight shining on it. Julia had no idea how her gift worked. It was just there, a part of her, like her long red hair. She remembered the first time she had seen. She was ten. She had been hiking with her mother, looking for plants and flowers, and had gotten tired, so she sat down to rest beside the pond. Her mother continued to explore around the base of the granite pillar. She thought she had dozed off and was dreaming, because suddenly she could see her mother pulling roots from the ground, but she knew that her mother was not in sight. She looked up and scanned the area. Yes, she thought, it was definitely a dream. She was alone.

But it was a strange dream. She did not have to awaken from it. Plus, it took only a moment to slip back into. She gazed into the water again, and again saw her mother. Only now, her mother was hiking around the granite hill. Julia followed her the whole way, her eyes focused down into the pond. When her mom came into view—real view—Julia was pleased to see that she was carrying the same plants she had watched her pluck from the other side of the hill. Julia told her mom what had happened, and her mother wasn’t surprised. She gave Julia only two rules concerning the gift: she wasn’t allowed to spy on other people, and she couldn’t look in the pond when the moonlight was shining on it.

Julia asked what was so special about the moonlight, but her mom never explained. Yet she spoke the rule so sternly that Julia never considered violating it.

Her mother called her gift viewing.

It was fun. Whenever Julia felt the need to get away, she could sit by the pond and roam across the globe. Distance didn’t seem to matter. The images were always clear. Sometimes she asked herself if she actually saw the pictures in her head and not on the surface of the water. It didn’t matter. She could direct the vision at will. If she wanted to go to Africa, she was in Africa. She saw baby lions playing with one another, grown lions chasing zebras across parched plains. She visited Rome to see the pope say mass. She went to India and watched as pilgrims hiked up icy mountains to holy temples.

Not everything she viewed, however, was beautiful. Sometimes she got trapped in places she didn’t want to be. Trapped was probably the wrong word. She could always stop the visions, but sometimes she was held by a morbid curiosity that she was unwilling to break. For example, once she found herself in a Chinese prison in which young men and women were being executed. The firing squad was lined up, and one by one the victims—they looked like college students—were trooped out and blown away. It was horrible. The students screamed for mercy, and then they were lifeless corpses. Julia prayed to leave, to be back beside her pond in Idaho, but something kept her there. Later, when she asked her mother about it, her mother’s answer surprised her.

The greater the gift, the greater the responsibility. You have to learn how to use it, and you won’t learn unless you see both the bad and the good—the humane and inhumane. If you find yourself stuck someplace—don’t resist. You are right: it was you who brought you there. It is that part of you that is separate from this world that is trying to teach you about this world.

Julia only looked into the pond once since her mother had died. She had tried to view beyond the world, into space, into the heavens. But she had run into an invisible wall and realized then that she could see no higher than the greatest birds could fly. Her viewing was bound to the world, for good or bad, and the realization filled her with profound sadness. She could see so much, but she couldn’t see the one person who mattered most to her. Sometimes Julia wondered if she would ever see her mother again, even in the next world.

She reached the pond twenty minutes after talking to Amy. By then the sun had dipped so that it reached the treetops, and the light on the water was a deep orange. Julia took a seat at the eastern edge of the pond, facing west. It was a small body of water, no more than forty feet across, but deep. Once she had tried to swim to the bottom, but she had been unsuccessful. She assumed the pond was fed by an underground stream—no surface water flowed into it, and even in the heat of summer, the water level remained constant.

At present the water was as glassy as the surface of a mirror. Staring at the reflection of the trees against the backdrop of the burning sunset, Julia imagined she was looking at a forest fire. Sitting there she didn’t know why she had decided to go to the pond. There was nothing in particular she