Chapter 3: Frost and Stone

"God, Siobhan, the place reeks," Caitlin stood behind her, and for a second Siobhan wanted to let the words pour out of her like vomit. She gritted her teeth and stayed quiet. "You'd better go home, you're no good like this." The other girl put a sweater around Siobhan's shoulders. "You can't walk through the halls like that, some boy will break something." She put her arm around Siobhan and guided her to her locker like Siobhan had gone blind.

"Thanks," Siobhan said. The words rasped at her throat.

"No problem," Caitlin said and left. Siobhan put on her parka and walked with shaking legs. The other students started to arrive and she had to fight upstream to get out the door. Once she was outside, the cold set her to shivering so violently it was hard to walk.

The walk home took her past a little strip mall. It was just a burger place, a gift shop and a drug store. Siobhan walked into the pharmacy and bought some black hair dye. If being a red head was the problem she would change. If she could have dyed her skin too she would have, but the hair would be a start.

The directions on the package made it look simple enough. Siobhan had the house to herself. She locked herself in the bathroom and started on her hair. Her mother never let her cut it and she didn't think that the package would cover all her hair. She braided it carefully, then used her mother's sewing scissors to hack through the braid just below her shoulders. The package said to wash her hair, so she turned on the shower and let the hot water run across her shoulders and turn her skin pink. She stepped out of the shower and dripped water on the floor as she toweled her hair dry. Her reflection was blurred and distorted as she worked the dye into her hair, then she dyed her eyebrows. She would have dyed the fine hairs on her arms if she thought it wouldn't have just left her with blotchy blacken skin. She'd wear long sleeve blouses and long skirts. Maybe she'd become Catholic and become a nun.

When enough time had passed, she rinsed the dye out. She didn't recognize herself. The black hair made her pale skin look white. She looked like a corpse. She imagined her flesh rotting and falling off. At least Riordan wouldn't like her as a corpse.

She heard the doorbell and put her robe on to answer the door.

"Package," the man said, "sign here." Siobhan signed. and he handed her a box that was heavier than it looked. He walked away again giving no sign he had seen her as anything but a signature on his clipboard. The black hair was working.

The box was addressed to her. She took it up to her room and opened it while sitting cross legged on her bed.

Dear Siobhan, I do hope you've forgiven me for sticking you with my name, but every generation of our family has had its Siobhan. I knew, in spite of your mother's inclinations that you were the one for this generation. I'm sending you a spirit stone from the village that our people came from. Guard it carefully, it is a piece of your heritage. The letter went on for pages. Siobhan had heard only the briefest stories of her aunt back in Ireland. Her mother talked about this elder Siobhan as if she were as dangerous as a bomb. She set the letter aside to take out the stone. It felt cold from being outside, but otherwise was nothing special. It was a plain black granite stone. Siobhan could have picked it up outside where granite surrounded them. She tossed it onto the dresser where it joined the rest of the clutter. Old trophies, pictures, even other rocks filled the top of the dresser. She didn't care about most of it, but it would be too much work to throw it out.

"What have you done!" her mother stood in the bedroom door and stared at Siobhan.

"I thought I'd try a new look," Siobhan said. They weren't the words she'd planned to say, but something stopped her words about a kiss and a threat.

"Are you trying to shame us?" her mother said. Then she saw the letter and the box on the bed. She looked at the address and her face changed. For a second Siobhan thought her mother had looked scared. Her mother scooped up the letter and box.

"Hey, those are mine!" Siobhan said. Instead of answering her mother slapped her hard across the face. She looked at the dresser and grabbed a rock. Siobhan just stared in shock as her mother ran out of the room with her letter and the rock.

Heat rose from her stomach and for an instant Siobhan thought she was going to be sick, then a scream poured out of her throat hot and powerful. She half expected the mirror on her dresser to shatter. She ran after her mother, but her mother was gone.

Siobhan slammed the door to her room, then for good measure she opened it and slammed it again. This time the antique mirror in the hall fell with a crash. She wedged the chair under the doorknob and started on her room. Siobhan had never thrown a tantrum before and there was something freeing about letting her anger rage free. All her life she'd been told anger was dangerous, she had to obey, submit, be a good girl.