Chapter 2

“It’s like I’m not even here,” he said.

A man walked ahead of Seamus and waved his

hand in front of the sensor. This time, the electronic door

opened. ONE

For some reason the incident with the door really

seemed to get under Seamus’s skin, but so many things did today. He

practically ran to the car, and once inside he looked in the mirror

and then he mumbled, “I am still here, damn it.”

By the time Seamus reached the house, dark

had already begun to set in. The long dirt driveway that led from

the main road to the house was beginning to fill with cars; Seamus

recognized most of them from his parents’ coven. He knew that

within a few hours the main road would also have cars parked on

both sides of it for at least a mile as the crowd started to

gather.

The farm land that Seamus’s family home sat

on had been in his mother’s family since not long after the

Mayflower landed. His family had changed since then. The Mayflower

ancestor was English and Puritan, but one of his descendants

married an Irish maid from Boston. They continued to add Irish and

many other groups to their family. They were an American family who

claimed lines of ancestral witchcraft all the way back to Europe,

into England, Ireland, and even a few other places. Sometimes

Seamus wondered if stories hadn’t been changed along the way, as

seemed to happen to family histories over the years. It didn’t

matter. His family was well accepted in the area, and Seamus was

proud of who he was, whoever that was.

A spot had been left for him on the long

driveway. His parents knew he would come home, and they always left

it open for him then. Seamus smiled. He had many things to be

thankful for in his life. Unfortunately, there was that one thing

that he did not appreciate.

Seamus grabbed his bag from the back seat

and walked to the door on the side of the house that led into the

kitchen. The top half of the door had a large glass pane in the

middle. Seamus could see his father, his mother, and several family

friends laughing as they sipped on what he knew was his mother’s

famous apple cider. He stared for a moment before entering. This

was how he wanted to remember them.

Suddenly, his father turned and looked at

Seamus through the glass. Raferty O’Donnell walked to the door and

opened it.

“You’re here, my son,” he said, and grabbed

Seamus in a hug.

Seamus smiled. He loved the fact that his

father always laughed when he hugged him. So few people were ever

really that overjoyed to see him.

“I amhere,” Seamus said, knowing

that the affirmation was just as much for himself as it was for his

father.

“Yes, you are,” his father said, kissing

Seamus right in the middle of his forehead.

Raferty grabbed Seamus then, and pulled his

son toward the group of people gathered in the kitchen.

“Look who’s here,” Raferty announced loudly

to the crowd.

“Oh, I knew you’d come,” Susanna O’Donnell

cried, running across the room to her son.

Seamus smiled, once again, feeling the

warmth of people who truly loved him. His mother’s curly long

reddish blond hair flew into his face, and he smiled. His hair was

the same color, but cut into what his father always called a Caesar

cut. “It suits you. It’s short, serious, and tough,” Raferty often

said.

“How was your visit to the doctor’s?”

Susanna asked.

Seamus could feel a tear start to form in

his eye. He would have been okay if no one had asked. This was his

mother though. He had to tell her the truth. They had been through

a lot.

“It was informative,” he said. “And they

were very, very certain.”

Seamus buried his head in his mother’s

shoulder. He was grateful that her long beautiful hair was covering

his face as Mrs. Austin approached.

“Will you be joining us for the ceremony?”

Mallory Austin asked. “We’re all so glad to see you, Seamus.”

Seamus smiled. He had always loved Mrs.

Austin. Now in her sixties, she had been in their group since he

was small, but Seamus could remember that she had converted to

their way in her forties. Seamus had so often found her enthusiasm

and hope to be outstanding. He could tell from her voice that his

mother had told the group what was going on. He imagined that there

had been healing circles done on his behalf. He could almost tell

you the days that they had sent him those large bursts of white

light and hope. He always found it amusing that so many people

found those who practiced his faith to be evil or hurtful. He had

never met people so loving.