Page 3 of Witch Moon

Rowan came into the breakfast nook. She wore a heavy chain around her neck and a choker made of leather. Burgundy lipstick, purple eyeliner, black tank top, and jeans.

Sighing, he laid the paper down. "Honey, what's wrong?"

She looked at him as if startled, her eyes the biggest, bluest eyes in the universe. She had unusually large pupils. It was common, he'd heard, in fair skinned, blue-eyed girls. But he didn't think anything about her was common.

"What makes you think somewthing's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't know. You just seem to be going through some changes lately, and...well, it concerns me."

"It's called growing up, Dad." She put her attention back on her oatmeal.

"Is there anything you want to talk to me about? Anything going on at school or-?"

She met his eyes, her own looking impatient now. "I'm not taking drugs or having sex if that's what you're asking."

He felt his jaw drop. "No. That's not what I was asking," he stammered. "You're way too young for me to be worrying about those kinds of things."

She rolled her eyes. "Right."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Dad. I gotta go. Tell the people on your happy little planet I said bye, will you?" She softened the words with a teasing wink.

"Very funny."

Rowan got to her feel and slung her backpack over her shoulder. She started to go, then sighed and turned back. "Actually, there is something I want to talk about," she said.

He almost grinned. She wanted to talk to him! Finally! He smothered the urge to smile ear to ear, put on a serious face, and said. "What is it?"

She drew a deep breath, as if for courage. "Mom. I want to know everything about her."

"But honey. I've always talked to you about your mom. I think I've probably told you just about everything I know."

"No, you haven't," she said.

He held her gaze for only a moment. And then he had to look away. Shit. How much did she know?

When he looked at her again, her eyes were closed. "I see her in my dreams, you know. Especially lately. She was so beautiful...way more than she is in any of her pictures. I don't remember her being that beautiful."

"You were only four, honey. Don't feel bad for not remembering. And if you wonder how beautiful your mom was, all you have to do is look in a mirror."

She opened her eyes. They were damp. "Really? You think I look like her?"

"More every day." He was getting a little tight in the throat himself.

Rowan licked her lips. "Dad, it's like she's trying to tell me something, but I just can't get what. That's why I've been trying to talk to her, when I'm awake, you know, but...well, so far, I don't think it's working."

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. "That's because it's not possible. I'm sorry, hon, but it's just not."

"I don't believe that. And I don't think Mom did, either."

She leaned down, and kissed his cheek. "But I'm going to be late if I don't get going. Sometime, though, Dad, you have to tell me about Mom. The stuff you haven't told me before. Okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." He said it softly, distracted, shaken. His daughter managed a smile, but he thought he saw doubt in her eyes. "I promise," he added.

"Okay," she said. She reached behind her to pull her Ipod out of her backpack and push her earbuds into place.

He watched her go and made a mental note to call the school, set up conferences with some of Rowan's teachers. Maybe that would give him some insight into what was going on with her. There was that one teacher she was always talking about...Miss Saint A., Rowan called her. She was one of the only teachers his daughter ever mentioned in any positive sort of way.

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