Bad Moon:Book One in the "I Am Chaos" series.

Chapter 5: Ilicon

Oh! Who knew if I even had that right. I was just assuming that witches performed in Covens because that's what pop culture said.

And yet... There were always fresh plants and vines in the windowsills. And the windowsill had always been full of strange objects. Had that been her altar? She'd had a pantry-full of herb-laden, unlabeled mason jars, and I'd rarely seen her use any of those ingredients to cook. I'd asked her about them once, and she'd held one up and said it was marjoram, and that she used to use it in mushroom soup. But since I didn't like mushrooms, she never made mushroom soup, and didn't need to use marjoram.

Why had I never pried harder? Probably because next to Mom's weirdness, Granny had seemed normal. I'd thrown all those herbs away.

The emotionally exhausting day coupled with the bad night's sleep the night before, meant that by eight o'clock, I was exhausted. I left the kitchen light on, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.



"Do you want to hear the story about Silas Dyre and the Woman in Black?"

"I want to hear about how you met Dad."

Mama goes still next to me. "That's not a very good story."

"But I know the one about Silas. I don't know the one about Dad." Dad called the house this afternoon. I know, because my dad's name is William, and Mama called the man on the phone Bill. There's a boy in my class whose name is Billy, but his real name is William.

I have one memory of Dad. He took me to the petting zoo, and we fed the goats together. I remember when the goat slobbered all over my hand, Dad had pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off the slobber. I remember he'd left me alone for a few minutes, and when he came back, he picked me up and took me quickly to the car. I'd cried. I wanted to keep playing with the goats. He'd dropped me off at home, and I hadn't seen him again.

"You know," says Mama, eyes darting from ornament to ornament. They swing gently, as if pushed by an unseen breeze. Though they're made of metal, they glint with darkness and starlight. I love looking at them, too. "I've always wondered who the woman in black was. And what word she whispered into Silas' ear to make him risk summoning ghosts."

I don't like this story. It's one of Mama's favorites. She likes telling the parts where Silas chants and chants, and a ghost takes shape from his fire's smoke. The ghost passes through Silas, numbing his arm. And days later, Silas Dyer still hasn't regained its use.

"He took a dozen lives with that dead arm," Mama says, her arm falling heavily across my lap. "He would be talking to someone, a friend, or a colleague, and would reach out, all of a sudden, wrapping his hand around their throat. And the life would drain from their eyes, their death creating enormous bursts of energy. But where did all that delicious death energy go? Certainly it never went to Silas."

I bite my lip, hoping she won't tell the part of the story where Silas kills his son, and then himself.

"Who was that woman in black?" Mama murmurs. "Do you think it was the Goddess Hecate, herself?"

"You said you don't believe in gods," I remind her.

"That's not true, Terrible One. I don't believe the people we call gods are gods," my mother corrects me. "But that doesn't mean gods don't exist. What if Hecate is real? What if she's not a god at all, but a particularly strong elemental? Or a sorceress who's learned the secret of immortality?"

I know if I bring my father up again, she'll get angry, but I want to know what he said to her.

As if sensing my intention to ask her again, my mother goes still beside me. A small smile curls her lips. "Uh oh, Terrible One," she says. She looks down at me; her eyes unfocused. "It's time to wake up."