Dark Magick

by Cate Tiernan

  Sweep book 4 Dark Magick.txt

  Sweep Book 4: Dark Magick

  Author: Cate Tiernan

  Ebook maker: TheLiz

  1. Falling

  November The council pronounced me not guilty of killing Linden. The vote of the seven elders of the Great Clans was not unanimous, though. The Vikroth representative and the Wyndenkell, my mother's own clanswoman voted against me. I had almost hoped they would condemn me, for then at least my life's path would be certain. And in a way, I was guilty, was I not? I filled Linden's head with my talk of vengeance, and opened his mind to the Idea of calling on the darkness. If I had not actually killed my brother, then I knew he had found his way to his death along a path I had shown him. when I was found innocent, I felt lost. I knew only that I would spend the rest of my life atoning for Linden's death.

  -Giomanach

  Snowflakes mixed with sleet whipped at my cheeks. I stumbled through the snow, supporting my boyfriend Cal's weight against me, my feet growing leaden and icy in my clogs. Cal stumbled, and I braced myself. In the moonlight I peered up at his face, alarmed by how white he looked, how beaten, how ill. I trudged through the dark woods, feeling like every step away from the cliff took an hour. The cliff. In my mind, I saw Hunter Niall falling backward, his arms wind milling as he went over the edge. Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed convulsively. Yes, Cal was a mess, but Hunter was probably dead. Dead! And Cal and I had killed him. I drew in a shuddering breath as Cal swayed against me. Together we stumbled through the woods, accompanied only by the malevolent hiss of the sleet in the black branches around us. Where was Cal's house?

  "Are we headed the right way?" I asked Cal. The freezing wind snatched the words from my throat.

  Cal blinked. One eye was swollen shut and already purple. His beautiful mouth was bloody, and his lower lip was split "Never mind," I said, looking ahead. "I think this is it." By the time Cal's house was in view, We were both soaked through and frozen. Anxiously I scanned the circular driveway for Selene Belltower's car, but Cal's mother was still out. Not good. I needed help. "Tired," Cal said fuzzily as I helped him up the steps. Somehow we made it through the front door, but once inside, there was no way I could get him up to his attic room.

  "There." Cal gestured with a hand swollen from punching Hunter. Feeling unbearably weary, I lurched through the parlor doors and helped Cal collapse on the blue sofa. He toppled over, curling to fit on the cushions. He was shaking with cold, his face shocked and pale. "Cal," I said, "we need to call 911. About Hunter. Maybe they can find him. It might not be too late."

  Cal's face crinkled in a grotesque approximation of a laugh. His split lip oozed blood, and his cheek was mottled with angry bruises. "It's too late," he croaked, his teeth chattering. "I'm positive." He nodded toward the fireplace, his eyes shut "Fire."

  Was it too late for Hunter? A tiny part of me almost hoped it was—if Hunter was dead, then we couldn't help him, and I didn't even have to try. But was he? A sob rose in my throat. Was he? Okay, I thought, trying to calm down. Okay. Break down the situation. Make a plan. I knelt and clumsily piled newspaper and kindling on the grate. I chose three large logs and arranged them on top. I didn't see any matches, so, closing my eyes, I tried to summon fire with my mind. But my magickal powers felt almost nonexistent. In fact, just trying to call on them made my head ache sharply. After nearly seventeen years of living without magick, to find myself bereft of it Page

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  now was terrifying.

  I opened my eyes and looked wildly around. Finally I saw an Aim 'n' Flame on the mantel, and I grabbed it and popped its trigger. The paper and kindling caught. I swayed toward the flames, feeling their healing warmth, then I glanced at Cal again. He looked wretched. "Cal?" I helped him sit up enough to tug him out of his leather jacket, taking care not to scrape his wrists, which were raw and blistered where Hunter had tried to bind them with a strange magickal chain. I pulled off Cal's wet boots. Then I covered him up with a patchwork velvet throw that was draped artistically over one end of the couch. He squeezed my fingers and tried to smile at me.

  "Be right back," I said, and hurried to the kitchen. I felt horribly alone as I waited for water to boil. I ran upstairs and rummaged through the first bathroom I found for bandages, then went back down and fixed a pot of herb tea. A pale face with accusing green eyes seemed to form in the steam that rose from the top of the teapot. Hunter, oh, God, Hunter. Hunter had tried to kill Cal, I reminded myself. He might have tried to kill me, too. Still, it was Hunter who had gone over the edge of the cliff into the Hudson River, the river filled with ice chunks as big as his head. It was Hunter who had probably been swept away by the current and Hunter whose body would be found tomorrow. Or not. I clamped my lips together to keep from sobbing as I hurried back, to Cal. Slowly I got Cal to drink a whole mug of goldenseal-and-ginger tea. His color looked better when he had finished it. I gently swabbed his wrists with a damp cloth, then wrapped them with a roll of gauze I had found, but the skin was blistered, and I knew it must hurt incredibly. After the tea Cal lay down again and slept, his breathing uneven. Should I have given him Tylenol? Should I hunt around for witch-type medicine? In the short while I had known Cal, he had been the strong one in our relationship. I had counted on him. Now he was counting on me, and I didn't know if I was ready.

  The mantel clock above my head struck three slow chimes. I stared at it. Three o'clock in the morning! I set my mug down on the coffee table. I was supposed to be home by one. And I didn't even have my car—Cal had picked me up. He was clearly in no shape to drive. Selene wasn't back yet Dammit! I said to myself. Think, think. I could call my dad and have him come get me. Very unappealing option. It was too late to call the only taxi service in Widow's Vale, which was in essence Ed Jinkins in his old Cutlass Supreme hanging out at the commuter station.

  I could take Cal s car.

  Five minutes later I let myself out of the house carefully. Cal was still asleep. I had taken the keys from his jacket, then written a note of explanation and tucked it in his jeans pocket, hoping he would understand. I stopped dead when I law Hunter's gray sedan sitting in the driveway like an accusation. Crap! What to do about his car? There was nothing I could do. Hunter had the keys. And he was gone. I couldn't push the car anywhere by myself and anyway, that seemed so—methodical somehow. So planned.

  My head spun. What should I do? Waves of exhaustion Rowed over me, almost making me weep. But I had to accept the fact that I couldn't do anything about this. Cal or Selene would have to deal with Hunter's car. Trembling, I climbed into Cal's gold Explorer, turned on the brights, and headed for home.

  Cal had used spells on me tonight, spells of binding so I couldn't move. Why? So I wouldn't interfere in his battle with Hunter? So I wouldn't be hurt? Or because he didn't trust me? Well, if he hadn't trusted me before, he knew better now. I clamped my teeth together on a semihysterical giggle. It wasn't every girl who would throw a Wiccan ceremonial dagger into the neck of her boyfriend's enemy. Hunter had tried to kill Cal, had bound his hands with spelled silver chain that had started to sizzle against Cal's flesh as soon as it touched him. That was when I'd hurled the athame at him and sent him over the cliff's edge. And probably killed him. Killed him. I shuddered as I turned onto my street. Had we actually killed him? Did Hunter have a chance? Maybe the wound in his neck wasn't as horrific as it had seemed. Maybe, when he went over the cliff, he had landed on a ledge. Maybe he was found by a park ranger or someone like Page

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  that.

  Maybe.

  I let the Explorer drift to a halt around the corner from my house. As I pocketed the keys, I noticed all the birthday gifts Cal had given me earlier, piled up on the backseat. W
ell, almost all. The beautiful athame was gone—Hunter had taken it over the cliff with him. With a sense of unreality I gathered up the other gifts and then ran home down the shoveled and salted walks. I let myself in silently, feeling with my senses. Again my magick was like a single match being held in a storm wind instead of the powerful wave I was used to feeling. I couldn't detect much of anything.

  To my relief, my parents didn't stir as I went past their bedroom door. In my own room I sat for a moment on the edge of my bed, collecting my strength. After the nightmarish events of tonight my bedroom looked babyish, as if it belonged to a stranger. The pink-and-white-striped walls, flowered border, and frilly curtains had never been me, anyway. Mom had picked everything out and redone the room for me as a surprise while I was at camp, six years ago. I threw off my clammy clothes and sighed with relief as I pulled on sweats. Then I went downstairs and dialed 911. "What is the nature of the emergency?" a crisp voice asked. "I saw someone fall into the Hudson," I said quickly, speaking through a tissue like they did in old movies. "About two miles up from the North Bridge." This was an estimate, based on where I thought Cal's house was. "Someone fell in. He may need help." I hung up quickly, hoping I hadn't stayed on the phone long enough for the call to be traced. How did that work? Did I have to stay on for a minute? Thirty seconds? Oh, Jesus. If they tracked me down I would confess everything. I couldn't live with this burden on my soul. My mind was racing with everything that had happened: my wonderful, romantic birthday with Cal; almost making love but then backing out; all my gifts; the magick we shared; my birth mother's athame, which I had shown Cal tonight and was now clutching like a security blanket; then the battle with Hunter, the horror as he fell. And now it was too late, Cal said. But was it? I had to try one last thing. I put on my wet coat, went outside, and walked around the side of my house in the darkness. Holding my birth mother's athame, I leaned close to a windowsill. There, glowing faintly beneath the knife's power, shimmered a sigil. Sky Eventide and Hunter had surrounded my house with the charms; I still didn't know why. But I hoped this would work. Once more closing my eyes, I held the athame over the sigil. I concentrated, feeling like i was about to pass out. Sky, I thought, swallowing. Sky.

  I hated Sky Eventide. Everything about her filled me with loathing and distrust, just as Hunter did, though for some reason Hunter upset me more. But she was his ally, and she was the person who should be told about him. I sent my thought out toward the purplish snow clouds. Sky. Hunter is in the river, by Cal's house. Go get him. He needs your help. What am I doing? I thought, beyond weariness. I can't even light a match. I can't feel my family sleeping inside my house. My magick is gone. But still I stood there in the cold darkness, my eyes closed, my hand turning to a frozen claw around the knife handle. Hunter is in the river. Go get him. Go get Hunter. Hunter is in the river. Tears came without warning, shockingly warm against my chilled cheeks. Gasping, I stumbled back inside and hung up my coat. Then I slowly mounted the steps, one by one, and was dimly surprised when I made it to the top. I hid my mother's athame under my mattress and crawled into bed. My kitten, Dagda, stretched sleepily, then moved up to coil himself next to my neck. I curled one hand around him. Huddled under my comforter, I shook with cold and wept until the first blades of sunlight pierced the childish, ruffled curtains at my window. Page

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  2. Guilty

  November Uncle, Beck, Aunt Shelagh, and Cousin Athan held a small celebration for me back at the house, after the trial. But my heart was full of pain. I sat at the kitchen table. Aunt Shelagh and Alwyn were swooping around, arranging food on plates. Then Uncle Beck came in. He told me that I'd been cleared of the blame and I must let it go. “How can I” I asked. It was I who'd first tried to use dark magick to find our parents. Though Linden had acted alone in calling on the dark spectre that killed him, he wouldn't have had the idea if I hadn't put in into his head. Then Alwyn spoke up. She said I was wrong, that Linden had always liked the dark side. She said he liked the power, and that he'd thought making herb mixtures were beneath him. Her halo of cork screw curls, fiery red like our Mum's, seemed to quiver as she spoke.

  “What are you on about?”I asked her. “Linden never mentioned any of this to me.” She said Linden had believed I wouldn't understand. He'd told her he wanted to be the most powerful witch anyone had ever seen. Her words were like needles in my heart.

  Uncle Beck asked why she hadn't tole us sooner, and she said she had. I saw her jut her chin in that obstinate why she has. And Aunt Shelagh thought about it, and said, “You know, she did. She did tell me. I thought she was telling stories.”

  Alwyn said no one had believed her because she was just a kid. Then she left the room, while Uncle Beck, Aunt Shelagh, and I sat in the kitchen and weighed our guilt.

  -Giomanach

  I woke up on my seventeenth birthday feeling like someone had put me in a blender and set it to chop. Sleepily I blinked and checked my clock. Nine. Dawn had come at six, so I had gotten a big three hours' sleep. Great. And then I thought—is Hunter dead? Did I kill him? My stomach roiled, and I wanted to cry.

  Under the covers, I felt a small warm body creeping cautiously along my Page

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  side. When Dagda poked his little gray head out from under the covers, I stroked his ears.

  "Hi, little guy”I said softly. I sat up just as the door to my room opened. “Morning, birthday girl!" my mom said brightly. She led my room and pushed aside the curtains, filling my with brittle sunlight. “Morning," I said, trying to sound normal. A vision of my finding out about Hunter made me shudder. It would destroy her. She sat on my bed and kissed my forehead, as if I was seven instead of seventeen. Then she peered at me. "Do you feel all right?" She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead. "Hmmm. No fever. But your eyes look a bit red and puffy."

  “I'm okay. Just tired," I mumbled. Time to change the subject. I had a sudden thought. "Is today really my actual birthday?" I asked. Mom stroked my hair back from my face with a gentle and. "Of course it is. Morgan, you've seen your birth certificate," she reminded me. "Oh, right." Until a few weeks ago I had always believed I was a Rowlands, like the rest of my family. But when I met Cal and began exploring Wicca, it became clear that I had magickal powers and that I was a blood witch, from a long line of blood witches—witches from one of the Seven Great Clans of Wicca. That's how I'd found out I was adopted. Since then it had been pretty much of an emotional roller-coaster ride here at home. But I loved my parents, Sean and Mary Grace Rowlands, and my sister, Mary K., who was their biological daughter. And they loved me. And they were trying to come to terms with my Wiccan heritage, my legacy. As was I.

  "Now, since today is your birthday, you can do what you want, more or less,” Mom said, absently tickling Dagda's bat-like gray ears. “Do you want to have a big breakfast and we'll go to a later mass? Or we can go to church now and then do something special for lunch?” I don't want to go to church at all, I thought. Lately my relationship with church had seemed like a battle of wills as I struggled to integrate Wicca into my life. I also couldn't face the idea of sitting though a Catholic mass and then having lunch with my family after what had happened the night before. “Um, is it all right if I sleep in today?”I asked. “I am feeling a little under the weather, actually. You guys do church and lunch without me.” Mom's lips thinned, but after a moment she nodded. “All right,”she said. “If that's what you want.”She stood up. “Do you want us to bring you back something for lunch?”

  The idea of food repulsed me. "Oh, no thanks," I said, trying to sound casual. "I'll just find something in the fridge. Thanks, anyway, though." "Okay," Mom said, touching my forehead again. "Tonight Eileen and Paula are coming over, and we'll do dinner and cake and presents. Sound good?" "Great," I said, and Mom closed the door behind her. I sank back on my pillow. I felt as if I had a split personality. On the one hand, I was Morgan Rowlands, good daughter, honor roll student,
math whiz, observant Catholic. On the other hand, I was a witch, by heritage and inclination. I stretched, feeling the ache in my muscles. The events of the night before hovered over my head like a storm cloud. What had I done? How had I come to this? If only I knew for sure whether or not Hunter was dead.... I waited until I heard the front door close behind my family. Then I got up and began pulling on my clothes. I knew what I had to do next.

  I drove my car to the back road that ran behind Cal's house and parked. Then I crunched across the snow to the cliff's rocky edge. Carefully I stretched out on my stomach and peered over. If I saw Hunter's body, I would have to climb down there, I warned myself. If he was alive, I would go for help. If he was dead ... I wasn't sure what I would do.

  Later I would go up to Cal's house and see how he was, but first I needed to do this, to look for Hunter. Had Sky gotten my message? Had 911 responded?

  The ground around this area was churned and muddy, evidence of the horrific battle Hunter and Cal had fought. It was awful to think about it, to remember how helpless I had been under Cal's binding spell. Why had he done that to me? I leaned over farther to try to see beneath a rocky ledge. The icy Hudson swept beneath me, clean and deadly. Sharp rocks jutted up from the riverbed. If Hunter had hit them, if he'd been in the water any length of time, he was surely dead. The thought made my stomach clench up again. In my mind I Page

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  pictured Hunter falling in slow motion over the edge, his neck streaming blood, an expression of surprise on his face.... “Looking for something?”

  I turned quickly, already scrambling to my feet as I recognized the English-accented voice. Sky Eventide.

  She stood fifteen feet away, hands in her pockets. Her pale face, whitish blond hair, and black eyes seemed etched against the painful blue of the sky.

  "What are you doing here?" I said.

  "I was about to ask the same thing," she said, stepping toward me. She was taller than me and as thin. Her black leather jacket didn't look warm enough for the cold.