by Cate Tiernan
’Bye, Mr. Niall.” I looked at Hunter. “What about the writing? Will it disappear if I leave?”
Hunter shook his head. “You’ve revealed it, so it should be visible for at least a few hours. Long enough for Da to transcribe it.” Hunter got my jacket and walked me out onto the porch.We both gave a quick glance around and felt each other cast our senses.
“Let me get my keys,” he said. “I’ll follow you to your house.”
I shook my head.“Let’s not go through this again.” Hunter was always trying to protect me more than I was comfortable with.
“How about if I just sleep outside your house, then, in my car?”
I looked up at him with amusement and saw he was only half joking. “Oh, no,” I protested. “No, I don’t need you to do that.”
“Maybe I need to do it.” “Thank you—I know you’re worried about me. But I’ll be okay.You stay here and help your dad decipher Rose’s spell. I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”
Hunter looked unsure, but I kissed him good night about eight times and got into my car. It wasn’t that I felt I was invincible—it was just that when you go up against someone like Ciaran, there isn’t a whole lot you can do except face it. I knew he wanted to talk to me; I also knew that he would, when he wanted to. Whether Hunter was there or not.
As I drove off, I saw Hunter standing in the street, watching me until I turned the corner.
I felt like crap by the time I pulled into my driveway. I got out of Das Boot and locked it, grimaced at its blue hood that I still hadn’t gotten painted, and headed up the walk.The air didn’t smell like spring, but it didn’t smell like winter, either. My mom’s dying crocuses surrounded me.
It wasn’t really that late—a little after nine. Maybe I would take some Tylenol and watch the tube for a while before I went to bed.
“Morgan.”
My hand jerked away from the front door as if electrified. Every cell in my body went on red alert: my breathing quickened, my muscles tightened, and my stomach clenched, as if ready for war.
Slowly I turned to face Ciaran MacEwan. He was handsome, I thought, or if not strictly handsome, then charismatic. He was maybe six feet tall, shorter than Hunter. His dark brown hair was streaked with gray.When I looked into his eyes, brownish hazel and tilted slightly at the corners, it it was like looking into my own. The last time I had seen him, he had taken the shape of a wolf, a powerful gray wolf.When the council had suddenly arrived, he had faded into the woods, looking back at me with those eyes.
“Yes?” I said, willing myself to appear outwardly calm.
He smiled, and I could understand how my mother had fallen in love with him more than twenty years ago. “You knew I was coming,” he said in his lilting Scottish accent, softer, more beguiling than Hunter’s crisp English one.
“Yes. What do you want?” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying not to show that inside, my mind was racing, wondering if I should send a witch message to Hunter, if I should try to do some sort of spell myself, if I could somehow just disappear in in a puff of smoke. . . .
“I told you, Morgan. I want to talk to you. I wanted to tell you I forgive you for the watch sigil. I wanted to try once again to convince you to join me, to take your rightful place as the heir to my power.”
“I can’t join you, Ciaran,” I said flatly.
“But you can,” he said, stepping closer. “Of course you can.You can do anything you want.Your life can be whatever you decide you want it to be.You’re powerful, Morgan—you have great, untapped potential. Only I can really show you how to use it. Only I can really understand you—because we’re so much alike.”
I’ve never been good at holding my temper, and more than once my mouth has gotten me into trouble. I continued that tradition now, refusing to admit to a fear close to terror. “Except one of us is an innocent high school student and the other of us is the of us is the leader of a bunch of murdering, evil witches.”
For just a moment I saw a flash of anger in his eyes, and I quit breathing, both dreading what he would do to me and wishing it were already over. My knees began to tremble, and I prayed that they wouldn’t give way.
“Morgan,” he said, and underlying his smooth voice was a fine edge of anger. “You’re being very provincial. Unsophisticated. Close-minded.”
“I know what it means.” He wouldn’t even need to hear the quaver in my voice—he was able to pick up on the fact that my nerves were stretched unbearably taut.
“Then how can you bear to lower yourself to that level? How can you be so judgmental? Are you so all-seeing, all-knowing that you can decide what’s right and wrong for me, for others? Do you have such a perfect understanding of the world that you assume the authority to pass judgment? Morgan, magick is neither good nor evil. It just is. Power is neither good nor evil. It just is. Don’t limit yourself this way. You’re only seventeen: You have a whole life of making magick—beautiful, powerful magick—ahead of you. Why close all the doors now?”
“I may not be all-knowing, but I know what’s right for me. I’ve figured out that it’s wrong to wipe out whole villages, whole covens in one blow,” I said, trying to keep my voice down so no one inside could hear me. “There’s no way you can justify that.”
Ciaran took a deep breath and clenched his fists several times. “You are my daughter; my blood is in your veins. I’m your family. I’m your father—your real father. Join with me and you’ll have a family at last.”
The quick pang of pain inside didn’t distract me.
“I have a family.” “They’re not witches, Morgan,” he said painstakingly, as if I were an idiot. “They can neither understand you nor respect your power—as I can. It’s true, I’m selfish. I want the pleasure of teaching you what I know, of seeing you bloom like a rose, your extraordinary powers coming to fruition. I want to experience that with you. My other children . . . are not as promising.”
I thought of my half brother Killian, the only one of Ciaran’s other children I had met. I had liked Killian—he’d been fun, funny, irreverent, irresponsible. But not good material as an heir to an empire of power. Not as good as I would be.
“And you . . . you are the daughter of my mùirn beatha dàn,” he said softly. His soul mate, my mother.
“Who you killed,” I said just as softly, without anger. “You can ask me from now until I die, but I won’t ever join you. I can’t. In the circle of magick, I’m in the light. My power comes from the light, not the dark. I don’t want the power of the dark. I will never want the power of the dark.” I really hoped that was true.
“You will change your mind, you know,” he said, but I detected a faint note of doubt in his voice. “No. I can’t. I don’t want to.”
“Morgan—please. Don’t make me do this.”
“Do what?” I asked, a thread of alarm lacing through me.
He sighed and looked down. “I was so hoping you’d change your mind,” he said, almost to himself. “I’m sorry to hear that you won’t. A power like yours—it must be allied with mine, or it presents too much of a risk.” “What the hell do you mean by that?”
He looked up at me again. “There’s still time to change your mind,” he said. “Time to save yourself, your family, your friends. If you make the right decision.”
“You tell me what you’re talking about,” I demanded, my throat almost closed with fear. I thought of what he could to me, to the people I loved inside this house. To Hunter. “Save myself, my family? Don’t you dare do anything. You asked your question. I answered. Now get away from me.” I was almost shaking with rage and terror, remembering all too well the nightmare of New York, when he had tried to make me relinquish my power, my very soul to him. I remembered, too, the terrifying, heady sweetness of being a wolf alongside him, a ruthless, beautiful predator with indescribable strength. Oh, Goddess.
“I’ll leave,” Ciaran said, sounding sad. “I won’t ask you again. It’s a pity it all has to end this way.”
> “End what way?” I practically shrieked, almost hysterical.
“You’ve chosen your fate, daughter,” he said, turning to leave. “It isn’t what I wanted, but you leave me no choice. But know that by your decision you have sacrificed not only yourself, but everyone and everything you love.” He gave a rueful, bitter smile. “Good-bye, Morgan. You were a shining star.”
I felt ready to jump out of my skin and tried to choke out something, something to make him explain, make him tell me what he was going to do. Then I remembered: I knew his true name! The name of his very essence, the name by which I could I could control him absolutely. The name that was a color, a song, a rune all at once. Just as the name sprang to my trembling lips, Ciaran faded into the night. I blinked and peered into the darkness but saw nothing: no shadow, no footprints on the dead grass, no mark in the cold dew that was just starting to form.
Abruptly my knees finally gave way and I sat down, hard, on the cold cement steps. My breath felt cold and caught in my throat. My hands were shaking—I felt stupid with panic, with dread. As soon as I could get to my feet, I went inside, smiled, and said good night to my family.Then I went upstairs and called Hunter. And told him that Ciaran had gotten in touch with me.
The next morning Hunter was waiting for me outside my house when Mary K. and I came out to go to school.
“Hi, Hunter!” my sister said, looking surprised but pleased to see him at this hour.
“Hullo, Mary K.,” he said.“Mind if I tag along this morning?”
Bewildered, my sister shrugged and got into the backseat of Das Boot. He and I exchanged meaningful glances.
For the rest of the day, Hunter hung out in my car outside school. Last night I had been inside my spelled house. Today, at school, I didn’t have much protection. Whenever I passed a window, I looked out to see him. Even though he and I both knew this was like erecting a tissue-paper house in front of a gale-force wind, still, it made both of us feel better to be close.
At lunch he joined me and the members of Kithic in the cafeteria. After we’d talked last night, we’d agreed not to say anything to the rest of our coven until we knew more about what was going on.
“Hi, Hunter,” said Bree, taking the seat next to him. “What are you doing here?”
“Just missed my girl, I guess,” Hunter said, accepting half the sandwich I offered him. He immediately changed the subject. “So you’re all coming to the next circle, right? At Thalia’s?”
I saw Bree’s beautiful, coffee-colored eyes narrow a fraction and thought it lucky that Thalia didn’t go to our school. She had made it no secret that she found Robbie attractive. Privately I thought a bit of competition might be good for Bree.
Raven Meltzer clomped over in her motorcycle boots and sat down at the end of the table. She looked uncharacteristically sedate today, in a torn black sweatshirt, men’s suit trousers, and less than half an inch of makeup. She nodded at the rest of the table, then surveyed her bought lunch without enthusiasm.
I looked around at my coven, my friends, remembering Ciaran’s words from last night: He had said that with my decision, I had sacrificed them. At the start of the school year I had really known only Bree and Robbie. Now all of them—Jenna, Raven, Ethan, Sharon, and Matt—felt like an extended family. Despite how different we were, despite what other groups we belonged to, we were a coven. We had made magick together. And now, because of me, they might all be in serious danger. I took in a couple of shuddering breaths and opened my carton of chocolate milk. Hunter and I would somehow fix this situation. I had to believe that.
After school I joined Hunter at Das Boot. We gave Mary K. a ride home and picked up his car, and then we both drove to his house. Once there, he called upstairs to his dad. Mr. Niall soon came down and greeted me with what seemed like a fraction more warmth than usual. I felt slightly encouraged as the three of us sat around the worn wooden table in the kitchen.
“Last night Ciaran asked you to join him,” Hunter said, jumping right in. I tried to ignore Mr. Niall’s visible flinch.
“Yes,” I said. “He’s asked before. I’ve always said no. I said no again last night. But this felt more final. He said he was sorry to hear it—but that I could still save myself, my friends, and my family—if I made the right decision.”
“He said specifically your friends, your family?” Hunter asked.
“Yes.”
Hunter and Mr. Niall met eyes across the table. Mr. Niall stretched his hands out on the table and looked at them. Finally he said,“Yes, I think that sounds like a dark wave.”
My mouth dropped open—somehow, despite his implications, I hadn’t let myself believe Ciaran could have meant that. “So you really think Ciaran would send a dark wave here, to Widow’s Vale? For me?”
“That’s what it sounds like,” said Mr. Niall, and Hunter nodded slowly. “Though it would likely be targeted to attack only the coven members and their families, and not the whole town.”
“I agree with Da,” said Hunter. “From what you told me last night, it sounds like Ciaran thinks your power is just too strong not to be allied with his. And I would guess he also wants revenge since you won’t join him. Not to mention the added bonus of taking a Seeker out at the same time.”
As much as I had tried to deny the real threat behind Ciaran’s words, as soon as Hunter said “dark wave,” I knew he was right. Still, it felt like a fresh, crushing blow, and I took small, shallow breaths, trying to keep calm.
“I think he’s been planning it for a while,” Mr. Niall went on. “I’ve been feeling the effects this past week.There’s a feeling of deadness, of decay in the air. An oppression. At first I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. But now I’m certain my instincts are right—there’s a dark wave coming.”
In a flash I remembered Mom’s crocuses dying in a row beside the front walk. I thought of how the lawn hadn’t begun to green up, though it was time. I thought of how awful I’d been feeling physically. “What can we do? How can we stop it?” I asked, trying not to sound completely terrified. Inside me, my mind was screaming, There’s no way to stop it, there’s never been a way.
“I contacted the council,” Hunter answered me. “They were no help at all, as usual. They’re looking for Ciaran, and now that they know he’s here, they’ll surround Widow’s Vale.”
“For me it means I’ll devote all my time and energy to crafting a spell that could combat a dark wave,” said Hunter’s father. “I’ve been able to decipher a lot of the hidden writing in Rose’s book. I’ve started to sketch out the basic form of the spell, its shape. I wish I had more time, but I’ll work as fast as I can.”
The weight of this hung over my head like an iron safe. This was happening because of me. I had caused this to happen. Ciaran was my biological father—and because of that, everything I held dear would be destroyed. “What if I left town?” I suggested wildly. “If I left town, Ciaran would come after just me and leave everyone else alone.”
“No!” Hunter and his father cried at the same time.
Taken back by their vehemence, I started to explain, but Mr. Niall cut me off.
“No,” he said. “That doesn’t work. I know that all too well. It won’t really solve anything. It wouldn’t guarantee the town’s safety, and you’d be as good as dead. No, we have to face this thing head-on.”
“What about the rest of Kithic?” I asked. “Shouldn’t they know? Could they help somehow? All of us together?”
Looking uncomfortable, Hunter said, “I don’t think we should tell Kithic.”
“What? Why not? They’re in danger!”
Hunter stood and put the kettle to boil on the stove. When he turned back, his face looked pained. “It’s just . . . this is blood witch business. We’re not supposed to involve nonwitches in our affairs. Not only that, but there’s truly nothing they can do. They might have strong wills, but they have very little power. And if we tell them, they probably wouldn’t believe us, anyway. But if they did, then
everyone would panic, which wouldn’t help anything.”
“So we just have to pretend we don’t know everyone might die,” I said, holding my head in my hands, my elbows on the table.
“Yes,” Hunter said quietly, and once again I was reminded of the fact that he was a council Seeker and that he’d had to make hard decisions, tough calls, as part of his job. But I was new to it, and this hurt me. It was going to be literally painful not to tell my own family, or Bree, Robbie. . . . I swallowed hard.
“There’s something else,” Mr. Niall said. “I haven’t mentioned this to you yet,” he told Hunter. “With this type of spell, actually, as with most spells, the person who casts it will have to be a blood witch and will also have to be physically very close to where the dark wave would originate. My guess is that Ciaran would use the local power sink to help amplify the wave’s power.”
I nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” At the edge of town is an old Methodist cemetery where several magickal “leys” cross. That made that area a power sink: any magick made there was stronger. Any inherent blood witch powers were also stronger there.
“The problem, of course,” Mr. Niall went on,“is that to be close enough to cast the spell, a witch is in effect sacrificing herself or himself because it will most likely cause death.”
