The Calling s-7

by Cate Tiernan

  It’s almost Yule, the time of the return of the God, an appropriate time for me to take over Liathach. Greer was a power, I’ll grant, but she wasn’t bold enough. She was always worrying about the council. It’s time to turn the tables. Now Liathach will come into its own, and the council will fear us.

  — Neimhidh

  Hunter came back to the apartment with me, then went off to look for Ciaran’s former lover. Bree had gone for a pedicure, and Robbie and I were alone in the apartment. I was glad—I wanted to try to work things out with him. But to my dismay, when I came back into the living room after using the bathroom, he was pulling on his coat.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, feeling forlorn.

  “Museum of Natural History,” Robbie said briefly. He’d barely spoken to me since our argument.

  “Want company?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying not to show how much that hurt. “But Robbie? I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said yesterday. I need to talk to you about it. Um—can I walk you to the subway?”

  After a moment he nodded, and I put my coat back on. We walked up to Twenty-third Street. Robbie’s plan was to take the bus across to Eighth Avenue, where he could pick up the C train. The wide cross street was jammed with buses, trucks, and taxis. An ambulance and a fire truck, sirens wailing, tried to make their way through the gridlock. Talking—or rather, hearing—was almost impossible.

  “Want to stop in a coffee shop?” I shouted over the commotion. “My treat.”

  “Not really,” Robbie said again. He stepped forward as a bus pulled up to the stop.

  I gritted my teeth. “Okay,” I said. “We’ll talk on the bus.”

  Fortunately the bus wasn’t too crowded. We got a seat together. “I want to apologize to you,” I said. “You were right—I shouldn’t have messed with that woman.”

  Robbie looked straight ahead. He was still angry.

  “This being a blood witch and having power, it’s still kind of new to me,” I went on. “I’m not saying that excuses what I did. Only that I’m still getting used to it, still trying to figure out when I should and shouldn’t use magick. And the truth is, the power is a kick. I get tempted to use it when I shouldn’t. So I’m probably going to screw up now and then.”

  Robbie folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  I sighed. “You’re not making this easy.”

  He looked at me coldly. “You can make it easy. Just cast a spell on me.”

  I winced. “Robbie, listen. I promise I’ll be more careful. I give you my word that I’m going to be more conscious and try not to abuse my power. And I’ll never put you in a bad position again.”

  Robbie shut his eyes. When he opened them, the anger was gone and in its place was sorrow. “Morgan, I’m not trying to punish you. I just don’t know how to trust you anymore,” he said. “I don’t know how we can be friends. I don’t want to lose you, but—” He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You’ve got all the power. The playing field is nowhere near level. That makes it pretty hard to have a real friendship.”

  I felt my hope draining away. I’d assumed that we would talk and everything would be okay again. Robbie and I had never stayed angry with each other before. But Robbie was right. Things were unequal. I was operating in a different realm now, with different rules.

  He got off the bus, and I followed him down the steps into the subway station. The train came, and we got on it.

  “So, my being a blood witch means I’ve got to lose your friendship?” I bit down on my lip to keep from crying as the train moved out of the station.

  “I don’t know,” Robbie said. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

  We hurtled through several stops, during which I did my best not to break into tears. Things with Bree would never be the same. And now I was losing Robbie, too. Why did being a blood witch mean I had to give up my best friends?

  The subway came to a stop at Seventy-second Street, and I glanced at the map. The next stop was Robbie’s.

  “I don’t want to give up on our friendship,” I said stubbornly. “I need you. I need Robbie who’s not a blood witch and who knows me better than almost anyone. I—” I wiped my nose. “Robbie, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I can’t bear to lose you.”

  Robbie gave me a long, complicated look—sympathy, love, and a weary exasperation all bound together. “I don’t want to give up on us, either,” he said just as the subway rolled into the Eighty-first Street station. “You want to come see some dinosaurs?”

  “Sure.” I managed a shaky smile.

  We got off the train together, but as we walked through the turnstiles, a cloud of intense exhaustion dropped down over me. Then came vague nausea.

  “Uh…Robbie? I think I need to bail on the museum.”

  “After all that? You won’t even see dinosaurs with me?”

  “I want to, but I feel really wrung out all of a sudden. I think I just need to sit down for a while.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  I nodded. I wanted to give Robbie a hug, but by this time I was focusing on not throwing up. He hovered uncertainly for a moment. Then he said, “Okay. See you later,” and walked toward the museum.

  I crossed the street to the park and sat down on one of the benches. The nausea hadn’t let up. If anything, I felt worse, weak and disoriented. I shut my eyes for a second.

  When I opened them again, I was no longer looking at the wide steps and columns of the museum. The scene in front of me had changed.

  A blur of gray-brown branches. Across from them, a tall, narrow house obscured by snaky, tangled wisteria vines. Sirens and an emergency light flashing, cars speeding by. A doorbell hidden in a stone gorgon’s head. Screams and the sound of a struggle. A man’s voice, familiar but somehow terrifying. Blurry figures wearing animal masks. A bound figure, lying on a stone table.

  I felt something nudging my ankle, and I snapped out of the vision with a cry, startling the poor dog who was sniffing my shoe. The dog’s owner pulled it away, giving me an indignant look.

  Goddess, what was that? I wondered. I’d never had anything like it before—a waking vision, something that just came to me with no prompting. It was clearly connected to the dream I’d had. But it was different—more real somehow. Was I seeing Killian being tortured by Amyranth?

  I had to talk to Hunter. I sent him an urgent witch message. Then I sat there, shaken, waiting for him to answer. But there was no response. Hunter, now is not the time to ignore me, I thought. I tried again, letting my fear permeate the message.

  Still nothing. I felt a flicker of fear. It wasn’t like him to ignore an urgent summons. Had something happened to him? After waiting another minute I tried Sky. But she didn’t respond, either. Were my messages even getting through?

  Trying not to give in to panic, I found a pay phone and pulled out the phone card my parents had given me for emergencies. I punched in the number of the apartment. No one answered, but I left a message just in case Hunter or Sky came in.

  Next I called Bree’s cell phone. Bree picked up at once. “Speak,” she said loftily.

  “It’s me,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “In a cab, stuck in traffic.” She sounded irked.

  “Bree,” I said, “I think I saw Killian.”

  “What? Where?”

  I told Bree about the vision I’d just had. “I’m sure Ciaran’s got him, only I can’t figure out where they are. I’ve got to find that house,” I finished. I thought of how Hunter had used what we’d seen when I’d scryed to find Killian. Maybe Bree and I could do the same thing. “I need your help.”

  “Okay.” Bree sounded hesitant. “Um—what can I do?”

  “You know the city better than I do,” I said. “Think about what I described and help me figure out where it might be.”

  “Oh, I get it. Cool idea,” she said. “Um—okay, you say
you saw a blur of branches?”

  When I said yes, Bree said, “It sounds like this house you saw was by a park. Maybe Central Park.”

  “Right. Makes sense,” I said, feeling a flicker of excitement.

  “Okay, now, where, exactly, were the trees?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to call up the vision. “I was standing on a corner. The house was across a narrow street from me, and the blur was in my right eye. I think the trees were across a wide street from the house. Yeah, the house was on a corner. The front door faced a side street…. At the corner there was a wide avenue, and the trees were on the other side.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Okay, let’s think…. Describe the avenue. How wide was it? And which way was the traffic going?” Bree pressed.

  “Jesus, Bree,” I said, frustrated. “I wasn’t paying attention to traffic patterns.”

  “Think,” she insisted over the blare of horns. “Could you see any cars at all?”

  I forced my mind back to the siren and the flashing emergency light. The light was on top of an ambulance. I followed it in my mind until a blue SUV passed on its left…. “It was at least four lanes wide, and the cars were going both ways,” I said. “It was two-way traffic. Hey!” I knew most of the avenues were one way. That narrowed it down a lot.

  Bree’s voice rose with excitement. “It sounds like the house is somewhere on Central Park West. Two-way traffic…a wide avenue with a park on one side…a fancy house…I can’t think of anyplace else in Manhattan that looks like that.”

  “Bree, you’re brilliant,” I said fervently.

  “Where are you now?” she asked.

  “Right by the Museum of Natural History.”

  “Perfect,” Bree said. “Why don’t you just walk along Central Park West and see if you can find anything that looks familiar?”

  Bree was right—it was perfect. I might be within a few blocks of the house right now. I might actually find Killian—and Ciaran. I felt my chest constrict with fear.

  “Morgan? Are you there?” Bree asked.

  “I’m here,” I said. “Listen, I’m going to look for this place. Can you try to track down Hunter? Tell him I need him now!”

  Bree hesitated a moment. “Morgan, promise me that if you find it, you won’t go in there by yourself.”

  “I’m not planning on it,” I said, feeling a rush of warmth at her concern. “Bree—thanks for your help.”

  I hung up and made one more call, this one to Robbie’s cell. After all, he was somewhere just across the street. But all I got was his voice mail. Robbie had turned off his phone, and I didn’t have time to search the museum for him.

  I tried Hunter one more time. Still nothing. Was he okay? I just had to trust that he was. And I had to trust in the fact that there were no coincidences. Fate was guiding me. I took the fact that I was on Central Park West as a sign. I was being guided to find Killian.

  Focusing my eyes straight ahead, I saw the park in my peripheral vision. The blur of branches in my right eye was very much like what I’d seen in the vision.

  I started walking north, and my senses began tingling. They were charged the way the air is charged before a summer rainstorm. Everything was about to break wide open. I passed a vendor selling hot roasted chestnuts, a dog walker with half a dozen yapping dogs pulling him along. The winter wind was at my back, sweeping up Central Park West, propelling me. A sense of urgency was building; adrenaline was coursing through my veins.

  At the corner of Eighty-seventh and Central Park West, I stumbled to a sudden stop, my heart hammering. There it was.

  The house had four stories, and I could glimpse granite facing behind a tangle of thick, gnarled wisteria vines. Three stone steps led to the front door, where a doorbell was embedded in a stone carving of a gorgon’s head. It was exactly what I’d seen in the vision.

  A thin, icy cloak of fear settled around me. I was standing in front of the place where Amyranth held Killian.

  11. Fated

  Samhain, 1983

  The rumors are true. She lives. Ballynigel was razed to the ground by the dark wave, yet Maeve Riordan and that fawning blue-eyed half-wit, Angus Bramson, managed to survive. Goddess, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve wished them both dead and in everlasting torment. Especially her. In the space of two enchanted weeks she opened my heart and destroyed my entire life. My marriage became a hollow sham, my home a prison. Grania hates me. The children…well, they respect my power, at least.

  I’m leaving Scotland, leaving Liathach. The coven has grown in strength and magick as never before. We took part in the destruction of Crossbrig, which gained Liathach their much coveted Wyndenkell spell books. But the Liathach witches are weak, fearful. They’ve been ruled too long by Grania’s family. They think I’ve led them into danger. They want to retreat. Well, let them. But I won’t be a part of it.

  I don’t care about leaving Liathach. I should have done it years ago. All that matters is that I find Maeve. She has done the impossible. She survived the dark wave. I’ve scryed, and I’ve seen her. I know that she still holds me in her heart, that we are still meant to be together. I can’t live without her another day. Now I must find her.

  The only question is whether it will be to tell her how much I love her…or to kill her.

  — Neimhidh

  The house was old, a part of the city left over from the nineteenth century. The worn stonework had a faded elegance, and the thick tangle of wisteria vines reminded me of the Briar Rose fairy tale. A sleeping princess hidden behind a wall of thorns…But Killian was no fictional princess, and I was no rescuer prince. Now that I’d found it, what on earth was I going to do?

  I crossed the street to another pay phone and called Bree again. She’d just gotten back to the apartment.

  “I found it,” I told her. “It’s right on the corner of Central Park West and Eighty-seventh. Have you heard anything from Hunter?”

  “Nada,” Bree answered. “Any idea where he might be?”

  Nothing immediately jumped to mind. Hunter was always so careful and secretive about his work. He told me only what he thought I needed to know.

  “Um…there’s a Mexican witch’s shop he took me to off Hudson Street. She’s the one who told him about the woman he’s searching for. She might give you the address.”

  “I’ll find her,” Bree promised. “But first I’ll leave a note here in case he comes back.”

  “I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on the house,” I told Bree. “If you find Hunter, will you tell him to meet me here?”

  “Okay. But call me again in twenty minutes,” Bree ordered. “I want to know that you’re safe.”

  I promised I would. Then I sat down on one of the park benches that offered a clear view of the house. It was not a day for sitting outside. The air was damp and bitter cold. Within a few minutes I could hardly feel my feet.

  But I could feel the house. Even though I was across the street from it, I could sense powerful magick wrapped around it.

  I thought I saw a flicker of movement in one of the upper windows, and a knot of dread lodged itself in the middle of my chest. I wished I could go off searching with Bree, I really did. The idea of staying here on my own across from this house that practically oozed evil terrified me—especially knowing that Ciaran might be inside.

  I hunkered down in the cold, concentrating on the house. No one came in or out. Nothing more moved in the windows. Even the wisteria branches barely moved in the icy wind. There was a bleak stillness about the house that suddenly made me wonder if I was wrong and the place was completely deserted. Magick can fool most people, I reminded myself. But not me.

  I extended my senses to see what sort of magickal defenses or traps there might be. I picked up resistance at the door, a warding spell of some sort, but it didn’t feel very serious. The house wasn’t nearly as heavily spelled as Cal and Selene’s house had been. I couldn’t sense any electronic security systems, either, just
the requisite New York combination of heavy-duty locks on the door. Only one of those bolts was actually shut. Strange.

  I glanced at my watch. It was nearly three o’clock. I wondered if Bree was having any luck finding Hunter. Was there some way I could find out what was going on in the house at that very moment? I could search for Killian’s aura.

  I concentrated, trying to remember what it had been like. A pattern traced itself in my mind’s eye so clearly that I could almost hear Killian’s voice. And then what I was hearing were cries. I felt the struggle again, the helplessness, the overwhelming sense of terror and despair.

  The vision was gone as quickly as it had come, but I knew what it meant. Killian was in the house, captive yet reaching out, crying for help. Maybe he wasn’t calling to me specifically, but I had an awful feeling I was the only one who had heard him.

  I couldn’t wait for Hunter to show up. “Hang on, Killian,” I muttered. “I’m coming.”

  I stood up and immediately began to tremble. Who was I kidding? I was a seventeen-year-old witch with all of two and a half months’ experience in my craft. And I was about to go up against a coven of evil Woodbanes and the witch who’d killed Maeve and Angus? Maeve and Angus had been trained in Wicca from the day they were born. If they hadn’t been able to stop Ciaran…The odds were beyond insane. Ciaran had killed Maeve, his mùirn beatha dàn. What would he do to me, her daughter?

  Yet I couldn’t discount the dreams and visions. I was sure I’d had them for a reason. I could almost hear Hunter reminding me that according to Wicca, nothing is random. Everything has a purpose. I wouldn’t have been given those visions if I hadn’t been meant do something about them. Even the fact that the school boiler had burst now seemed part of some inevitable plan. I was here in New York City because it was my fate to save Killian.