by Cate Tiernan
"I saw, just barely," said Keady. "I was helping Will, who was really in a bad way. But I thought I saw her. She's showing quite a lot of promise."
Morgan nodded, quietly proud, then turned back to business. "I couldn't trace the spell last night. It had to have been Ealltuinn, though." She shook her head. "It's been so peaceful here for twenty years. Now to have an enemy who would go this far-" She couldn't express how furious she was at having her quiet life, her innocent daughter, her coven attacked in this way. Hadn't she already been through all that? Why was this happening again? She looked up at Keady. "How bad do you think it was?" "It was bad," Keady said bluntly. "Another minute or two and Will, maybe Susan, maybe Lizzie Hawkstone, wouldn't have recovered. That stuff was foul, poisonous."
"It was terrible," Morgan agreed. "Thank the Goddess I was able to fight it." She met Keady's even gaze. "Is this about Belwicket or about me?"
Keady knew what Morgan meant. "You're a big stumbling block," she pointed out calmly. "Lilith's been pushing Ealltuinn, trying to become more and more powerful. She can't have a bunch of goody-goody Woodbanes getting in the way."
"I'm not the high priestess," Morgan pointed out, standing up and brushing off her knees.
"No, but it's common knowledge that the coven leaders want you to be. And you're Morgan Byrne! Everyone knows yours is the power to reckon with."
Morgan shook her head, about to howl with frustration. "Why can't power be a good thing? Long ago my power made me a target. Now it seems to be happening again. I can't bear it." Her fist clenched her trowel at her side, small clumps of earth dropping onto her shoe.
"What has a front has a back," said Keady. "And the bigger the front, the bigger the back. Everything must be balanced, good and evil, light and dark. Even if we don't want it to be."
Morgan looked at the sky, clear blue and sunny. So normal looking. This same sun was shining on someone who even now might be planning how best to defeat her, destroy her coven. A weight settled on her shoulders, the dread of what might be in store for her already taking its toll. She turned to Keady. "By that logic, if I turned dark and started doing terrible things, the world would be a better place because of the good that would erupt to balance it."
Keady gave a wry smile. "Let's not test that theory."
"No. Let's decide what we're going to do," Morgan said. "We need a plan. If the coven is under siege, we need to know how to protect it. Come on in and have some tea." She started walking toward the back, and Keady followed. "You know, on Friday, Katrina and I found a hex pouch in the garden."
"Really? Goddess. Had it harmed anything?"
"All the car-" Morgan stopped dead, staring at what lay smack in the middle of the path. Her mouth went dry in an instant.
"Oops, sorry," Keady said, bumping into her. "Problem?"
Morgan felt her friend leaning around to see. She didn't know what to think, what to do. "Uh ..."
"What's that, then? Is that a chunk of quartz?"
"It's, uh . . ." It was like drowning, drowning in a sea of emotions.
Frowning slightly, Keady moved around Morgan and bent to pick it up.
"Wait!" Morgan put out a hand to stop Keady. Slowly she knelt and reached out to the stone. It was the size of a small apple, pale pink, translucent, clouded, and shot through with flaws. "It's morganite," she said, her voice sounding strangled.
Reluctantly, as if trying not to be burned, Morgan turned the stone this way and that until she found a flat side. Then she felt faint as her world swam and shifted sideways. The morganite had an image on it. Oh, Goddess, oh, Goddess. Morgan squinted, but the image was unrecognizable, just as that face in the window had been the other night. It was a person, maybe even a man. But who, dammit? She studied the face, her heart pounding, trying to make out the features, but they were too indistinct. She rubbed her finger over the image as if to clear away dirt, but it made no difference.
"Who is that?" Keady asked quietly.
"You see it, too?"
"Not clearly-oh, wait-it's gone."
It was true. As Morgan watched, the image faded from the stone, leaving Morgan holding an empty piece of quartz. Morganite quartz. One of the first gifts Hunter had ever given her had been a beautiful piece of morganite, and inside it Hunter had spelled a picture of his heart's desire: a picture of Morgan. That was how he had told her he loved her. Now here she was, sixteen years after his death, finding morganite on her garden path. And not just morganite- spelled morganite. Horrified, Morgan felt a sob rise in her throat, but she held it back. Her hands were shaking, and she felt every nerve in her body come alive. What was happening to her? Who was taunting her? Was it really Lilith? Why would she go to such lengths just because Morgan had disagreed with her publicly about a few spells?
"Morgan?" Keady touched the back of her hand gently, and when Morgan didn't respond, Keady took the piece of morganite out of her hand.
"It's morganite," Morgan said again, her voice cracking. "A kind of quartz. Not native to Ireland. A long time ago a different piece of morganite had a lot of significance for me. Someone put this here, on my path. Someone who knows me well. Someone who knows my past." She felt a spurt of fear and anger rise in her. She'd thought that her days of battle were over, that she was safe and free to live a peaceful life. Over the last three days that illusion had been stripped from her, and it was devastating. Keady took Morgan's elbow and led her into the backyard. "Let's get that tea."
"The garden tools," Morgan said in a near whisper. She gestured to the shed, and Keady obediently detoured there. Morgan opened the shed door and mechanically hung up her few gardening tools. Something felt different. Her extra- sensitive senses picked up on something, alerting her consciousness, and Morgan looked around. Now wasn't the time to ignore signals like this. What was different? Her nerves were frayed and shot; she felt trembly and nauseated. All she wanted to do was sit down and have a hot cup of strong tea.
Then she saw it. The cellar door. It had been opened- there was a new scrape in the dirt where it had swung out, and the spiderweb had been recently broken. Cautiously Morgan turned the handle of the door. With everything that had been going on lately, she had no idea what to expect. Inside, Morgan tugged the light string, but nothing happened.
"One second, Keady," Morgan said, starting to descend the cellar steps. Thank the Goddess for magesight, Morgan thought. Even without the light she could see perfectly well. She pulled the downstairs light cord, but it didn't work either. Morgan didn't pick up on any vibrations . . . but there, in the corner, some old crates had been disturbed. In a second, her conversation with Moira came back to her-Moira asking for Morgan's old Books of Shadows, Morgan being vague. Oh, no.
The crate was open, and all her Books of Shadows were gone. Moira must have gotten them this morning before class. Her first Books of Shadows, with their entries about Cal, about Hunter. Moira might be reading them right now. She might be discovering the magnitude of what her mother had kept from her. Why did this have to happen now, when so much else was going wrong?
Morgan rubbed her forehead with one hand, trying to ease her tension headache. It had been good having Keady here for a while. Morgan had spilled about everything: the ruined carrots, the face in the window, the significance of the morganite, Moira being late, Moira apparently taking all of Morgan's early Books of Shadows. The poisonous smoke.
"It all seems to be building up to something," Morgan had told Keady.
Keady had frowned. "I agree, but what? It's no secret that Lilith isn't a fan of yours, but would she really go this far? This kind of coven infighting just doesn't happen that often. And simple disagreements and bickering wouldn't lead to out-and-out attacks, would they? Maybe we should contact the New Charter."
"Yeah, maybe so." Morgan couldn't help feeling a familiar twinge at the mention of the New Charter. Even after all these years she couldn't hear the words without thinking of Hunter.
Keady had stayed until she was sure Morgan felt better. Si
nce she had left, Morgan had been lying on the couch downstairs, Bixby on her lap and Finnegan draped across her feet like a very heavy hot water bottle. She'd been thinking hard, trying to see some kind of pattern. Okay, assuming this was Ealltuinn, going after Belwicket and more specifically Morgan, why were they doing it now? Was this autumn significant in some way? Besides being the first autumn since Colm had died? Oh, Colm. Her heart ached for him, and she could almost see the appeal of creating a bith dearc, a window to the netherworld, in order to contact a loved one who had passed on. Almost, but not quite. After seeing the damage it had done to Daniel Niall, Morgan had no desire to mess with dark magick like that.
"Bixby, you're such a good boy," Morgan murmured, rubbing him behind his ears. He purred deeply, his orange eyes at half-mast.
Think, think. That piece of morganite. The face in the window. The hex pouch. The smoke. Even Moira and Ian- maybe lan's very presence in Moira's life was itself a clue.
Cal, Morgan couldn't help thinking.
Morgan and Finnegan both sensed Moira at the same time. Thank the Goddess she wasn't late, hadn't gone anywhere after class. Finnegan cocked one ear, opened one eye, then lay back down. Morgan braced herself to confront Moira.
Her daughter came in just as the sunlight faded and the wind started kicking up. She looked surprised to see Morgan lying on the couch during the day.
"Hi. What's wrong? Are you sick?"
"Not really," said Morgan. In an instant she remembered the awful fights she'd had with her own parents when she'd first discovered Wicca. They'd been not only offended, but truly afraid for her soul. They were still unhappy about it after all these years. Morgan remembered how she'd wished that they could try to be more understanding and thought now that their fears had made everything seem worse. She could try to do it differently.
"I saw that you found some of my old Books of Shadows in the cellar," she said, striving for a casual tone. "Have you been reading them?" Moira looked at her, seeming to weigh her answer. "I went and got them this morning," she finally admitted. "I know you wanted me to wait till you got them, but... after the smoke and then everything Keady said Saturday-I'm just curious. I need to see how it all started." She shook her head. "I just feel like I need to know everything."
Morgan groaned inwardly at the idea of her daughter knowing everything about her life.
"I've only just started the first one," Moira said. She came to stand by the couch, looking down at Morgan. Moira's hazel eyes were full of secrets, worries, and concerns, but her face was closed, private.
"Do you have any questions?" Morgan's stomach was tight and her jaw ached from trying to keep her face relatively calm.
"I've not read much, like I said," Moira answered, sitting down in the rocking chair. "Just the beginning of the first one-it was where you had met Cal Blaire. I got as far as you discovering you were a blood witch, and then you thought you loved Cal. I've never heard you mention Cal, have I? Was he just a high school crush kind of thing?"
A startled laugh escaped Morgan. Jagged memories of Cal and what he had been to her flashed across her mind. In some ways the beginning of her involvement with Wicca had been so painful, so dangerous and huge, that Morgan had tried hard to live it down ever since. Maybe the truth was that she hadn't just kept those stories from Moira for Moira's sake-she hadn't wanted to relive that time herself.
At Moira's confused expression, Morgan coughed and said, "No, not exactly." She got up and took a Diet Coke from the fridge, then sat back down on the couch and pulled Bixby into her lap for comfort.
"It's stuff I never told you," she said. "I wanted to protect you, in a way." Moira's eyebrows raised. "Your dad knew some of it, but not all. The thing is, when I first found out about being a witch, being adopted, and being from the Belwicket clan-it was exciting and good because it answered a lot of questions and explained things about myself and my family. But it also introduced me to a world I didn't know existed. That world was not always good or kind or safe. And because of who I was-Maeve Riordan's daughter-people, other witches, were interested in me and whatever powers I might have. And on top of all that, Nana and Poppy were so horrified and unhappy and were so afraid I was going to burn in hell forever because I wasn't a good Catholic anymore. It wasn't like your experience here, the daughter of two witches, always knowing you were a witch, growing up in a community that accepts witches, our religion and powers. Just finding out I was a blood witch caused all sorts of pain and unhappiness, mostly for my family and some of my friends, but also sometimes for me."
Morgan was very conscious that she hadn't mentioned Ciaran MacEwan yet. She figured she could handle telling Moira only one difficult thing at a time.
"What do you mean?" Moira asked, pulling one knee up onto the seat of the chair.
"Well. Let me see." Even after nearly twenty years Morgan still felt a pang of embarrassment, of betrayal. "In high school I felt kind of like an ugly duckling. And Aunt Bree was my best friend. You remember Aunt Bree, from New York?"
"The one with the big house and three daughters?" Moira asked. "Yes. Bree is still gorgeous, but she looked like that in high school. Imagine being best friends with her."
"Ugh. Tess and Vita are bad enough, in their own ways."
"Right. So no guy ever noticed me-I had guy friends but didn't go on dates or anything. And I was almost seventeen. Then a new guy came to school, and he was drop-dead gorgeous." Morgan swallowed hard.
"Yeah?" Moira said with interest.
"Yeah," Morgan said, sighing. "That was Cal Blaire. He was really good-looking, and all the girls fell in love with him, including Bree and me. His mom was a witch, a dark Woodbane, but I didn't know about any of that at the time. She'd come to my town, Widow's Vale, to start a new coven and uncover any bent witches who would join in her dark magick or to flush out any strong witches so she could take their powers. She was a member of Amyranth."
Moira's eyes widened. Amyranth had been a coven dedicated to working dark magick and accumulating power, by any means neccessary. It had been disbanded for almost ten years, but they would be notorious for generations to come. "Amyranth," she breathed. "The real Amyranth?"
"Yes. But I didn't know about Woodbanes or Amyranth or any of that. I met Cal, and he wanted to start a coven, just kids, where we would celebrate the sabbats and stuff. And he was also supposed to find out if any of us had any real powers. He was surprised when I turned out to be a blood witch without even knowing it."
"I can't believe you were sixteen before you knew that." Moira shook her head. "Were you knocked over?"
"That's an understatement," Morgan said dryly. "But even then, untaught and uninitiated ... well, I could do stuff. Not well, and not safely, but things just came to me. Spells. Scrying. It was a little scary sometimes but also really fun. Mostly it was like- here was something special about me that none of my friends had. I was good in math, but so were lots of kids. I wasn't ugly but not really pretty. My family was fine but not rich or important But learning Wicca and having a blood witch's powers-that was all me and only me. It was incredibly thrilling and satisfying for me to be very, very good at something so unexpectedly."
Moira looked thoughtful. "I can see how it would be- and then you fell for Cal. Did he like you back?"
"Yes," Morgan said, letting out a breath. "Amazingly. Despite every other girl who wanted him, he wanted to be with me. That freaked Bree out, and she and I had a terrible fight. A bunch of terrible fights. And became enemies."
"You and Aunt Bree? Goddess. How awful."
"It was awful, losing my best friend. But it felt like Cal was the only person in the world who understood me or accepted me the way I was. And he seemed to really love me."
"What do you mean, seemed?"
Morgan made a face. "I guess, looking back on it, he did love me, in his own way." She looked down at her knees and absently played with a frayed thread. Bixby stretched, arching his back and yawning wide to show his fangs. "The thing is, Mo
ira," she went on slowly, "Cal was the son of a powerful, dark witch. Once his mother realized who I was, she compelled Cal to get close to me so that she could convince me to join her or, if I didn't want to join willingly, so that she could take hold of me, take my powers, and use them for her own."
Moira frowned slightly, obviously starting to see the parallels with Lilith and Ian. "Cal was very convincing," Morgan said. "I absolutely believed he loved me. But at the same time, some things about him made me uneasy-I didn't know why. Then a Seeker from the council showed up to investigate Cal and his mother, Selene Belltower. I thought the Seeker was wrong about Cal and Selene-I thought he just wanted to destroy Cal out of jealousy or vengeance. You see, he was also Cal's half brother." Morgan paused to let out another long, slow breath, easing pain out of her chest. "One night he tried to put a braigh on Cal, to capture him, and they fought. I threw my athame at the Seeker and hit him in the neck. He went over a cliff into the Hudson River."
Moira was staring at her as if she had just revealed that their cottage was an elaborate hologram.
Morgan sighed and looked at her daughter. She forced herself to continue. "I thought I had killed him. Killed someone to save Cal. Everything started unraveling. It was a horrible, desperate time-I can't even describe how tortured I felt. Then, thank the Goddess, the Seeker didn't die. But he started trying hard to convince me that Cal and Selene were evil. I didn't know what to believe. All the while Selene was putting more and more pressure on Cal, insisting that he get me to join them. So Cal was putting more and more pressure on me, telling me we were muirn beatha dans, trying to get me to go to bed with him, telling me that everyone else was lying to me."
"I can't believe it," Moira said, wide-eyed. She shook her head, glancing away, then looked back at Morgan. "I mean, I can't imagine this-any of it. What happened? What did you do?"
"Finally Selene decided to just get me herself and take my powers from me so she could combine them with her powers and be that much stronger. Cal found out about it, and the only thing he could think of to do to save me ... was to kill me before she got to me."
