by Cate Tiernan
Moira paused, torn. Something was pulling her toward Ian-she'd come here even knowing deep down that it could be dangerous. Witches are supposed to trust their instincts, right? Anyway, if Ian or his mom were going to hurt her, they could do it now whether she came into the house or not. With a sigh Moira opened their garden gate and met Ian on the walk. "It was pretty horrible," she admitted. "I needed to get out of there for a while."
Ian smiled at her. "I'm glad you're here. I'm so glad you thought I could help." He put his arms around her and held her tightly, stroking her hair and resting his head against hers.
Moira's heart melted. Her hair and jacket were frosted with mist, but now that he was holding her, warming her, giving her all the support and comfort she had desperately needed, she barely felt the chill. It had been right for her to come here.
He released her and looked into her eyes to see how she was doing. She managed a tremulous smile, and they started toward the house. As soon as Moira crossed the threshold, she smelled slightly bitter and burned herbs. Several things caught her eye at once: the glass-fronted bookcase filled with ancient-looking leather-bound books, used candles, crumpled silk shawls, and incense bowls; a ragged, red velvet couch, pushed beneath the set of windows, their panes clouded and in need of washing; and then, to her left, an open archway leading into what had once been the dining room.
Most witches Moira knew kept their houses soothing and restful, with things put away and kept clean. This much disorder was unusual, and Moira felt the back of her neck prickle. Through the archway she finally noticed that Lilith was working at the table in there, looking into a large chunk of crystal propped up against an old book. She's scrying. Automatically Moira looked at the crystal. In its mottled, flawed surface Moira saw an image of a man. It was quite clear: he was middle-aged, with long, light hair and a scraggly beard. He was wearing rags, like a homeless person, and his skin was sunburned and deeply etched with wrinkles.
In the next second Lilith looked up, saw Moira, and passed her hand over the crystal. The image winked out. Moira remembered her mum talking about Lilith using dark magick and wondered what she'd been doing. It had looked like ordinary scrying, but she couldn't be sure.
Then, aware that she was meeting Ian’s mother for the first time, Moira managed a shy smile. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
Ian’s mother came over, wiping her hands on an age-worn housekeeping apron.
"Mum, this is Moira," said Ian, coming over to stand beside her. "I told you about her. From school."
"Oh, yes," said his mother. "It's Moira Byrne, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Moira. So Ian had told his mum about her. That was either a really good sign-meaning he liked her- or a bad sign, if her mother was right that this was all part of some kind of plan. "Welcome," said Lilith. "I'm so glad to meet you. Ian’s mentioned you to me, so you must be special." She smiled, and Moira smiled back, feeling an odd sensation and not recognizing what it was. It felt as if she were in the woods and had suddenly come across an animal or an insect she didn't know: a slight twinge of fear, but also curiosity.
"What brings you out at night like this?" Lilith asked. She moved through the living room and went into the kitchen, which was through another set of doors. Their house was a good bit bigger than Moira's, but not as neat or cozy. Just big, neglected, and cluttered. Moira wondered what Ian thought about it.
"Oh, just wanted some fresh air," Moira said as Lilith put the kettle on the stove. She was surprised by how uncomfortable she was. This kitchen was a disaster, and Moira blinked at Lilith's obvious flouting of witchy habits. Her mum's kitchen was tiny but usually scrubbed clean, things put away, fresh fruit and vegetables in bowls. This kitchen was the opposite. It could have been such a nice room, large, with big windows. But there were unwashed dishes stacked everywhere, cooking pots with remains of meals from who knew how long ago, bunches of wilted herbs or vegetables lying around. Moira half expected to see a mouse sitting boldly on a counter, eating a piece of dried cheese.
Ian, too, seemed to be becoming less comfortable. "Mum, I'll do that," he said, taking some tea mugs from the cupboard. "We don't want to interrupt you."
Lilith stopped and gave her son an appraising glance. Moira couldn't tell if she was angry or hurt, but she again wished she hadn't come here uninvited. Ian looked back at his mother steadily, and finally, with a somewhat brittle smile, she nodded good-bye to Moira and walked out of the kitchen. Ian stood silently for a moment; then the kettle hissed and he turned off the gas beneath it.
"I'm sorry, Ian," Moira said in a near whisper. "I didn't mean to barge in like this. I was so upset and just wanted to see you. I didn't mean to cause any trouble." At that moment Moira got a sudden, odd feeling, as if someone had just taken her picture. She looked around, but she and Ian were alone. Then she realized her mum was scrying for her and knew she was at Ian’s. Trouble was coming. Well, as long as she was already caught, there was no use in rushing home now.
Ian got out a couple of tea bags and plopped one in each mug. "I'm glad you came to see me. You haven't caused any trouble," he said in a normal tone. "That's just my mom. There's just the two of us, and we don't see eye to eye about a lot of stuff." He filled the mugs with hot water and handed one to Moira. "Like this kitchen, for example. All I want to do is turn seventeen so I can get my own flat and have a decent place. All this mess makes me insane. Every once in a while I lose it and clean everything up, and then we have a big row. Mum doesn't see what the big deal is. I don't care who cleans up as long as one of us does. But she won't, and she hates it when I do, so I'm stuck."
"What about your dad?"
Ian’s expression darkened. "They broke up a long time ago."
"Do you ever see him?"
Ian shook his head slowly. "Nah. Not in a couple of years. We moved here, and he didn't seem too interested in keeping in touch. I think he has a new family now."
Moira blinked. Odd-that sounded a lot like what she'd read about Cal in her mum's Book of Shadows. But still, plenty of people had divorced parents and didn't see their dads much. It didn't mean anything.
"I'm sorry," Moira said. "It's different, I know, but I do know what it's like to lose your da." Moira sipped her tea, wondering if she should just say what had driven her here in the first place. After all, according to Katrina, people knew the truth anyway, so it wasn't like she was revealing some big secret. No, the only person it had been a secret from was her, the one person who deserved to know. She looked up and saw Ian looking at her, concerned.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Ciaran MacEwan really was my grandfather," she blurted. "Mum told me everything after you left. It was all true. I feel like I'm, well, destined to be bad."
Ian made a sympathetic face. "Even if Ciaran was your grandfather," he said, "that doesn't change anything about you-you never even knew him, and he's gone now."
"But my mum let me believe someone else was my grandfather my whole life," Moira went on. "I feel like I don't even know her anymore. Like I hardly even know myself. Yesterday I was Moira Byrne. Today I'm Moira Byrne, granddaughter of Ciaran MacEwan. How am I going to face anyone?"
"Look… I know, and I don't care," Ian said seriously, taking her hand. Moira felt her breath quicken and a tingle of awareness start at the bottom of her spine. "Anyone who thinks it's a big deal, just ignore them. And that's whether they think it's good or bad."
"What do you mean, good? How could anyone possibly think it's good?"
Ian looked at her. "Oh."
Dark witches. They'd be happy to find the granddaughter of Ciaran MacEwan. Without thinking, Moira glanced at the doorway, wondering if Lilith was out there. Had Ian known all along about Ciaran? Had Lilith?
Moira sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I'd better go. They were starting dinner when I left." And my mum might be barreling down the road right now in her rusty old banger.
She put her mug down and left the kitchen. She looke
d over into the dining room as she passed by, where Lilith Delaney was still working, small, half-moon glasses perched on her nose.
"Good night, Moira," Lilith said evenly.
Had she heard what Moira had been saying to Ian? There was no way to know. "Good night, Ms. Delaney," said Moira, trying to smile normally.
Ian walked her outside. The mist had let up; some of the clouds had cleared away and the stars were beginning to assert themselves again. Most of the moon was visible, and it laid a cream-colored wash of light over the landscape. Going home would be much easier than coming.
"Thanks, Ian," Moira said. "Sorry again to barge in on you."
"Please stop apologizing," he said. "I always want you to come to me if you need help. About anything." He looked awkward for a moment, then said, "I wish I had a better place for you to come to."
Her heart went out to him. "Nobody's perfect," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "There's always something wrong with everyone's parents or house or whatever."
"Yeah. I just can't wait to be on my own."
Moira looked into his blue eyes, lighter than the night sky, and saw his impatience. He wasn't like Cal. It was so clear. I wish he would kiss me. And then suddenly he was, leaning over and blotting out the moon. His lips on hers were soft but exploring, as if he was trying to memorize everything about her. She put her arms around his shoulders, excitement coiling in her chest, and wished ludicrously that her stupid bike wasn't between them.
Ian slanted his head slightly and put his hands on her waist. The pedal of her bike was digging into her shin, but she ignored it. Could she just break the kiss, step around the bike, and grab him again?
Then he was drawing back, his eyes glittering. "Move your bike," he said intently, and quickly she stepped around the bike, letting it fall to the soft, muddy grass. Then they were pressed together tightly, and Ian’s hand was holding the back of her neck so he could kiss her. They seemed perfectly matched, their hips pressed together, their mouths slanting against each other, their arms wrapped around each other as if they were trying to meld.
She thought she might love him.
10. Morgan
Morgan thought she was going to explode. First she and Katrina had seen Hunter when they scried. Since Killian was there, they hadn't had a chance to talk about it alone. And when she hadn't been able to sense Moira outside, she'd scried for her and found her at Ian Delaney's house. Morgan had to find her, talk to her, tell her how sorry she was. She sent her a quick witch message. Moira, please come home. Please-or I will have to come and get you.
I'm on my way, Moira sent back, and Morgan almost sobbed in relief.
"Moira's coming back," she told Killian and Katrina.
"Oh, good. She'll be all right, you'll see," said Killian. "You'll make up."
Morgan smiled gratefully at her half brother, who'd grown up virtually without a father himself. Now Killian had three children of his own. He seemed more thoughtful, less self- centered. He stood, clearing the table, while Morgan just sat, her stomach knotting with tension. Just then she felt Moira coming up the front path. Leaping from the table, she ran to the front door just as Moira reached it. As soon as she saw her daughter, she burst into tears and gathered her close. Please don't push me away. At first Moira stood stiffly in her embrace, but she slowly loosened up and gradually put her arms around Morgan.
"I'm sorry, honey," Morgan said. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
"I wish… I wish you had just told me the truth," Moira said.
"I know. I wish I had, too." Morgan pulled back and looked at Moira, brushing some damp hair out of her face. "But you're my family, and I'm yours. And that's all that matters."
Looking a little teary-eyed herself, Moira nodded.
Morgan started to draw her into the warmth and light of the house, but Moira paused, looking at the walk.
"I stepped on something," she said.
"A stone?"
"No." Moira looked, then leaned over and picked up something shiny from the brick path. "Here," she said, handing it to Morgan. "Did you drop this?"
Squinting, Morgan turned sideways in the door so the inside light would fall on her palm. Small, silver, a bit crusty but still glinting. She brushed some of the dirt away as Moira eased past her into the house.
It was a ring-who could have dropped it? She brushed more of the dirt away. Keady, maybe? Katrina? Oh, Goddess.
Morgan's heart clenched, and she wondered if she were dreaming again. It was a silver claddagh ring. They weren't uncommon in Ireland-many people wore them. But no one had one with the rune Beorc, for new beginnings, engraved on the inside. This was Morgan's ring, the one Hunter had given her a lifetime ago. This was the ring that had flown off her finger that day in Wales, when the ferry went down. And now here it was, appearing on her doorstop an hour after she'd seen Hunter.
Her eyes huge, Morgan stared at Moira. There were no words to describe what she was feeling, the emotions she was being assaulted with. She was losing her mind-she felt like she was about to collapse right there, in front of all of them. Who was doing this to her? Making her heart break all over again, when it had broken so many times already?
"Is it yours?" Moira asked. "Do you recognize it?"
Morgan managed a nod. The room swam around her; her breath came shallowly.
"Mum? You don't… feel right." Moira sounded worried. "Maybe you should sit down."
Morgan couldn't move until Moira took her elbow and led her to a dining chair. Her ring. It had fallen into the sea, with Hunter, her love. It had been torn away from her, wrenched away just as Hunter had been. How had the ring come back here? Only Sky, Bree, and Mary K. knew how she had lost it. Goddess, why was Hunter suddenly everywhere in her life, when he'd been taken from her so many years ago? The pain was too much, too much to bear.
Someone had deliberately put the ring there for her to find. Like the morganite. And it didn't make sense that it was Lilith-this had to be someone close to Morgan. Someone who knew her well. And the ring and the morganite, the vision and the dream, the scrying-they were all pieces of a puzzle, a horrible maze closing around her, scaring her, trying to drive her mad. I'm under siege. Goddess, I'm in danger. And Hunter-my Hunter-is the weapon.
"Mum, what's wrong?" Moira looked frightened. "What is it? The ring? Mum, you're scaring me!"
Morgan had no idea where to begin. Goddess, she didn't know if she could handle this. How many secrets had she kept from her daughter? Cal and Selene. Ciaran. Now Hunter? How many huge confidences could Moira handle in one week? How many more could Morgan handle? It was as if the whole tapestry of her life with Moira was becoming unraveled and not slowly, thread by thread-it was being torn, rent into pieces, and the ripping was painful and unexpected, leaving Morgan bare and vulnerable.
Her ring. She slid it onto the ring finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly, the silver warming instantly to the temperature of her blood. Her ring.
"Morgan…" Killian looked at her with concern. "Are you all right?"
"Thank you," Morgan said, speaking as if from a great distance. "I think so."
"Perhaps we should give Morgan some time," Katrina suggested gently. "Maybe you want to return to your lodgings, Killian?"
"If you're quite sure," he said, looking at Morgan.
She nodded. "Yes, I think… that might be best," she said, her voice strained.
"Well, then, I'll bid you all good night," he said, standing up. "I'm staying at Armistead's if you need me. Don't hesitate to call."
"Thank you." Morgan spoke automatically. He leaned over and pecked Moira on the cheek. "I'm glad I met you," he said. Then he and Morgan kissed each other's cheeks, and he let himself out.
"Mum, you look like you've seen a ghost," Moira said. "Are you going to tell me what is going on?"
Morgan was reluctant to speak in front of Katrina. Katrina knew all about Hunter, of course. But this was a moment that needed to happen between just mother and daughter
, in private. She glanced at her mother-in-law.
As if divining her thoughts, Katrina stood. "I'd best be off," she said. "Didn't mean to stay so late."
"Let me give you a ride home-it's late," Morgan said, walking Katrina to the door.
"No, lass." Katrina shook her head. "The walk is good for me. You are needed here."
At the door Katrina paused, looking into Morgan's face. "It was Hunter we saw, wasn't it?" she said, glancing back to see if Moira could hear their conversation. "What do you make of it?"
"Yes, it was. I don't know what to make of anything anymore," Morgan said, feeling lost in a way that she hadn't felt since Colm had died.
"Call me if you want to talk," Katrina said, and Morgan nodded. They hugged quickly and Katrina began to walk down the path, her stiff leg making her gait awkward.
"Be safe, be quick, be home in a tick," Morgan murmured automatically. When she turned around, Moira was still sitting at the table, her head in her hands-someone waiting for bad news. She raised her head and glared at Morgan.
"Tell me what's going on," Moira said through clenched teeth. Morgan sighed. Goddess give her strength. "This ring… was given to me by someone I knew before your dad."
Moira sat up straighten interested. "Someone? Who? Mum, just tell me."
Morgan sat at the table beside Moira. "How far have you gotten in my old Books of Shadows?" she asked.
Moira shrugged. "I've been jumping around," she said.
Morgan nodded. "Well, then, maybe you haven't read much about him yet, or at least about what he ended up meaning to me. Moira, there was someone special to me before your father." She looked into Moira's eyes, unsure of how to go on. "He… he was my muirn beatha dan."
Moira flinched, pain flashing across her face. "Da wasn't?"
Morgan shook her head regretfully. "Your dad and I loved each other very much, but we weren't each other's muirn beatha dans. His name was Hunter. Hunter Niall. He was the Seeker who was sent after Cal and Selene." She stared at the worn tabletop, lost in the pain of remembering. "How I felt about him was unlike anything I had known. It was how love should be. We were made to be together, two halves of a whole."
