by Cate Tiernan
Then she saw him. Hunter's face appeared in the silver ball in front of her, life-size, close enough for her to count every wrinkle, every scratch, every bruise. Her heart clenched with the mingled joy of seeing him and the torment of seeing him hurt. But what a gift, to be able to see him at all. He was sitting on a rough, sea-wet rock, his head in his hands. He looked up and seemed to see her.
His mouth made the shape "Morgan."
A shudder passed through Morgan at the sight of him, but she had to stay strong, had to find out the truth.
Giomanach. Hunter. Are you alive or are you dead? Are you of this world or are you gone from this world? Her words felt desperate, screamed, though she made no sound. His face seemed to crumple then, his scraped, bony hand passing over his mouth as if to help him swallow pain.
I am alive but not living. I am in neither your world nor another. I am nowhere.
Who took you from me?
I can never return.
That's not good enough! You are somewhere because we found you! Tell me where and I will come to you! Please-you have to tell me where you are.
Morgan's breath was snatched away as Hunter bent over, shielding his face from her. His too-thin shoulders shook, his matted hair fell forward on his face. It was more torturous than anything she had witnessed in uncounted years. In her chest she felt a searing pain, then a damp warmth made her glance down. Her eyes widened as a ragged splotch of blood spread slowly across her robe, right over her heart. The shock of it broke her concentration, and when she raised her head, her eyes wide, the silver ball was gone, Hunter's image was gone, and all she could see were Sky's and Moira's stunned and afraid faces.
"Mum!" Moira gasped. "What's happening to you?"
Like a snake striking, Sky knocked Hunter's athame off the candleholder. It lay on the wooden floor, showing no glowing signs of heat but searing a charred pattern into the floor. Sky kicked it over onto the stone hearth, then moved the candleholder and took hold of Morgan's robe.
"Morgan!"
It sounded as if her voice were coming from far away, and Morgan stared at her stupidly, then looked down at her robe again. The splotch of blood was the size of her palm now. Moving slowly, as if in a dream, Morgan pulled her silk robe away from her skin. "My heart is bleeding," she whispered. "My heart is bleeding." A thin thread of panic threatened to coil through her veins, but Sky took her arm firmly.
"Moira, dismantle the circles, quickly." Sky's voice was commanding. Morgan watched with an odd, distant confusion as her daughter dismantled and erased circle after circle as fast as she could. When the last one was opened, Sky got to her feet and pulled Morgan up. "Let's go," she said briskly, and Morgan floated dreamily after her as Sky took her upstairs into the small bathroom. There Sky pulled off Morgan's silk robe and grabbed a faded tartan one, wrapping it around her. It was infinitely soft and cozy, and Morgan wanted to lie down in it and sleep forever.
Then Sky took a wet washcloth and began to dab gently at the dark red blood pulsing at the center of Morgan's chest. Moira stood in the doorway, her face pale.
"What is it, Sky?" she said softly.
"Her heart is bleeding," Sky said somewhat brusquely. "Get me some adder's tongue and some amaranth. Morgan should have some dried in her herb store."
As Moira ran down the steps, Sky helped Morgan into her bedroom. Soon Moira came back with two small, neatly labeled glass vials. Sky soaked the adder's tongue and the dried amaranth leaves in cold water, then pressed them into a flat poultice and placed it on Morgan's chest. She covered it with a clean white cloth folded into a square.
"Moira," Sky said, "go outside and pick the last of the rose geranium petals. Mix them with a pinch of dried jasmine flowers and some fresh grated ginger. Make a tea and bring it up. Can you do that?"
Moira nodded quickly but lingered. "Now, Moira," Sky said firmly. "Your mum will be all right," she added, more gently. "It was an unexpected reaction to the spell."
"My chest is throbbing less," Morgan said in a muted voice.
Moira left but soon came back holding a tray with a mug on it. Sky propped Morgan up with pillows so she could drink. Moira sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Morgan. Morgan looked at her and smiled, starting to feel more normal.
"Okay, note to self," she said. "When I do that spell, my heart bleeds. Have help available."
Her daughter smiled weakly, and Sky cracked a smile.
"A most unusual side effect," Sky said. "What do you think about it?"
Morgan met her eyes, black as jet, as onyx. "I think he's still alive."
Unblinking, Sky said, "I think so, too."
"But I don't know where. Sky, we have to find him." Morgan propped herself up on her elbows. "He's on a beach, which narrows it down to tens of thousands of miles of shorelines around the world."
Sky was silent, thinking. Morgan racked her brain, still muddled from the shock. What could they do?
Then Moira took a deep breath and said, "I have an idea."
It was as if Finnegan had started talking. Morgan and Sky just stared at her.
"What?" Morgan asked.
15. Moira
With Sky driving and Moira navigating, the three reached Lilith Delaney's cottage in fifteen minutes.
"What exactly did you see?" Morgan asked for the third time.
"It was him," said Moira, from the backseat. "Turn left up here, at the second lane. I didn't recognize him before because the Hunter in my dream was young and looked really different. But the one I saw in Lilith's crystal was the same person I saw in the silver ball."
"Are you quite sure?" Sky asked, her long, bony fingers tight on the steering wheel.
Moira nodded to herself and said, "Yes. If that was Hunter we saw tonight, then I saw him in Lilith's crystal last night. Do you… do you really think he's alive?" Hunter had looked horrible. Moira thought about Colm, how neat and cheerful and ordinary he had looked. So comforting, reassuring. Like a dad.
"If it's the same person from the silver ball, then yes," Moira's mum said, her voice constrained.
Moira had been trying to suppress her fear this whole time, but now it was threatening to break through. She had no idea what to expect from Lilith Delaney now that it seemed like her mum had been right about her all along. "Here!" she said, peering into the darkness, recognizing the huge oak trees that lined the small road where Ian’s cottage was.
Just six hours ago he had been so comforting on the headland, when she'd felt like she was losing her mind. Had all of that really been an act? Was he using her, trying to gain her trust the way Cal had used her mum? It seemed hard to believe he wasn't now.
But something in her was still praying that somehow Ian had nothing to do with his mother. She just couldn't reconcile her image of him, so kind, so caring, with another image of him actively working with his mother to harm them. Please let it not be true. Not Ian. Please, please, just not Ian.
The house wasn't dark, despite the late hour. A light was on in one upstairs room, and several rooms were lit downstairs. The three witches got out of the car, and Moira noticed that Sky was watching Morgan intently. A wave of light fell on her mother's face as they approached the house, and Moira almost gasped aloud. Her mum looked older, harder-stronger, and almost nothing like her mother the softhearted healer. Was this what she had looked like long ago, when she'd had to fight Ciaran and the dark wave?
They strode toward the house, and about ten feet from the front door Moira suddenly felt like she was trying to walk through gelatin. The air itself felt thick: it had weight and a heavy texture.
"What is this?" she asked in a low tone.
"Spells to keep unfriendly people out," Morgan said grimly, pushing through it as if it were wet tissue paper. Next to her Sky was murmuring under her breath, and Moira saw that her mum was tracing sigils in the air in front of her.
The door opened before they got to it. Ian stood there, still in his muddy clothes from before. "Moira?" he
asked, astonished. "Are you all right? What's going on?" He sounded sincere. Moira would have given anything for him to really care, but she couldn't risk him fooling her for another minute. She turned away, not meeting his gaze.
"Where's your mother, Ian?" Morgan asked in a voice like a brick.
"What's wrong?" he answered, his voice sounding formal, less friendly. Just hearing the change of his tone made Moira's heart sink. What had she been thinking? Lilith was his mother. Moira, Moira, how stupid are you?
"What's this about?" Ian crossed his arms and stood in the doorway. They were on opposite sides, had been all along, but she had refused to see it. Her heart felt crushed, bruised. "Moira?" Ian asked, looking over their heads at her, standing behind them in the dark. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she said shortly, more confused than ever.
Then a thickset figure appeared behind him, outlined by the light spilling out onto the lawn. "Morgan Byrne," Lilith Delaney said. "I confess to surprise. What could possibly make you think you have the right to show up here and harass my son?"
"For your sake, I hope Ian isn't involved," Morgan replied sharply. A shiver crept up Moira's spine at her mother's tone. Morgan's voice conjured up images of glaciers, scraping their way inexorably across a landscape of rock. "Let me see," her mum continued. "I could have come to return a boxful of pathetic, amateurish hexes, ill-luck charms, and injury fetishes that you've littered about my house and yard."
Lilith Delaney blinked and pushed ahead of Ian. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, sounding bored.
Morgan laughed thinly, and Moira winced. "Please," her mum said. "Bottles full of nails, needles, and vinegar? Let's see… I think most children learn that in about the third form. Not very impressive-for a high priestess."
Moira knew that the hexes and spells put on the house and yard had been much more serious than that, with dangerously dark intentions and a great deal of thought and power put into them. Mum was obviously trying to goad Lilith by making it sound like a slow-witted child had created them. Moira could feel the coil of anger starting in Lilith's stomach.
"Are you done?" Lilith asked. "It's late, and the children have school tomorrow. Moira's already interrupted Ian’s studies enough for one day."
Ian frowned and glanced at his mother.
"But then I guess she was upset, finding out she was a bastard daughter, just like her mother," Lilith continued.
Oh, Goddess. Ian had told Lilith about Ciaran and Hunter and everything. Moira took in a breath, then let it out, trying to release the raw sting of betrayal. She deliberately refused to look at Ian.
"You are so mistaken, Morgan," Lilith sneered. "You're ashamed of your father, who was one of the greatest witches to ever live. But you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You are weak, uncommitted, unfocused-you belong to a coven of dog-witches who have milquetoast circles where you all celebrate someone having a good day. Ciaran MacEwan! His blood should be celebrated, his memory revered, his lessons learned by every witch! But no-you think him evil. Your vision, your knowledge, is so small, so pedestrian, that you can't begin to encompass what a leader he was! You shouldn't be allowed to live, much less work your pointless and juvenile magick."
"We have different views," Morgan said, her face like stone. "But we have some things in common. Hunter Niall. I want to know what you know."
"Never heard of him," Lilith said, shrugging. "Now quit wasting my time." She stepped back into the doorway.
"You do know him!" Moira cried, rushing forward. "You were looking at him in your crystal the first day I came by!"
Lilith's eyebrows raised slightly, then she rolled her eyes and started to shut the door, refusing even to acknowledge Moira's words. In the next second she froze almost comically, as if suddenly pretending to be a statue. Her hand was on the door, but her back stiffened and the only thing she moved were her eyes, which widened and focused on Morgan.
Moira saw that her mother's right hand was stretched out, palm facing Lilith, and as Moira watched, Morgan slowly began to close the fingers of that hand.
Lilith Delaney whimpered, and Moira stepped back and brought her hand up to her mouth. She'd never seen anything like this. Never seen her mother do anything like this. Morgan kept her hand outstretched, but the more she closed her fingers, the more Lilith seemed to crumple against the door. It was clear that Lilith was striving not to look afraid, but Moira could feel the prickles of fear emanating from her, the way she had felt her anger a minute ago. "You will tell me," Morgan said, her voice low and terrible to hear, hardly human. Mum? It was hard to keep from panicking-things were spinning out of control so fast that nothing made sense anymore. How could her mum be so cruel, so deadly? Moira's legs felt weak, and she struggled not to fall to the ground.
Lilith's eyes were still wide, but they shot a momentary glance at Ian, who was standing to her side. He reached out to touch her. "Mother?" he asked, concern in his voice. He turned to Morgan, angry. "Stop it! What are you doing?"
"It's a binding spell, Ian," Sky said, her voice as dry and calm as a desert rock. "Morgan's always been particularly good at them. Must be Ciaran's blood."
There was a spike in the fear that Moira felt coming from Lilith, fear and disbelief.
Lilith hadn't thought Mum was so strong, Moira realized. She'd had no idea who she was up against. Even after everything Moira had heard about her mum, even after the stories about the dark wave, it was hard for Moira herself to believe.
"Hunter Niall," Morgan said again. "Tell me everything you know." Her voice was like thunder, felt but unheard, deep tremors rolling through the five of them.
"I know nothing," Lilith spit through stiff lips. Morgan made an almost imperceptible movement, and Lilith whimpered again.
"Stop it!" Ian cried, trying to step between his mother and Morgan. "Moira! Make her stop!"
Moira ignored him, feeling her heart rip apart. She hated to hear the pain in his voice, but she couldn't give in. He had lied to her, betrayed her. She was so ashamed of how stupid, how naive she had been. Even after her mum had warned her about Cal, had tried to make her see the parallels, Moira had refused to believe it. She'd thought Ian was different. She'd been wrong.
"Where is Hunter Niall?" Morgan pressed, and when Lilith didn't answer, she closed her fingers a bit more. Lilith seemed to shrink against the door, her knuckles white, as if someone were wrapping her in a cloth of pain and twisting it. Her knees bent slightly, and Moira could see tiny beads of sweat appear on her upper lip.
"The thing about binding spells," Sky added conversationally, "is that they can do quite a bit of damage without leaving a mark." She let these words sink in, and then she looked at Lilith and said, an edge of steel in her voice, "The other interesting thing is that you're not the only one at stake here." She glanced first at Ian, then looked back to Lilith, making her intentions clear.
Moira bit her lips, tension making her muscles feel like knotted wood. Tell Morgan what she wants to know. Do not force her to harm your son.
Feeling ill, Moira started to sink to her knees in the wet grass, giving in, but instantly stood when Sky's eyes flicked to her. She could not show weakness. She could not become a liability in this desperate situation. She was Moira of Belwicket, Morgan's daughter, and she would show that she had her mother's strength. Locking her knees, she clenched her hands at her sides and pressed her lips firmly together. Only now was she beginning to understand what it must have been like for her mother when she'd found out she was a blood witch, when she'd realized that Cal was using her, when she'd had to fight the darkest forces Wicca had seen in generations. She'd never be able to look at her mum in the same way again.
"Moira saw you looking at an image of Hunter Niall in a crystal," said Morgan. "Tell me what you know. Don't make this worse than it has to be."
"You don't know who you're dealing with," Lilith snarled.
"Neither do you. You would be hard-pressed to come up with someone who could scare me,"
Morgan said coldly. "Not after my father. I've felt the foul wind of a dark wave against my face. I've gone face-to-face against Ciaran and defeated him. I've been hard to impress since then. Now, for the last time, you will tell me what you know, or after tonight you will know what it's like to be hard to impress."
With that she clenched her hand into a fist, then twisted it sideways, and Lilith crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. She slumped to the ground, curled around the door, her face contorted into a mask of pain and rage. Ian dropped to his knees next to her and put his hand on her shoulder, then shot Morgan a look of anger.
"Stop it! Stop it!" he said harshly, and Moira closed her eyes for a moment and stepped back, still unable to bear seeing Ian frightened, angry, hurt.
Flecks of blood appeared at Lilith's lips, but she could not speak. Morgan made the tiniest gesture with her closed hand, and a high keening escaped from Lilith and split the night air, a howl of agony.
Morgan leaned closer, not looking at Ian. "I can do this all night," she said slowly. "Can you?"
Lilith's face deformed one last time, then suddenly she spit out, "It was Iona! Iona MacEwan!"
Moira saw her mother step back, visibly shocked, "Iona. What about her?" she demanded.
Iona? Moira thought. Ciaran's other daughter? "She'll know the answers you want," Lilith said.
"And where's Iona?" Sky said, her voice sounding like a dry knife on leather. "Where is she now?"
Lilith seemed to wrestle with this answer. Her short, heavy body was still frozen on the ground, and Moira thought that if she could move, she would be writhing and screaming. Then she burst out, "Arsdeth."
"Where is Arsdeth?" Sky snapped.
With an effort Lilith gasped, "North. North, by the sea."
Morgan looked at Ian. "Get a map."
