The Calling

  “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.

  Fated

  Samhain, 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, hismùirn 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. “Goddess, help me,” I murmured. I drew in deep breaths, calming and grounding myself. I had all of Alyce’s knowledge and more raw power than most blood witches ever encounter. I was strong, stronger than I’d been three weeks ago when Hunter and I had fought Selene and defeated her. If Ciaran was in that building, didn’t I owe it to Maeve to try to stop him once and for all?

  I can do this, I told myself. I was meant to do this. I walked up to the house and stepped onto the first of the three stone steps—and stopped as a feeling of dread snaked around my insides and whispered in my mind,Turn away. Come no farther. Go back.

  I tried to step onto the second step, but I couldn’t. Terror immobilized me, the feeling that taking that one step would seal my doom.

  It’s a repelling spell, I told myself. It’s designed to keep you out. But there’s nothing really

  behind it. I willed the spell to show itself to me. There was a moment of resistance before I saw a glimmering on the winter air. The rune Is—the rune of obstacles, of things frozen and delayed—repeated again and again, like a series of crystalline icicles. I visualized the warmth of fire melting the runes of the warding spell, and within seconds I felt their power weaken. The spell snapped, and I reached the top step. I found another spell on the door itself. I felt a surge of exhilaration as I realized I knew exactly what to do. It seemed so clear. Either the binding spells weren’t all that complicated, or I was stronger than I realized. This time I drew power up from the earth, from the roots of the wisteria, from the bedrock below. I gathered all the energy poured into the city streets by the myriad inhabitants of New York City. A boisterous, defiant power swelled inside me. I let it build, then flung it at the spell that guarded the door. The spell shattered. The one bolt that had been shut on the other side of the door shot open. And I stepped into the house, nearly surfing on the wave of my own magick. I stood in a high-ceilinged foyer. The floor was inlaid marble, patterned in black and gray. A staircase led to the upper floors. I sent a witch message to Killian. Where are you? Lead me. The next instant I was flat on my back, hit with a binding spell stronger than anything I’d ever experienced. It forced my arms flat against my sides, clamped my legs together, pressed down on my throat so I couldn’t utter a sound, compressed my chest so that I fought for every breath. Oh, Goddess. Maybe I wasn’t as strong as I’d thought. Quickly I cast a spell to loosen all bindings. It did nothing. My mind reeled in panic. I tried the spell that had worked so brilliantly just a few minutes ago. I extended my senses out and down, searching for a connection with the ground beneath me. The hollow echo that came back was mystifying. It was as if the earth itself was empty, flat, drained of anything to give. And I was left in a place where waves of dark magick swirled around me. Alyce, I thought. Surely Alyce knew something that would help. A spell came to me then for bringing light in the midst of darkness. I began to visualize a single white flame, growing brighter, hotter, blazing through all the dark energy, consuming it, purifying the space around me.

  I almost blacked out as something that felt like a blade of jagged ice plunged into my stomach. It’s an illusion, I told myself, remembering how Selene had attacked me with pain. I willed myself to go beyond it, to keep picturing the flame devouring the darkness. Another blade drove into my back. “Aaagh!” My own strangled cry panicked me. I felt the icy blade cut through skin, muscle, bone, and the flame in my mind guttered out. As if to reward me for losing the spell, the pain stopped.

  I glanced down at my body. There were no bloody knife wounds. They had been an illusion.

  But the binding was real. I couldn’t move. I glanced around me, searching for the source of the power that was holding me prisoner. There—I felt magick like a dark, oily cloud swirling across the town house’s pristine floor. The magick of several witches, working together. Nausea rose in the back of my throat. I was completely overpowered. What had I done? How could I have been naive and stupid enough to believe I could go up against an entire coven of Woodbanes? The second I’d walked into the house, I’d walked into their trap. A slight figure in a black robe and a mask walked toward me. The mask showed a jackal’s face, carved out of some sort of dark wood and horribly exaggerated, with an enormous snarling mouth. My fear ratcheted up another notch. Other masked figures appeared: an owl, a cougar, a viper, an eagle.

  “We’ve got her,” the jackal said, in a voice so perfectly neutral, I couldn’t tell if it was male or female.

  “Where’s Killian?” I demanded. “What have you done with him?” “Killian?” the witch in the owl mask repeated. The voice was distinctly female. “Killian isn’t here.”

  “But you’re going to drain him of his power!” I said stupidly. A giddy, high-pitched laugh erupted from the jackal’s mouth. “Oh, no, we’re not.” “We never wanted Killian,” the owl said. “You’ve been misled,” the viper agreed, and all of them burst out laughing. The viper’s narrow golden eyes glittered as it stared at me. “You’re the one we’re going to drain.” Ciaran

  February 28, The beginning of spring is a time to sow the seeds of dreams for the coming year. Here in a tiny village called Meshomah Falls, I am a boy again, full of fantasies and dreams, eager to welcome the promise of spring. I found her. Today Maeve and I saw each other for the first time since I left Ballynigel. I knew in that instant that she still loved me. That nothing had changed, that it had all been worth the wait. Goddess, I see the universe every time I gaze into her eyes. We waited until evening, for she insisted on making some excuse to poor, pathetic Angus. Then she led me out beyond the town, through a narrow band of woods, across a meadow, and up a

  hill to a field. “No one will see us here,” she said.

  “Of course not. One of us will work a spell of invisibility,” I said. That was when Maeve told me she’d given up her magick. I couldn’t believe it. Ever since she left Ireland, she’s led a half life, her senses shut down, a prisoner of her own terror. “You never have to fear again,”
I told her. Bit by bit I coaxed her open. Oh, the joy that was in her eyes as she let herself sense the seeds in the earth beneath us, the tender green shoots waiting to break the surface. Then she opened herself to the skies, the stars, the pull of the incandescent spring moon, and we gave ourselves to pleasure and to each other. Goddess, I have finally known true joy. All the pain I have gone through, it was all worth it for this.

  —Neimhidh

  “You’re the one we’re going to drain.” The words echoed in my ears, and I suddenly saw it all with sick clarity.

  My dreams and visions—they had all been premonitions of what was to be my own ordeal in this house. Not Killian’s. Somehow the council got that one key detail wrong when they interpreted the dream. The wolf cub on the table wasn’t Killian. It was me. Some rational part of my mind wondered why I’d appeared as a wolf cub, but before I could make sense of it, the jackal said, “You will come with us.” I stared up defiantly. “No.”

  The figure waved a hand over me, and I was suddenly on my feet, the bindings loosened just enough to allow me to follow like an automaton. Fury at my own traitorous body swept through me, but I could no more resist the spell to follow than I could break the binding spell. I followed through a parlor and a dining room, through a kitchen to another staircase, this one leading down.

  We descended the stairs into a cellar. How could I possibly escape? The cellar door would close, and terrible things would be done to me. The cellar was lit by a few black candles set in wall sconces. The owl held out a robe made of a thin, shiny brown fabric. “Take off your clothes and put this on,” she said. The robe spooked me. I flashed on an old movie where they burned witches at the stake and made them wear robes like this for their execution. “What’s it for?” I asked. The witch in the hawk mask drew a sign in the air, and I doubled over again in agony.