The Calling

  “Bloody hell!” It was Ciaran swearing.

  He broke the connection, and my vision clouded over. Another spell to obscure something they didn’t want me to see. I heard footsteps and the sound of a door closing. The air in the room had changed. Ciaran was gone. And so was Hunter.

  Truth

  February 29, The light of day dawns…and with it love dies. Maeve woke in my arms. Morning dew glistened on her skin. I pulled a bit of straw from her hair and told her how beautiful she was. “No, Ciaran!” She scrambled to her feet. “This can’t be. I’ve made my life with Angus, and you have a wife and children—”

  “Forget my wife and children. I’ve left them. And damn Angus!” I cried. “I’m tired of things coming between what we know is meant to be. We are mùirn beatha dàns. We are meant to be together.”

  But she wouldn’t hear of it. She went on and on, scourging herself with guilt. Angus had been so good to her, so patient and kind. How could she hurt him this way? What we were doing was wrong, immoral, a betrayal of the worst kind. “What about betraying our love?” I asked. “You’ve been perfectly willing to do that these last three years.” I explained that I’d given up my life in Scotland. My family, my coven, they were no longer a part of me. I was here in America prepared to start my life over with her. What more could she want from me?

  “I can’t live with you and live with myself,” she said. She fled the field like a frightened rabbit, she who was once destined to be high priestess of Belwicket. “Well, I can’t watch you live with Angus,” I shouted at her fleeing form. So tell me, Maeve, now that you’ve chosen a course I can’t forgive, what is the value of your life?

  —Neimhidh

  With Ciaran gone from the room, the owl took over. “The rites must continue,” she said. They started their chanting again. I felt the dark energy building, the summoning of the purple-black light that would take my magick from me. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was completely outmatched.

  I thought about Hunter. How much I loved him. How he was about to lose his life for me. How he was mymùirn beatha dàn and I’d known it all along but had never let myself embrace that truth. And I’d had the nerve to criticize Bree.

  A world of regret rose up inside me. Regret for everything I’d done wrong.

  I’d never told my parents how much I appreciated them. They’d given me a wonderful home and all their love, and when I’d found out I was adopted, all of that had seemed insignificant. Because of me, Mary K. had been kidnapped. Because of me, Cal was dead. He’d given his life for me and I’d wasted it completely.

  Because of me, Hunter was going to die. That was the hardest thing of all. My mind was spinning. I’d been alive only a little over seventeen years. How had I managed to make such a complete disaster of everything? The purple-black light crackled around me, and I thought, Take my power. Take my life. You’re welcome to it. Well, I’ll drink a toast to you, Maeve Riordan. You pulled one over on me from beyond the grave. You were so young and beautiful when you died. I daresay you wouldn’t find me attractive now. My own reflection stares back at me from this silver goblet, distorted, gruesome. How did I ever get such a beauty to love me, even for a night? Look at my eyes, two dark muddy slashes unlike anyone else’s…except this girl’s. What do you think, Maeve? You know me better than most, so answer the question that looms before me: Can I now destroy our daughter? The purple-black light surrounded the inner circle, holding me fast. The masked Amyranth witches stood in a circle around me, murmuring their chant. I couldn’t even control my own muscles. I tried to cast my senses to see just how much my tormentors were enjoying the show. But by now I was too weak even to do that. The cougar held up a hand, and with a dull horror I saw that a cat’s curved claws were growing from human fingertips. He muttered an incantation. The purple-black light crackled loudly and shot through my chest. I felt it wrap around my heart, squeezing mercilessly. The magick was ebbing out of me. I felt it leaving. I didn’t want to give in to Amyranth, to Ciaran’s coven. I didn’t want to let go of my magick. But I was so very tired of fighting. I felt the last bit of my resistance float away, and I followed it. “Morgan, come back!” It was Hunter’s voice. A hallucination, I told myself, and slipped back into the fog.

  “No! I won’t let you go. Not like this.”

  I forced my eyes open. Hunter stood in the doorway. A new aura of power seemed to flicker

  around him, his own sapphire light tinged with a purplish glow I’d never seen before. Was he really there? How had he gotten away from Ciaran? Where was Ciaran? I couldn’t imagine that Hunter had single-handedly overcome such evil. It had to be a dream. “Seeker.” The viper advanced on him.

  Not a dream. My heart leaped wildly in my chest. The weasel hurled a ball of blue witch light at Hunter. It found its target, and Hunter gasped in pain.

  I struggled to pull myself out of the deadening fog. Hunter. I had to help him. Mentally I began my draw-power chant again.An di allaigh… Power stirred inside me, faint as a hummingbird’s heartbeat. But there. In my mind I sang the chant again and again until I felt a thin, steady stream of magick pouring into me. And then I sent it all to Hunter.Help him, I charged it.Make him stronger. Heal his wounds.

  Hunter blocked a blow from the jackal, then turned and shot me a quick look of gratitude. I love you, Hunter, I thought. You’ve got to survive this. Then Hunter chanted a spell in a language I didn’t recognize. The fine garnet inlays on the table began to shudder. I watched wide-eyed as their forms rose into the air, glowing with the bloodred light of the gems. They were sigils, I realized. Hunter was calling them up. The masked witches moved away from him, and I felt their terror. “Impossible,” one murmured. “There’s no way a Seeker could know how to use those sigils.” How did he do it? I wondered with distant amazement. Could the council really make him that much stronger? He seemed practically invincible. The witch in the bear mask charged Hunter, but the witch never made it. He let out a sickening scream as he hit one of the glowing red sigils. He crashed to the floor, where the sigil ate at him the way fire ants devour a body.

  And then Hunter was at my side, his athame out, its blade slicing through the spelled ropes that bound me. I felt him lift me from the table, murmur, “Thank God you’re still alive.” “Hunter, no,” I whispered. “Save yourself.” “Shhh,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”

  But the fog was washing over me, drawing me under again. And this time I let it take me.

  Time had passed, I don’t know how much. There was only Hunter and me, and we were on the sidewalk. He set me on my feet gently. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked. “Yes,” I said, though I was still terribly weak. Then Hunter was pulling me away from the house.

  We got as far as the Museum of Natural History, where we both collapsed on the steps. It was dark and cold, and our breath came out in little clouds of vapor. “Are you all right?” Hunter asked.

  “I think so. My power…they didn’t take it.” “No,” he said softly. “You fought off an entire coven of Woodbanes. Thank the Goddess. I was nearly out of my mind with fright for you.” That was when I started to cry, great, gulping sobs that felt like they’d never stop. Hunter folded me into his arms and held me. For a long time I stayed there in the shelter of his arms, crying until I had no more tears. Even after I stopped crying, I stayed there, listening to the steady sound of his heart, thinking it incredibly precious. “I must be a mess,” I said, finally breaking away to blow my nose. That’s when I noticed Hunter’s face was as tear-streaked as mine. “Hunter?” I asked uncertainly. “Are you okay?” He nodded. “I’d better send a message to Sky, let everyone know we’re all right.” He concentrated for a moment, and I knew the message was being sent. “Here,” he said then, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. “How did you find me?” I asked. “I called you, but I got no answer. Ciaran was blocking my messages.” I shuddered.

  “I finally found Ciaran’s ex-lover, and she told me where the cove
n was,” Hunter explained. “What happened to the Amyranth witches?” I asked. “Still in the house. Recovering, I imagine. I hit them pretty hard, but I don’t think I did much permanent damage,” Hunter said. “I was more concerned with getting you out alive.” “But they’re still there.”

  “Yes. I’ve sent a message to the council, but I doubt they’ll get there before Amyranth clears

  out of that house. They’ll surface again, though,” he added grimly.

  A kid came up to us, clutching a fistful of individually wrapped roses. “Hey, mister, want to buy a flower for the lady?” he asked.

  Hunter stood up. “Yes, God, yes, I ought to buy her an entire bouquet, but”—he reached into his pocket and pulled out his billfold—“I’ll take one. Keep the change.” “Thanks,” the boy said, his face lighting up as he realized Hunter had given him a twenty. “That was generous,” I said as the boy ran off and Hunter dropped down beside me again. He shrugged. “I’m feeling generous and grateful—and phenomenally sorry. So much more than sorry.” He handed me the flower. “Morgan, I don’t know how to apologize.” “For what? You don’t have anything to apologize for,” I protested. “I’m the one who charged in there like the Mounties to the rescue.”

  He gave me that stern Hunter look. “You did, and remind me to give you a hard time for it someday, but the truth is—this was all my fault.” I snuggled closer. “How do you figure that?” “Isn’t it obvious? I should have realized Amyranth wanted you.” “Stop blaming yourself,” I told him. I ran my hand along his smooth cheek. He was so dear to me. “It was the council who got it totally wrong. How could they have thought the target was Ciaran’s child?”

  Hunter didn’t say anything.

  “I guess I shouldn’t blame them,” I added grudgingly. “I mean, I did see myself as a wolf cub in the dream. But obviously that didn’t mean what we all assumed it meant.” Hunter gazed at me with an expression of pity and grief. “Oh, Morgan,” he said. “I thought you already knew.”

  “Knew what?” Sudden, nameless dread lodged somewhere below my heart, a dark, cold mass. “The dream meant exactly what we thought. The council didn’t get it wrong. The target was Ciaran’s child.”

  “But Killian was never their captive and—” “Never mind Killian. There’s one thing none of us knew,” he interrupted, his voice gentle. “Not even Ciaran—until he didtàth meànma on you. He saw Maeve holding you as an infant—and he

  heard what she said about your eyes. Morgan, Angus had blue eyes. Yours are brown…like your

  father’s.”

  “No.” I started to shake again as I understood what he was saying. “That can’t be. It’s impossible. I won’t believe—”

  Hunter put one hand on the side of my face. “Morgan, youare Ciaran’s child.” Tainted

  May 25, I tried to forget her, I swear it. I returned to Scotland. Had another go with Grania and the little ones, every bit as miserable as the other times. Killian is an interesting one, though. He has more innate power than Kyle and Iona combined. He could be a real find. Still, I can’t share a roof with any of them, not when it’s Maeve I ache for. She’s a craving in my heart, a sickness in my blood. I wake and fall asleep to her memory. I love her as much as I hate her. She is with me every minute.

  But the truth is, she remains with Angus, damn him. Time and again I’ve tried to persuade her to leave the worthless fool. And time and again she refuses. I wonder sometimes what would be if she gave me a chance, if she saw who it is I’ve become in these years since she first rejected me. The heart she would not accept from me, I gave to the darkness. My power has grown beyond what I ever believed possible. I have served the darkness well, and it me. There is nothing on this earth that frightens me and very little that can stand against me. Would the good witch of Belwicket be able to accept that? I must believe that our love would open her to her own true Woodbane nature and that she would revel in it as I do. Meanwhile my love for her only grows. It never seems to diminish, no matter how I distract myself. I’ve tried everything, even stooping to childish tricks. I’ve left anonymous threatening sigils around their house. I’ve even hung a dead cat from their porch rail. Goddess, it’s sickening, juvenile stuff, but I am a man possessed. What shall I do? What can I do? —Neimhidh

  I don’t know how long I sat there on the steps of the museum, trying to wrap my mind around what Hunter had just told me. I was numb, unable to process it. It was too dark, too monstrous. I couldn’t let it in.

  Ciaran, my true father?

  No. No, no, no. It simply couldn’t be.

  “Listen, love,” Hunter said. “I want to tell you about him.”

  “Please. Don’t.” I couldn’t say anything else. His jacket hung open on my shoulders. I wasn’t even feeling the cold anymore. “No, you need to hear this. It was Ciaran who freed me. He told me you were his daughter and that I had to save you.” “Why? So he can drain me again?” I said. Hunter sighed. “You’re not listening. Ciaran gave me the spell for calling up the sigils in the table. And he added his power to mine. Don’t you know I couldn’t have held off all those witches on my own? Neither one of us would have gotten out of there alive without his help. Morgan, whatever he is, whatever he’s done, he couldn’t kill you. Not his own child.” “It doesn’t matter,” I replied dully. “He’s still evil. A murderer. And I’m his daughter.” Robbie had been right about me. I was fundamentally tainted. It was my birthright. “Morgan—”

  I put my finger to Hunter’s lips. “Stop. Please. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that you can’t change what’s fated to be.” Hunter rubbed his temple. “We need to talk about this, but tonight’s obviously not the right time.”

  “We should get out of the city,” I said with a shudder. “Before Amyranth regroups. Let’s go get everyone. I’ll drive back to Widow’s Vale tonight.” Hunter gave a hollow laugh. “I’m not even sure you’re capable of climbing into a cab, much less driving upstate. No, we’ll spend the night in the city. I expect we’ll be safe enough. But first thing tomorrow morning we’ll get the hell out.” He hailed a cab and helped me into it.

  It was late when we got back to the apartment. We rode up in the elevator in silence. It was only when we got out on Bree’s floor that I realized I was still wearing that awful brown robe. “How am I going to explain this?” I asked.

  Hunter brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “It’s after eleven. Maybe they’ll all be asleep.” They were. Sky and Raven were in the living room, nestled together on the pullout couch. Raven looked content, peaceful, almost innocent. I found a note from Bree on the kitchen counter. M&H—

  I’m so glad you’re all right! Since my dad is still in Connecticut, Robbie and I are camping out

  in the master bedroom. You guys can take the guest room. —B

  In tiny print at the bottom she’d added another note:M—You were right about me. How about that?

  Hunter was standing at the closed door of the guest room. “Morgan, look,” he said softly. On the doorknob Bree had hung a small wreath wound through with white blossoms. Their sweet, heady scent filled the hallway. “Jasmine,” Hunter said with a smile. “Wonder where she found it at this time of year?” He took my hand. “Shall we go in?” I tried to force a smile, but I couldn’t. “Hunter,” I began, my voice breaking, “I don’t know how to say this, but—I just hurt a lot right now. I need to sleep on my own tonight.” I saw the flash of pain in Hunter’s eyes and felt a remote sense of guilt, of regret. Here, at last, was our chance to spend a whole night together. After surviving the disaster at Ciaran’s, sleeping together was exactly what should have followed, a natural way to ground ourselves in life again after having come so close to death. An affirmation of our love, a time for comfort. But I couldn’t accept it. Not now.

  “If that’s what you need…” Hunter’s voice trailed off. “It is.” I reached up and touched his cheek. “Thanks. For everything.” “Anytime,” he said.

  I walked into
the guest room and caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. For the space of several heartbeats I forced myself to study my own face. My cheeks were tear-streaked, my nose slightly swollen. My eyes were puffy and red. And exactly the same shape and color as Ciaran’s. I felt a sick appreciation for the irony of it. After all these years I finally knew who I resembled. I couldn’t look anymore. I needed a shower desperately, but I was too tired. The shower would wait until morning. I stripped off the brown robe. In the morning I’d stuff it down the garbage chute.

  I went into the guest room and climbed into bed. I closed my eyes and willed sleep, but an endless tape kept running through my head: Ciaran is my father. Ciaran is my father. Ciaran is my father.

  I couldn’t doubt it. Not after the connection I’d felt with him. Not after I’d looked in the mirror

  and seen his eyes staring out from my face.

  My father was a murderer, the leader of a Woodbane coven whose purpose was to destroy other covens. He’d killed Maeve and Angus. He was pure evil. It occurred to me that Killian was my half brother. All sorts of things began to fall into place. Things that hadn’t quite made sense before. The sense of connection I’d felt with Ciaran—and with Killian. My unusual powers. Not only was I heir to Belwicket’s legacy of magick, but to Ciaran’s as well. And my own tendency to abuse power definitely came from Ciaran.

  Through the wall I heard Hunter curse the couch in the study. Bree had told me that it was lumpy and uncomfortable.

  Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I loved Hunter in a way I’d never loved anyone. But I couldn’t be with him. Not now, knowing what I really was. An heir to darkness.

  Broken

  June I am back in Meshomah Falls now so I can put an end to it once and for all. There will be no more fevers, no more senseless cravings. No more pining for a woman who won’t have me. I’m choosing my own peace of mind over all else. Giving in to the inevitable. If she wants Angus so badly, let her have him for eternity. Let them both die. I’ve found the perfect place for it, an isolated barn on an abandoned farm about five miles from their house. The means will be Maeve’s own element, fire. It seems the only fitting thing. A fire to quench the fire that’s been burning in my heart since the day I first saw her. Fire to fire and ashes to ashes. It will soon be done. I’ve already closed my heart to love. From this day on I give myself wholly to the darkness. —Neimhidh