Morgan hated using her powers to spy on her daughter, but she realized Sky was right-it was the only way to keep Moira safe right now without upsetting her even more. Through the window Morgan watched in despair as her daughter raced through the garden gate and flew up the road, her long straight hair whipping in back of her.
She felt numb. No, that wasn't true. It was just that the huge, varied emotions she was feeling were working to cancel each other out. Anger, disbelief, despair, sadness, regret. And all the while the hope that Hunter was really alive was in there, too, mixed in with everything else.
Katrina got heavily to her feet. "I'll be going, lass," she said, her voice subdued. "Now, looking back, I don't know how I could have thought this wouldn't rebound on us all like a hand grenade."
"How could you not have thought that?" Morgan exploded. "How could you have possibly thought this was a good thing for anybody? You wanted me for Belwicket? So you lied to me about my child for sixteen years? It's crazy! Not even about Moira but about Colm, too. I believed he was her father. That had a huge impact on our marriage, our lives. Every time I looked at Moira, I saw Colm's daughter. Now you tell me all those thoughts were a lie. What were you thinking?"
The older woman's shoulders bowed, and she sighed. "We didn't know the side effects. I thought it was for the best. You were dying. I'm sorry." She sounded beaten and sad, and Morgan couldn't help feeling an instinctive sympathy for the woman she'd loved like a second mother for years now. But nothing gave Katrina the right to do what she'd done.
"You did this to my life, Colm's life, Moira's life, so your coven would be strong," Morgan said. "How dare you? How dare you?" Morgan was shaking-she couldn't remember the last time she had been so angry.
"Belwicket is more than that, Morgan," Katrina said, pleading with her to understand. "It's our lives, the lives of our ancestors. It's our power. It's our heritage, yours and mine. And please understand, I didn't do it just for the coven. I did it out of love, too-for you and for your unborn child. You have to know that."
"Just leave, please," Morgan said quietly. She had no way to make sense of any of this at the moment, but she couldn't have even if she'd wanted to-she had something far more important to deal with.
"If that's what you want," Katrina said. "But please remember how much I love you." There were tears on her face as she closed the door behind her.
After Katrina left, Morgan paced the room nervously, emotions threatening to explode out of her like fireworks. She couldn't believe it-it was just too big, too huge, too amazing. On top of everything else, today she'd found out that her only child was Hunter's daughter.
"Oh, Goddess," she cried, turning to Sky. "Hunter's daughter!" She threw herself into Sky's arms and finally allowed herself to cry.
"Moira is Hunter's daughter," Sky said, repeating the words as if they were a miracle.
"I had Hunter's daughter," Morgan said, pulling back to look at Sky. "Hunter and I had a child." And then she thought of her marriage, of Colm, who had been so good, so accepting, and she felt terrible and furious all over again.
"They lied to me!" she said, letting go of Sky and starting to pace again. "More than that! They spelled me! Spelled me! All this time I've been living a lie! Every day of my life Colm knew our life was a lie, and he said nothing! He and Katrina and Pawel-I thought they were my family. They were deceiving me! For almost sixteen years-I can't believe it."
Sky nodded soberly.
"I still don't understand how it's even possible," Morgan said. "Hunter and I we did all the appropriate spells. It's why I never even considered Moira could be his."
Sky gave a helpless shrug. "I don't know," she said.
"Well, right now I just need to be with my daughter. Maybe I should send her a witch message," Morgan said, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. Hunter's daughter. Moira was Hunter's daughter. She glanced outside, hoping to see Moira running back to the house. Now that she knew, she was dying to look at Moira carefully, to see where she left off and Hunter began. Oh, Colm. Goddess, Colm, what were you thinking? How could you do this to me? I trusted you.
"I think she needs time alone," Sky said, always straightforward. "I don't feel her in the area. If she's not back in ten more minutes, we'll scry and go find her."
"She probably went to Ians house," Morgan said, frowning with this fresh worry. "Like last night."
"Maybe not. She might just want to be alone."
"They did us such an injustice," said Morgan, and Sky nodded. "It's incredibly sad that Colm died, leaving no children."
"Moira was his daughter," Sky said gently. "She mourns him like a daughter. You know from your own experience about the bonds between parents and adoptive children."
"Yes, I do." Morgan thought of the parents who'd raised her, whom she loved so much. "But I also know there can be a special bond between blood relatives. In a way, it's like Moira has lost two fathers."
She sat down in Colm's leather chair. What would Hunter have been like as a father? Her heart constricted painfully, imagining how it might have been. His face, surprised at Moira's strong, tiny grip. Hunter changing a diaper with the same intense concentration with which he did everything else. Baby Moira sleeping between her and Hunter in bed. More tears rolled down her cheeks. How precious those moments would have been.
Sky crossed the room and sank down on the couch, leaning back. "He would have loved to have had a daughter," she said, echoing Morgan's thoughts.
Morgan nodded, crying silently. After a few minutes she got up and washed her face and drank some water. "I'm going to scry for her," she told Sky. "I just need to know she's okay."
Then she lit the candle on the table and sat down, losing herself instantly to the peace of meditation. Scrying, she saw Moira, in the dark, sitting on wet grass. Ian was with her. He had his arm around her, and her head was resting on his shoulder. Finnegan lay nearby, panting and "relaxed. She saw Moira nod, then both she and Ian straightened up slightly, awareness coming over them. They'd felt her scrying. Morgan sent a quick witch message to Moira, and Moira replied-curtly-that she was fine. Morgan warned that if she didn't return soon, she would have to come find her, then pulled out of the image and blew out the candle.
"Moira's okay," she said. "She and Ian are in a field somewhere-maybe up on the headland, by the sea. But she'll be on her way home now, I believe."
"Good," said Sky.
"I just wish," Morgan began hesitantly, then decided to go on. "I just wish I could see now who Ian is underneath. Maybe he's Cal all over again. Maybe he's not. I can't let him hurt my daughter."
"We could pin him down and do a tath meanma."
"And have the New Charter all over us? No thanks. But it is tempting."
"Well, then, listen-there is something else we could do while we're waiting for Moira."
Morgan looked at her, knowing exactly what Sky meant.
"You said you scried and you saw Hunter. Tell me about that again."
Morgan did, describing what he'd looked like, how he hadn't appeared youthful, as he had in all her previous dreams over the years, but instead had aged. Not only aged, but had gone through some shocking physical changes. When she finished, Sky was silent, and Morgan asked, "What are you thinking? What can we do to know the truth?"
"I have Hunter's athame," Sky said thoughtfully. "It's out in the car. Daniel once told me about a spell where you focus intently on someone's energy, using one of their tools to help focus on them. It finds them whether they're alive or dead. I've been thinking all day-it's risky, but it's what we need to try. The thing is, you need three witches for it."
Morgan was quiet for a moment. Daniel Niall, Hunter's father, had almost killed himself trying to contact his wife in the netherworld. Contacting the dead was dark magick, ill-advised, and often ended tragically.
But this is Hunter.
She didn't have to think twice. "Let's do it," Morgan said. Sky went to the car. The only question was who to enlist to help. Hartwell? Keady? In other times, when she had a difficult question about magick, she would have turned to Katrina. Not now. She wished she could call up Alyce Fernbrake, who had worked at Practical Magick back in Widow's Vale so long ago. Alyce was almost eighty now and living quietly over the store she still owned but no longer managed. Morgan hadn't seen her in eight years. It would be presumptuous to call her for advice now.
The front door opened, startling Morgan. "Look what the cat dragged in," Sky said, coming back in.
Moira looked like she had been hauled through a hedge backward. Several times.
Morgan stood up and ran to her. It was clear that she'd been crying hard, and it looked as if she had fallen. Finnegan was right behind her, panting, wet, and muddy. Sky grabbed his collar and a dish towel and started rubbing him down.
For a minute Morgan just looked at Moira. She saw her height and slenderness. And her hair, that fine, straight, light hair-it was more Hunter than Morgan. But the pain in Moira's eyes was a reflection of Morgan's pain.
Morgan drew her daughter to her. Selfishly, Morgan was grateful that Moira couldn't be angry with her about this the way she had been about Ciaran. This hadn't been Morgan's decision, Morgan's fault.
"I was worried about you," Morgan said.
"I just ran and ran and ended up on the headland, above the cliffs. Ian came and found me there."
"Oh." How had he managed to find her? "Did he help you feel better?"
A nod. "I told him everything," Moira said, sounding both defiant and tired.
"Oh, Moira," said Morgan sympathetically. "I wish you hadn't. It's family business, our business."
Moira sniffled and shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry it all just came out. I had told him about Ciaran, too, and then afterward wished I hadn't. But I was so upset I'm sorry. I know you're not sure about him and his mother, but he's been so good to me."
Morgan knew the last thing Moira needed right now was to be pushed on the subject of Ian-and his family. "Well, why don't you go take a hot shower," she suggested. "Then we'll talk."
Moira nodded and headed upstairs. "Morgan," Sky said when Moira was out of earshot, "I think I know who our third witch should be."
Morgan met Sky's gaze uncertainly. "Moira," she said simply.
An hour later the three of them went into Morgan's workroom. It was impossible for Morgan to keep her eyes off Moira-she kept examining every aspect of her daughter in order to find traces of Hunter, which now seemed so evident. And even her personality-she too kept much inside, like Hunter. They shared a similar dry humor. And Moira was tenacious, like Hunter-she couldn't let go of things.
"You don't have to do this," Morgan told Moira as she got out her own tools. "Usually it would be for three initiated witches. It's almost certain that Hunter is, in fact, dead-has been dead all these years. If he's dead and we contact him, we could all be in danger."
"I want to do it," Moira said.
"Right, then," said Sky. "Everyone take off every bit of metal. No jeans, Moira-they have rivets and a zipper."
Morgan hadn't taken off her wedding ring in sixteen years. It was hard to set it aside. Once Sky and Moira had changed into loose cotton pants and sweatshirts and Morgan was in her silk robe, Morgan and Sky drew seven circles of protection. Then Morgan drew three more circles of power. She gestured to the others to enter the circles, and she closed each circle.
Seated on the floor, they made a natural triangle, their knees touching. Sky took out Hunter's athame and Morgan's heart ached, seeing it after all this time.
A trident-shaped candleholder stood in the center between them; its black iron cups held three candles. Sky braced the knife across the middle bar of the candleholder so that the athame's blade was licked by one flame.
Sky had shown Morgan the written form of the spell, and together they had read it through in the kitchen. Now Morgan closed her eyes, and each of the three slowed her breathing, her heartbeat, and they pooled their power so that it could be used.
Sky began the spell. Like every spell, it was a combination of basic forms overlain with instance-specific designations: the quest-for-knowledge form was in virtually every spell ever crafted. Sky wrought other delicate patterns around the basic structure, tailoring the spell with elegance and precision to search for a person, to promise to cause the person living or dead no harm, and to ward any harm from coming to him by cause of this. As a Wyndenkell, Sky was a natural spell- crafter, and she adapted this one gracefully and elegantly.
Then Morgan took up the chant, chanting first in her head, then softly aloud. She repeated Sky's basic form but wove her knowledge of Hunter into it, irretrievably chaining his image, his patterns, his essence to the spell. Using ancient words learned during years of study, she called on Hunter's energy as she knew it. If she had known his true name, this would have been a thousand times easier. Every thing-plants, rocks, crystals, animals, people-had a true name that was a song, a color, a rune, an emotion all at once. In the craft many witches went through a Great Trial, during which they learned their true name. Morgan still didn't know hers, and she'd never known Hunter's. As far as Morgan knew, no one had known his true name except for him. Instead, she recalled all her memories of him and then sent those memories out into the universe, riding along the lines of inquiry Sky had formed.
"Moira?" Morgan whispered, and then they took each other's hands and held them, combining their energies, their knowledge.
Together they sent their energies out along the lines of the spell that radiated from them like spokes from a wheel. Moira was chanting her call-power spell and continuously sending her power to Sky and Morgan. Sky was repeating her quest spell, and Morgan continued to send out images of Hunter.
It was unclear how long they worked. They wove their words, their thoughts, their energies together until it felt as if they had created a tight, complex basket of silver. In her mind's eye Morgan could see it shimmering before her, becoming more and more complete, spinning and glowing. She focused on breathing in and out, smoothly, constantly, like waves, like the sea, her life force waxing and waning without effort.
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 Ians 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 Ians 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.