18. Morgan
He had to be here-he had to, Morgan thought in despair. But she could feel nothing, pick up on nothing. She had risked her daughter's life to try to save her muirn beatha dan's. But there seemed to be nothing here-only grotesque, deformed trees and sharp bits of rock that stabbed at her feet through her shoes. She gripped Moira's hand more tightly. Hunter is here somewhere. He simply has to be.
Then she saw it-an opening in the wet, black rock face. A cave. Visible only because of a faint, flickering light deep inside the rock. The light was blocked, and slowly an outline appeared, a person. A human being was walking toward them.
Morgan's heart constricted painfully, her eyes straining to see into the cave's darkness. Holding hands, she, Moira, and Sky hurried toward the cave. There was no need for words. Their hearts and minds were too full to speak.
They were almost upon the cave when the figure shuffled awkwardly out into the storm, into the palest, most fractured bit of light available. It was not Hunter. "Oh, Goddess!" Morgan whispered, staring in dismay at the wizened old woman. The woman had wild, tangled gray hair, large, vacant eyes, and sunburned skin crinkled in folds over a face that scarcely looked human. A woman. A leftover witch, put here by some MacEwan, possibly Ciaran, for all Morgan knew. Put here and forgotten for who knew how long.
The woman's faded gray eyes fastened on them blankly. "You're not real," she muttered indistinctly, shaking her head and looking away. "You're not real. They never are." She turned around and began to head back into the cave.
"We're real," Morgan called strongly, starting to follow her. "We're real. We're looking for-"
Her words wisped away into the wind. A second figure was blocking the cave entrance. This one was tall, thin, gaunt. He had long, pale blond hair and a darker blond beard. His eyes were deep set and an odd, light green, as if bleached by the sun and sea.
Morgan could do nothing but stare silently, desperately praying that this wasn't an apparition, that what she was seeing was real. She was shaky, unsteady on her feet as the figure stepped slowly closer.
Oh, Goddess, it's Hunter! Hunter, after all these years! He stared at them, first Morgan, then Moira, then Sky, as if recognition was taking a long time to seep into his brain.
"Do you see him?" Morgan asked Sky, not taking her eyes off him.
"Yes," Sky croaked, her voice broken. "Yes, I see him."
"Hunter. Hunter," Morgan said inadequately, tears springing to her eyes.
"Morgan," he whispered in disbelief. Frowning, he shook his head, not seeming to make sense of what he was seeing.
A few quick steps brought Morgan right up to him, where she had to tilt back her head to meet his eyes. He looked so different-it had been so long. Goddess only knew what atrocities he'd lived through these past sixteen years. But deep within his oddly light eyes, Morgan saw the Hunter she loved.
He raised one shaky, bony hand, the knuckles bruised and scraped, and ever so gently brushed a strand of wet hair off her cheek. Bursting into tears, Morgan threw her arms around his waist, clasping her hands in back of him as if she'd never let go.
"Hunter, Hunter!" she cried, her tears mingling with the rain. Sixteen years fell away as she closed her eyes and pressed her face hard against his ribs. Then his arms came around her, pulling her even closer as he rested his head on hers. Here was Hunter, her love, back from the dead. It was a miracle, a blessing. "I thought I'd never hold you again," she sobbed. "I thought I'd never, ever see you."
"Morgan," he said, his voice a raspy croak, ruined, but definitely Hunter's voice. "Morgan, my love. You're life itself, you're my life."
"And you are mine. Always." Morgan's heart had stopped when she saw him; now it seemed to thump slowly once, twice, and more. A damp warmth seeped through her sweatshirt: her heart was bleeding again. This was Hunter, and he was speaking to her. He was alive, and she had found him. As she held him, she felt him start to tremble and realized that he, too, was crying. Pulling back, she looked up at him, at his tears, at his dear, beloved face, now broken and battered and much too thin. She blinked, then glanced at the sky to see if the sun had come out. It hadn't-the clouds still hung heavy and low, deep gray and sullen. Quickly she looked from Hunter to the rocks to the sea to Sky, who was weeping silently, a smile on her face, to Moira, who stared solemnly at this stranger who had fathered her.
Everything was brighter, the colors deeper, richer, as if a filter had been taken off her eyes. Every sound seemed clear and precise and exact-she could hear each small wave breaking, each twisted tree branch creaking in the wind. Moira and Sky looked so bright and alive. All those years ago, on the dock in Wales, when she'd felt nothing of Hunter's spirit, everything had dimmed. Everything had become dull, every sight and sound had seemed as if a fine, thin wall of cotton separated it from Morgan. Now the wall was gone, torn away by the indescribable joy of seeing Hunter again.
"She told me you had died," Hunter said hoarsely. "She told me you had died, trying to save me when the ferry went down. Then I saw you, days ago, saw you scrying for me."
"I don't know why I couldn't find you before," Morgan said. "I tried, so many times."
Hunter looked down at her sadly. "You found me now because Iona wanted you to find me," he said. "I told you not to come, Iona wanted you to come here, to get you here."
A dull dread sank over the joy in her heart. She and Sky had feared this, and they'd been right. Now they were here, as Iona had planned, and would have to face whatever she had in store for them-whatever she'd set up.
In the next second Morgan's breath left her in a harsh gasp, and she froze, unable to move, Iona Morgan recognized it as the same binding spell that Iona had used-was it only yesterday? at the ruined castle. The New Charter had promised to send someone right away-and no one had warned Morgan that they hadn't successfully taken Iona into custody, Iona's powers must be much stronger than Morgan had realized. Who knew what she had done to the people who had come for her? Morgan felt a pang of guilt that she hadn't done something more to Iona when she'd had the chance. She focused her energy, trying to break through the binding spell but nothing. Stunned, her mind clouded by emotion, Morgan looked to Hunter.
"Morgan!" Hunter said next to her as Sky and Moira ran over.
"Mum, Mum, are you okay?" Moira asked, her eyes wide with horror. Sky took a moment to reach out and grab Hunter's arm, as if to reassure herself that he was real, then turned her attention to Morgan.
"Don't touch her!" Iona said, appearing between two tall black rocks. "What I have is for her alone." Slowly Morgan edged her eyes over to see her half sister standing above them, holding a dark stick in one hand.
"Hello, all," Iona said, giving them her disturbing, skeletal smile that seemed to unhinge her jaws. Her thin, graying hair was plastered to her skull with rain, and Morgan wondered again why Iona seemed so old, so ill, yet burning with such an odd energy.
"Sixteen years of hard work have finally paid off," Iona said, her voice sly and satisfied. "Poor Morgan. Haven't you figured it out yet? Lilith Delaney's been keeping tabs on you for years, but I didn't decide to move on you till this year."
That was important, Morgan thought dimly, trying to think, trying to fight her way through the spell as she had before. Why now? With her mind she examined the edges of the binding spell, testing its strength. It was stronger than yesterday's. She had to focus and concentrate on getting free, on fighting Iona. If she thought about anything else-Hunter, Moira, Sky-all would be lost.
"Me. The visions, the dreams. I sent the morganite-I even sent the ring," Iona gloated. "That was a brilliant touch, I must say. The actual ring! And now you finally find your heart's true love, only to watch him die! You get to suffer twice!" She threw back her head and laughed.
"I can't help you," Hunter whispered to Morgan. He sounded like he was near tears. "I have no powers. Over time this island binds powers."
"It's all right," Sky told her cousin kindly. "It's all right."
"Mum?" Moira said. She had edged closer and was standing very still, trembling.
Stay back and be invisible, Morgan sent.
You need me, Moira sent back.
Think, think, Morgan told herself fiercely. Unravel the spell. Figure out why now? Iona had mentioned the ring, the morganite, the visions, the dreams but not the hexes and spells around Morgan's home. Had those been an extra touch from Lilith-her own personal vendetta?
Focus. It didn't matter right now. What mattered was learning Iona's intentions and uncovering the best way to defeat her. She had gotten her power from taking the souls of other, more powerful witches. Would that make her vulnerable somehow? She looked up at Sky, whose dark eyes watched her, worried. Taking in very slow, shallow breaths, Morgan visualized herself to be strong, whole, powerful. I can break out of this binding spell, she told herself. I'm Ciaran's daughter. But more important, I'm Maeve's daughter, Maeve of Belwicket. I have her blood, her power in me. I am the sgiurs dan-the Destroyer."
Morgan raised her hand.
A look of fleeting surprise crossed Iona's face and she frowned. She raised her stick, and Morgan felt the force of Iona's rage crash against her mind, pushing into her consciousness. Buckling over onto the sand, Morgan frantically slammed up every mind block she could think of, remembering the last time she'd had to fight this hard, two decades ago. But she was no longer an uninitiated teenager. She was stronger, with a wealth of power and knowledge. Wincing, she felt Iona pressing harder. If Iona managed to get inside, Morgan would have no chance.
"Let her go!" Morgan heard Hunter's splintered voice dimly, from far away. "You have me! Isn't that enough?"
"No," Iona said, her voice tight. "I want you both."
Think, Morgan! How integrated were Iona's souls? How hard was it for Iona to keep them focused? To control their power? What kind of power would it take just to use them?
A throaty chuckle of triumph reached Morgan's ears, Iona was enjoying watching Morgan bent to her will. Morgan knew that, given the opportunity, Iona would kill them all. Kill Moira. Her daughter. The very thought filled Morgan's blood with anger.
Then suddenly, with no warning, Iona was gone, no longer pushing against Morgan's mind. Morgan keeled over, her face hitting the wet sand. Immediately she pulled her shaking arms under her, rising to her hands and knees. She spit wet sand out of her mouth and stood up.
"I want you to have the chance to fight," Iona said. "And lose. I want Moira to watch you die, as I watched my father die," she went on, stepping carefully down the rocks. "And then I'm going to take your souls. Well, yours and your daughter's and Sky's. Hunter's isn't worth much at this point."
Watch Ciaran die? Morgan thought hazily. They said he died alone at Borach Mean.
"Can you imagine what I can do with your power?" Iona asked, already looking awed by the thought. "I'll have your power inside me." She shook her head, pleasure showing on her sunken face.
"Why now?" Morgan asked. "Why wait sixteen years?" Her mind raced as she tried to think clearly, desperate to protect her daughter. The beginning of an idea started to form. But to try it could cost her life.
"I wanted you to have a child," Iona answered, as if it were obvious. "I wanted her to be old enough to suffer, losing you, the way I suffered. I wanted your loss to be greater. See?" She flicked her stick over at Moira, and Morgan's stomach clenched as her daughter cried out in pain, wrapping her arms around her chest. Morgan lunged to protect her, but Iona flung out her hand. Gasping, Morgan dropped to the sand, feeling as if knives were cutting into her lungs with each breath; she was being flayed slowly from the inside out. She prayed it was only an illusion. Struggling, she tried to put up a wall between her and the pain.
Moira was whimpering now, curling up.
"It makes it so much worse," Iona observed calmly. In that moment Sky suddenly took out her athame, which she'd been concealing in her pocket. She held it out toward Iona, focusing on the tool as her lips moved silently to form a spell. Rocks flew up from around them and launched at Iona. Astonished, Iona whirled and at the last second managed to deflect most of them, with a few only grazing her neck. A thin band of blood appeared, dark red against her white skin.
"How dare you?" Iona cried angrily, raising her stick again. The athame fell from Sky's grasp and thunked into the wet sand, buried up to the hilt. Sky dodged as Iona fired crackling, spitting balls of furious blue witchfire at her. One careened off a boulder and slid past Morgan, singeing her face and making her flinch. Sky reached for her athame, but Iona held out her hand and drew the athame to her. She gave Sky a malicious smile, then tossed the athame into the air, away from Sky. It whizzed above her to bury itself in a twisted tree, right over Moira.
Quickly Morgan gathered her strength and choked out a laugh. "A child? That's pathetic, Iona, even for you. Was that really it? Or did it take that long to amass enough power to fight me? We all know that I'm so much stronger than you."
Anger flushed Iona's ghastly face and her eyes sparked. Yes, Morgan thought. She was getting to her-just a few more well chosen words and Iona would be pushing her way into Morgan's consciousness, Iona raised her stick again-but didn't use it. She seemed to sense something. Morgan watched, breathing shallowly, as Iona slowly looked around her.
Sky was crouching behind a dark, wet boulder. Moira had edged up against the tree. Her face was contorted with pain, and tears ran down her cheeks. The old woman Morgan had seen, plus two more forgotten witches, were milling around, watching this happen but with no comprehension on their blank, childish faces. Clearly they were also powerless to help and beyond caring what happened to them.
Come on, Iona, try to get into my mind. "You know it's true. I am strong and you are weak," Morgan went on recklessly. "Father said so."
That did it. With a snarl of rage Iona threw both of her hands out, and instantly Morgan felt it, her furious, barbed consciousness, crashing against Morgan's mind like a burning battering ram. Once inside, she would wipe Morgan's mind clean, steal her power, drain her soul. It was a chance Morgan had to take. For an instant Morgan dropped her mind blocks, and Iona was inside her head, twisted with hatred, power starved, greedy, clutching at Morgan's powers. Morgan steeled herself, ignored her terror, and scanned what she could of Iona's mind.
The soul of the witch Justine Courceau, insane with rage and a frenzied desire to escape; another, lesser soul of a faded witch who had crossed Iona without even realizing it. And Ciaran. Morgan gasped as she recognized the soul of her father, the soul she had joined with once before in a tath meanma. Ciaran! Oh, God, no wonder Iona is so powerful now! No wonder she could hold me in a binding spell. Somehow she had reached Ciaran's soul when she'd killed him and pulled out the knowledge and strength that had been crushed when he was stripped of his ability to use magick.
Gritting her teeth, Morgan drew on every bit of power she had within her and once again slammed up her mind block, forcing Iona out. Iona fought her viciously, but Morgan squeezed harder and harder, and then her mind was free again, and Iona was just pressing against her.
It had taken just a moment.
"Why do you even try to fight?" Iona snarled, coming closer. "We all know how this will end." We need to join our powers! Morgan sent a witch message to Moira and Sky, wincing with each word. Ciaran's soul is inside Iona! She must have killed him and taken it.
What should we do? Moira sent, and Morgan was surprised at how steady her daughter felt. Anyone looking at Moira would have dismissed her as out of the fight, but she was strong-stronger than Morgan had realized. Stronger than she herself knew.
Bind her.
Iona was circling them now, keeping an eye on Sky but ignoring both Hunter and Moira.
Iona was still pressing against Morgan's mind, still holding the razorlike spell of pain on her. In Morgan's haze of agony, words floated toward her: "You have the power to devastate anything in your path-or to create unimaginable beauty." Ciaran had told her that, right before she had bound him. He'd said, "You're the sgiurs dan." The Destroyer. The one who would change the course of the Woodbane clan.
It had been so many years since she'd needed to call on the very depths of her power. Yet as a teenager, she had bound one of the most powerful witches of all time. She had helped stop a dark wave, a thing that had regularly killed hundreds of people, whole villages.
It had been a blessing, all these years, not to have to work magick like that, magick that made one touch the edge of darkness. Now she was soaked through, cold, and shot through with an unholy pain. The man she loved was powerless, in desperate need of help. Her only daughter was in danger. And they needed her to save them.
Morgan sank back on the sand and closed her eyes. She called on the very depths of her power, every aspect of her history-of her ancestors. She was the Destroyer, and she would defeat her enemies. She let every muscle go limp, from her eyelids to her toes. Every single feeling flowed out of her and onto the sand. Caring, anger, pain, panic, joy, longing, all seeped out of her motionless body. She felt dead, numb, and with it came a kind of freedom. She imagined herself rising, dressed in white, a shining aura around her. She imagined her small silver athame to be a mighty sword. She pictured herself able to deflect any spell, crush any attack, triumph over any foe. Even her half sister. True, Ciaran's soul was in Iona, but without him Iona was weak. It was Morgan who had inherited Ciaran's strength, out of all his children. It was Morgan who had inherited Maeve's strength, her mother who had loved her so much, she had let strangers adopt her so she would be safe. Morgan was the sgiurs dan.
Be ready, she sent to Moira and Sky. Gather your power- everything you have. I will tell you when to send it to me. It will be harder without touching. But it's our only chance.
Her eyes opened. She got to her feet, pain held at bay for now.
Iona stopped and stared at her. She raised her stick, but with a harsh phrase Morgan deflected it. Iona's face twisted into an ugly mask of rage. She shouted out something, and Morgan instantly knew it was Hunter's true name, Iona sketched a rune in the air, called a color to her, and then turned to sneer at Morgan.
"He is mine," she snarled. "He's nothing but a walking puppet." She slashed one clawlike hand through the air, and Morgan watched in horror as identical slashes appeared across Hunter's face and chest, as though a tiger had raked him. In his state it was enough to make him stagger backward, lose his balance, and fall heavily against a low rock. He lay still where he fell.
My love! My love! Morgan's eyes blazed with the pain of seeing her soul mate attacked. And then the realization came to her. Iona was doing all of this to Hunter because she knew his true name.
And I know Ciaran's true name. All those years ago, she'd learned Ciaran's true name the night she first shape-shifted. Stepping forward, her hands clenched into fists, Morgan faced Iona. Iona turned her sights to Moira, who was standing now, her young face resolute. No! Morgan thought, but Iona swept her hand again, and Moira crumpled to her knees, welts across her face.
It was time. Her face anguished, Morgan met Sky's eyes. Yes, Sky sent. Do it, no matter what. It's why you're here.
Moira, Morgan sent. It's time. I need you-I need you to fight through the pain and send me your power.
Morgan closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and felt waves of power come to her from both Sky and Moira. She was amazed at the strength she could feel from her daughter, even injured.
"An nal nithrac," Morgan began. "Bis crag teragh. Bis nog, nal benteg."
"How pointless," Iona said, her voice angry. "Amusing, but pointless."
Morgan opened her arms wide. She was full of power, the power of generations of her ancestors. She was made of power, she was power itself.
"I am the sgiurs dan!" Morgan cried, and her voice, clear and strong, pierced the air, pierced the fog of Iona's power. Iona looked startled and took a step backward, then straightened her shoulders and strode forward.
"You're nobody!" Iona cried. "You're nothing! You're going to be the first to die!" She held out her stick, about to begin a new spell.
Morgan felt Moira drawing some of her power back and whirled to see what her daughter was doing. In one move Moira was back on her feet and lunging for Sky's athame. She pulled it from the tree and whispered something, then threw it at Iona, hard, furious power showing in her eyes, Iona tried to deflect the athame, but Moira must have spelled it with a ward-evil spell, and it hit her shoulder, knocking her off balance. Iona clapped one hand to her shoulder, where dark blood was oozing sullenly through her robe. Morgan whirled to see Moira standing by her tree, angry red marks on her face, furious power showing in her eyes.
With one hand Morgan flashed the shape of a rune through the air, even as she began to sing the first notes of Ciaran's true name, Iona gaped at her, but Morgan continued as swiftly as she could, calling a color from the air, singing the tight, hard song that defined who her father was to the entire universe. In seconds she was finished.
"You are going to die!" Iona shrieked. She raised both arms and started to swing her stick in a huge arc over her head.
"I know your true name!" Morgan commanded. "Enough!"
Iona wavered, her arms jerking as she tried to keep her balance. The major part of her strength, Ciaran's soul, was now under Morgan's command, Iona fought against her, her bony jaw clenched until Morgan thought it would snap.
"I am the Destroyer, Iona," Morgan shouted. "Didn't your father ever tell you that?" She felt tall and terrible, and even as Iona struggled against her internal force, Morgan's power swelled and rose. She was the conduit for power that had been held deep within the earth for centuries. It was gathering now, rising, and pouring out from her. Sky grabbed one hand, sending her power to Morgan.
"Ciaran is powerless. You are powerless!" Morgan cried, pointing at Iona.
Iona stood there, shocked and with the first glint of fear on her face. But she wasn't beaten yet. Harsh, dark words were pouring from her lips, and her arms moved, writing sigils in the air. A slow rumbling shook the sand beneath their feet, and Morgan whirled to see its source. The cliff above the cave was spitting, the rocks being rent with the last bit of Iona's stolen power. Even with Ciaran bound, she had enough power to craft a spell that was rending thousands of tons of black basalt, fracturing a hill of stone. Rocks and pebbles, boulders and shards, began to rain down on them.
Morgan hurried toward the sea, with Sky following close behind. Morgan grabbed Moira's hand and yanked her backward. Hunter was looking up at the wall of rock, then at Iona, and Morgan rushed forward to drag him into the water.
"It won't be enough!" Iona shouted, laughing.
Huge waves of stone tumbled down the side of the hill, thudding into the sand, bouncing off one another. In a split second Morgan had made her decision. Scaoil, she thought, and she sent her power out in a tightly coiled knot that knocked Iona squarely on the chest. Her back hit the rough wall by the cave, and in the next instant a huge boulder tumbled down, sweeping her thin body to the ground like a stick puppet. Moira cried out and covered her face, looking away. Morgan gathered Moira to her, still urging everyone backward. They were up to their necks in the frigid, salty water, and still cannon-ball-size rocks were striking the water all around them. Morgan treaded water, keeping Moira, Hunter, and Sky in sight. Her face crumpled as she saw two of the withered witches pinned beneath a house of rock. The cave had been crushed, no doubt killing any who had been inside.
Eventually the hill was nothing more than a crumbled rock pile, half as tall as it had once been. There was only a small area of sand still visible, and slowly, all holding hands, the four of them made their way through it, shivering uncontrollably as the cold air hit their wet bodies.
Teeth chattering, Morgan turned to look at her family, all of them.
"It's over," she said wonderingly. "It's over." Tears of joy washed the salt from her eyes, and then they were all hugging, crying, laughing.
"Thank the Goddess." Morgan felt completely and utterly drained but so thankful.
"Blessed be," Sky said, smiling and shaking her head.
Morgan.
Morgan froze, blood draining from her face. Hunter, Sky, and Moira all looked at her quizzically, and she held up one finger.
Iona's voice was surprisingly strong in Morgan's thoughts. How had she survived the rock slide in her weakened state?
Morgan. This isn't over, Iona said. At this moment Lilith and Ealltuinn are making their final move-on Belwicket. You're not home to protect it By the time you get back, everything you knew and loved will be a black, smoking plain. You see, I am my father's daughter. A dark wave. As soon as Morgan thought the words, her whole body shook, as though a shock of ice water moved through her veins. She felt dizzy. No. It can't be. Not Belwicket. Not her coven, her home!
"You're lying!" Morgan shouted desperately, looking back at the stunned faces of her family. "You haven't the power! You haven't the skill!"
"Perhaps not," Iona's voice replied from behind Morgan. Stunned, Morgan spotted Iona crawling weakly from a small space beneath several fallen rocks. She was battered-a huge cut bled fiercely on her arm, and she limped, scarcely able to stand-but she was alive, Iona reached the sand and cackled, enjoying Morgan's stunned expression. "You bound Ciaran," she said. "But you didn't bind me. And what you don't realize is that I am not relying only on my own power"-her voice was weakened now, no better than a desperate hiss-"but also that of my ally, Lilith Delaney. It's Lilith who cast the dark wave spell. That was what she truly wanted all along-to rid her country of the so-called good Woodbanes, like Belwicket. It was just a fortunate coincidence that I wanted their future high priestess dead."
As Morgan opened her mouth to reply, Iona suddenly extended her hand and spat out a chain of ugly words. "Feic thar spionnadh! Theid sedltachd thar spionnadh!"
Morgan barely had time to react as a sharp spear of energy, glinting silvery blue in the sunlight, sped toward her. Automatically she threw up a blocking spell. She was shocked that Iona would try to hurt her in her weakened state-what possible good could it do her? But then her thoughts turned darker, Iona was clearly beyond reason. She was crawling blindly toward a single purpose-hurting Morgan. As Iona's attack reached Morgan, something unexpected happened. Morgan had long known that her element was fire, and so she called on the power of fire to add strength to even her most basic spells. But as Iona's sharp spear of light reached Morgan, it bounced off the shield she'd created and turned to roaring orange flame. Before Morgan could take in a breath, the flame turned upon Iona and consumed her.
"No!" Iona wailed as the flame overcame her body. The fire grew, and soon an oily, roiling black smoke-eerily like the smoke that had invaded Belwicket's circle-emerged from the fire. Morgan gasped. In a matter of seconds the flame burned to nothing and winked out. No evidence of Iona's body remained on the beach. No smoke, no charred earth, nothing. Morgan stared, disbelieving, at the spot where Iona had stood. She's dead, she thought finally. Evil serves no purpose. It consumes you. But before she could react further, she remembered Iona's final promise.
"We have to get home as soon as possible," she cried, turning back to her family and running for the crude boat they had rented only hours before. "There's a dark wave coming for Belwicket!"
19. Moira
They had to swim back to the beach where they had left their boat, since rock slides had destroyed most of the original path. Sky, Morgan, and Moira held on to Hunter, helping him along. They climbed on board with difficulty, and Morgan and Sky pushed the boat off the sandbar. Sky started the motor, and then the island was in back of them and they were headed out to sea. Moira shivered, not only because she was freezing and wet and her face burned where Iona had raked it: what had happened on the island had been far worse than anything she could have expected. All those poor people-dead. That horrible witch, Mum's half sister-dead. Not just dead, Moira thought. Burned to death by her mum's own deflection spell. She'd thought she couldn't be any more horrified by what her mum was capable of, but she'd been wrong. There wasn't even time to react, though. Because the four of them were heading back home, where another, even bigger disaster awaited them Moira had heard about dark waves, of course, but during her lifetime nobody had seen one. When she'd asked her mum about it, she'd explained as best she could-it was a huge, sweeping cloud of evil, made up of tortured souls who were hungry for new energy. A dark wave could kill any number of people, it could level houses, it could leave a village as nothing more than a black, greasy field. Moira was torn between her terror of what they'd find when they reached Cobh and the many other emotions battling inside her at the sight of Hunter, real and alive in front of her.