by Cate Tiernan
I said, “Now that I know your name, I could sell it. To the highest bidder. To your enemies. Everyone has enemies, Justine. Even you.”
She looked like she was about to jump out of her skin. “Nisailtirtha, I could make you tell me any secret you’ve ever had.” Tears began to roll down her face, and I knew she was about to implode from frustration and fear. She didn’t know me, not really. I hated this, hated that she was being so stubborn. I went on. “Do you have any secrets, Justine? Anything you don’t want me to know?”
A whimper broke free, and one hand barely clenched. “Now,” I whispered, walking in back of her so she couldn’t see me, “I can make you destroy your list of true names. Or I can release you, and you can choose to destroy it yourself. Which do you think would be better?”
I released the hold on her enough to allow her to speak, and she broke out in sobs. “I’ll destroy it,” she cried. I tried not to think about what it had been like to kiss her.
“I won’t make you promise,” I said, and released her. She collapsed on the couch, as if I had cut her strings. She grabbed one startled cat and held it against her chest as if to make sure I hadn’t made her kill it.
“I won’t make you promise because I know your true name,” I said solemnly. “I have control over you—absolute, unshakable control—for the rest of your life.”
Racking sobs shook her, and if I hadn’t been a Seeker, I would have folded her into my arms.
“That’s the danger of true names,” I said. “That’s the kind of control you have over everything and everyone on your list. Is that good? Are you glad I know your true name? Does it seem neutral, like pure knowledge? Or does it seem a little. . dark?”
“You seem like a complete bastard,” she said, still crying. Her cat was squirming to get away, but Justine held it closely, her tears wetting its fur.
“You know what? I seem like a complete bastard because I know your true name.”
She had nothing to say to that.
14. The Way Home
I hate him. He's gone now, and I'm still shaking with fury. I can't believe Hunter Niall just took my life apart. First I fell for him, hard, but couldn't get him, even with a spelled kiss. Then his insulting, asinine, pointless report to the idiot council. Reeducated! I'm more educated than any member of the council! I cant' believe Hunter, who had such promise, would be so pedestrian, so short-sighted. What a disappointment-though I still held out hope that he would see my point of view. But today, oh, I put Hunter on my list-not the list of true names, but the list of people who have wronged me and my family. He is now at the top.
How did he learn my true name? I have never written it down. How could he possibly have that knowledge? If someone told it to him, then that person knows it, too. I feel completely exposed. I don't want to move from here, this cottage is perfect. But now I know that at least two people-maybe more-know my true name. How will I ever sleep peacefully again?
My house still smells like smoke. Hunter ad I performed the spell that would allow the list to be destroyed. Then I burned the list in the fireplace, crying as I watched the flames lick along the edges, making the parchment curl. It was beautiful, and I had worked so hard on it, with the gold leaf and the calligraphy. Hunter stood by, his arms across his chest, that hard chest that I felt. His face was lit by the fire, and the awful thing was that I could tell that regretted destroying something so beautiful. Seeing that on his face was incredibly irritating, because it only showed me again how much possibility existed within him, how close he was to being exactly what I needed him to be.
I do know this. I haven't seen the last of Hunter Niall, nor he of me. Now I have work to do.
— J.C.
I felt better once we were fifty miles away from Justine. That last scene had left me with bitter feelings, all sorts of conflicting emotions. But I was glad the list had been destroyed and glad I’d had the presence of mind to also check her computer. There wasn’t much there—just a few files she had to purge. I’d have to make an addendum to my report.
Da had little to say about the whole thing—if he had an opinion, he was keeping it to himself. On the drive back to his town he seemed thoughtful, preoccupied.
In Saint Jérôme du Lac, I stopped at the liquor store and picked up several cardboard boxes. Then, back at the cabin, I helped Da pack his few belongings worth saving—some books, a wool shawl of Mum’s, her notebooks and papers. He had almost no clothes; none of the furniture was fit for anything but the bin; he had no art or knickknacks. It took us barely half an hour, but even that half hour made me nervous. The longer we were there, the twitchier Da seemed to become. He kept glancing at the front door as if he would bolt. I threw his stuff into the boot of my car and hustled him out to it, leaped into my seat, and motored out of there as fast as I could without causing my entire exhaust system to fall off.
After we had been on the road for six hours, I felt calmer. Da had curled miserably in his seat, as though the act of leaving that area was physically and emotionally painful.
“We’ll be stopping soon,” I told him, the first words either of us had spoken in hours. “We can get a room for tonight, then tomorrow be back in Widow’s Vale by late afternoon. I think you’ll like it there. It’s an old town, so it has some character. I’ll have to call Sky and get her back from France. You’ll be so surprised when you see her. Remember how she was kind of a pudge? She’s quite thin and tall now.”
I was chattering, completely unlike myself, trying to fill the silence. Something occurred to me, something I needed to say. “Da. I wanted to tell you. I was having a hard time with Justine back there, but knowing her true name tipped the balance. I don’t know what she would have done if I hadn’t been able to use it. So thanks.”
Da nodded. “Once upon a time, I was a strong witch,” he muttered, almost to himself. He reached down on the floor by his seat and picked up a somewhat battered, black-cloth-bound book. Its spine was unraveling, and black threads hung off it like whiskers.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I took this from Justine’s library,” he said.
“You what?” I said. “You snatched another book from her?”
“I. . confiscated it,” he said. “This is a memoir of the witch who first created the dark wave, back in 1682.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It talks about the Burning Times and the War Between the Clans. . ”
“What was his name?” I broke in, glancing away from the road to look at the book’s cover again.
“Whose name?”
“The name of the witch who created the dark wave.” I sighed. It was a terrible, terrible legacy—the creation of a weapon of mass destruction. Ever since that time blood witches had been living in fear. Get on the wrong side of a powerful witch who practices dark magick, and you might be the next victim of the dark wave.
Daniel opened the book and frowned. “Not a he, a she. Let me see here. Her name was—” He frowned. “Rose MacEwan.”
"MacEwan,” I whispered.
Like Ciaran MacEwan. Morgan’s father.
“She lived in a small town in Scotland,” Daniel told me. “I didn’t have time to read much of it, but as the book begins, she’s just a teenager.”
Part of Morgan’s family was from Scotland. “Do you think— is it possible that she’s an ancestor of Ciaran MacEwan?”
Daniel’s face clouded over. He looked over at me. “It’s possible. Even likely, I suppose. Same name, same country, even.” He frowned. “That would make her an ancestor also to your—Mary?”
“Morgan.” Dammit, he’d barely even been listening to me.
Daniel nodded. “Not surprising.” I turned to him, startled— what was he trying to say? — and he continued gravely. “To be Ciaran MacEwan’s daughter—it’s a dark inheritance. I wouldn’t trust her so easily.”
Anger flared in me. Who was he to talk about trust? I had to struggle to keep myself under control. Remember what he’s b
een through, I kept telling myself. He’s been on the run from Amyranth for eleven years. Of course he would be skittish about Ciaran. . and anyone related to Ciaran. Once Da meets Morgan, he’ll be fine, I told myself. And until then, hopefully I could keep from throttling him whenever her name was mentioned.
“But I do trust her, Da. I have every reason to. She’s proved herself to me again and again.” I glanced over at him, but I found it hard to gauge his reaction. His expression hadn’t changed.
“Well, that’s your decision, lad.” Da’s gaze turned back to the book. “In any case, Justine never should have kept such an important piece of history from the council. Who knows how useful it could be in possibly defeating the dark wave? The council should see this right away.”
“Indeed they should.”
On the whole, I was feeling unrealistically happy and optimistic about bringing Da home to live with me and Sky, at least until he got his own place. I pictured him six months from now, healthier, heavier, able to function around other people. If I could somehow manage to make that happen, I would feel like I had finally repaid him for the fathering he had done for the first eight years of my life. Even though I’d been without him longer than with him, still, the lessons he’d instilled in me in those years had been the basis of everything I had done since then. I was glad to have a chance to help him now.
Of course, I knew he was occasionally going to drive me stark raving mad—but I would deal with that in time.
This time tomorrow I would be seeing Morgan—I hoped. I would try to call her tonight to tell her I was on my way home. I felt bad about what she had seen when she’d scried, but I also hadn’t liked her scrying for me unless she’d really needed me. On the other hand, I hadn’t been able to call her much at all. So I could understand how she might have been worried about me.
And I knew I had to tell her about Justine and the kiss. I still couldn’t figure out why I’d done it, and I wasn’t ready to think about how Morgan would react.
I sighed. I just wanted to see her tomorrow, talk, get everything straightened out, get caught up. My chest actually ached with wanting to hold her, see her eyes, taste her lips. If she had been with me, this trip would have been so different, so much more positive. I wouldn’t have felt so crazed and out of control most of the time. And nothing would have happened with Justine. .
Which reminded me. I had to make a decision with regard to the council. I knew that when I got home, I’d have to have a long talk with Kennet. I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the council’s power—and their methods—and despite whatever Justine was guilty of, I felt she’d been tried and convicted in advance of the facts.
“I’ll have to call Kennet when we get home,” I said to Da.
I wanted to include him in my life, even confide in him. Get him used to being a father again.
“Aye? Is that who you usually deal with?”
“Yes. He was my mentor when I first decided to become a Seeker.”
“He’s a good man,” said Da. “He tried to help with Fiona before she died.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Back before Yule,” Da said, looking pained again. “I knew Fiona was on the brink. I tried to tell you that time I saw you scrying for us—but we got cut off. I was devastated. In desperation, I contacted the council. Kennet sent a healer to help. We tried everything we could, but in the end, she was ready to leave.”
I went very still, a deep, interior stillness. My brain started firing, and I pulled the car over to the side of the highway. It was dark, almost seven, and I left my lights on.
“What’s wrong?” Da asked, peering out at the car’s bonnet.
“You’re saying that Kennet knew where you were, back before Yule?” I asked quietly.
“Aye.”
I rubbed my chin hard, thinking. My chest felt tight, and my jaw was clenched as the truth came filtering down to me. The council had learned where my parents were three months ago. Kennet had known their whereabouts for three months! If he’d told me, I could have come up and seen my mother while she was still alive! This knowledge stunned me. I could have seen my mother alive. I could have seen her, held her.
Kennet had known, and he hadn’t told me. Why?
I thought back. Yule. Morgan and I had had the final show-down with Selene Belltower and Cal Blaire. And then we had gone to New York City, had found Killian and Ciaran MacEwan.
Could that have been it? Had the council wanted to keep me in Widow’s Vale to help protect Morgan? Had they decided not to tell me, rather than give me the choice of possibly seeing my mother? Had they taken that last chance away from me?
It seemed so, I thought, swallowing hard.
If I was right, the council had treated me like a child, or a pawn. I had been manipulated, betrayed. How could they have decided my fate like that? Who were they to make that kind of decision?
Shaking, I pulled the car back onto the narrow highway. Inside, I felt as if my heart had shriveled up into a charred piece of coal. Why was I working for the council? Once I had absolutely believed in them. Did I now? I didn’t know anymore. I didn’t know anything. All I knew how to be was a Seeker. If I wasn’t a Seeker, what would I do?
“Everything all right, son?” asked Da.
“Yes,” I murmured softly.
But I was lying. Nothing was all right, nothing at all. I wondered whether anything would ever be all right again.
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