Strife s-9

by Cate Tiernan

  Strife

  ( Sweep - 9 )

  Cate Tiernan

  Morgan has been so involved in the world of magick that her parents are furious with her for neglecting school. And now the members of her coven are being persecuted. Morgan is falling to pieces. How can she find the strength she so desperately needs?

  Strife

  Sweep Series, Book 9

  Cate Tiernan

  To the real Erin Murphy

  1. The Meeting

  At the end of the summer the sea always seems to be railing against the thought of another long, fierce new England winter. The waves hurtle themselves against the rocks with blind rage. Fishermen think of August as a terrifying month, but for me, it’s the most thrilling. Maybe it’s because my family has lived in Gloucester for generations. OR maybe it’s because we’re Wiccans, and that puts us in greater tune with nature.

  It’s ironic to think that my family settled so close to Salem—we were very lucky to survive the witch trials. It’s strange to think that Wicca could inspire such terror when it’s such a gentle, loving, nurturing religion. I guess people are always afraid of power that they don’t understand. And Wicca does deal with raw power, although the way my family practices, it’s never destructive. Both Mom and Dad are very into responsible uses of magick, which they drummed into me before my initiation three years ago. Now they are teaching the same thing to my younger brother, Sam. He won’t be initiated for another seven months, but already I can see the energy beginning to spark n him. I know he’s going to be a powerful witch. I’m looking forward to his rites, but it’s hard not to envy him sometimes. My own power is more fickle, although I like to think that it is growing ad I continue to study and practice.

  Every day I pray to the Goddess to make me worthy of my family.

  — Sarah Curtis

  Calm down, I told myself as I gazed into the bathroom mirror and struggled to pull my long brown hair into a tidy French braid. This is going to be fine. I glanced at my watch. My boyfriend, Hunter Niall, was due any minute. Normally I would have been thrilled to be spending an evening with him, but tonight was no ordinary night. No—tonight was the official meet-the-parents dinner, and I was beginning to feel sick with tension.

  I was distracted by a quick tap on the door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  My sister, Mary K., walked into the bathroom. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked, staring at my faded blue jeans and soft purple fleece shirt.

  I looked down at my outfit. “What’s wrong with this?”

  Mary K. just sighed and marched through the bathroom to the door that led into my bedroom.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “To find that shirt Aunt Eileen gave you for Christmas,” Mary K. said. “I know it’ll look great on you, and besides, she and Paula are already downstairs, waiting for us.”

  “That shirt is practically see-through!” I argued as Mary K. rummaged through my drawers.

  “Which is why you’ll wear it with this,” she countered, holding up a pale pink tank top. Mary K. pulled the sheer, stretchy shirt off a hanger in my closet and handed it and the tank top to me. “At least you’re wearing low jeans,” she said as I yanked off my fleece. “You’ve got the body for them.”

  I pulled on the new outfit and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. The slate blue shirt did make my dark eyes seem warmer, and the pink tone of the tank made my skin rosy. Once again, I was amazed at my sister’s ability to pull together an outfit based on clothes I hardly ever wore.

  Just then the doorbell rang. “Showtime!” Mary K. said brightly.

  I stifled a groan. For the hundredth time, I wanted to kick myself for letting my parents invite Hunter over for dinner. It had seemed like a good idea when Mom suggested it, but now that the night had arrived, my heart was racing. It didn’t help that my mom had decided to make a big event out of it, pulling together an ambitious dinner menu and inviting my aunt Eileen and her girlfriend, Paula, over, too. What if they don’t like him? I worried as I stared at my reflection. My parents had met Hunter before but only briefly, in casual settings. Comparatively, this felt more like a college entrance exam.

  I could hear the muted sound of greetings in the front hall. Mary K. pulled on her sweater. “Let’s go,” she said.

  I followed her into the hall and down the stairs. Hunter was in the front alcove, shaking hands with my father and smiling at my aunt and her girlfriend. He was holding a paper cone of roses—they were such a delicate pink that they seemed to glow with their own light, like a bouquet of pearls. I stopped on the steps, and Hunter looked up at me with his steady green gaze. I smiled, and he smiled back, the edges of his brilliant eyes crinkling in a way that was both exciting and familiar.

  “Hey, Morgan,” my aunt Eileen said with a grin. “That shirt looks great on you.” Her back was to Hunter, and she waggled her eyebrows at me, as if to say, “He’s cute.” I laughed nervously and gave her and Paula a hello hug.

  Hunter gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, and I felt a blush rise to my face.

  Mary K. took a delicate sniff. “Is something on fire?” she asked.

  My dad looked at me in alarm, his eyes huge behind his glasses.

  “I think I’d better go see how Mom is doing,” I said quickly. “Shall I put these in some water?” I asked Hunter, taking the roses from him. “They’re gorgeous.”

  “Do you need help?” Hunter asked.

  “Oh, no,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. “I’m sure everything is under control.”

  Hunter smiled, and I knew he wasn’t fooled for a second.

  My dad led everyone into the living room as I hurried into the kitchen. My mom was frantically waving her arms in a desperate attempt to force the smoke pouring from the oven out the open back door.

  “Should I do something?” I asked.

  “Oh, Morgan!” Relief swept over my mom’s face. “Would you put on the fan before the fire alarm goes off? I have to pull this roast out of the oven—I think some of the drip-pings caught on fire.” My mother is a real estate broker and doesn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen. The fact that my parents had both volunteered to cook for Hunter—Dad made his famous black-bottom pie for dessert—was just evidence of how special they wanted this night to be.

  I put the roses on the countertop, flipped on the fan, and turned the flame under the carrots on the stove to low as my mom wrestled the roast from the oven and fanned the smoke away from it. She shook her head. “We should have ordered out,” she said mournfully, pondering the blackened mess.

  I tried not to groan out loud. “Maybe we can make some gravy to cover up the black parts,” I suggested.

  Mom nodded, straightening her red sweater while I pulled some instant gravy out of the cabinet. “Thank you,” she said, giving me a wry smile. “I guess I’d better get out there and say hello to Hunter.”

  Something in my mother’s voice made me look at her. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that my mom might be as nervous about tonight’s official meet and greet as I was.

  My mom picked up the cone of roses. “These are beautiful, ” she said. After a moment she added, “Hunter really is nice, isn’t he?”

  “He really is,” I agreed. My mother smiled, and I had the sudden urge to hug her. She and my father knew that Hunter was into Wicca (although they didn’t know quite how deeply). For lots of reasons, they were incredibly uncomfortable with the thought that Wicca was a part of my life. But here they were, making an extra effort to get to know Hunter, to be open-minded.

  My mom hurried out to say hello to everyone. I made the gravy as Mary K. and my dad came into the kitchen. Dad did his best to carve up the roast. He really h
ad to put his shoulder into it, but eventually he cut it into slices thin enough to be served. I put it on plates and poured gravy over each serving, then added the side dishes, and Mary K. carried the plates to the table. The roast didn’t look too terrifying once it was disguised.

  By the time I walked into the dining room, everyone was laughing and chatting. Hunter sent me a look that instantly made me feel warm all over, and I headed for my seat between him and Mary K.

  “Now that everyone’s here,” Aunt Eileen said as I slid into the chair across from her, “Paula and I have some news.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “We’ve filed our papers,” Paula said with a sheepish grin.

  “The adoption agency said that we should get a green light within the next ten weeks,” Aunt Eileen added.

  “Then you’ll get a baby?” Mary K. asked. “That’s great!”

  I smiled, unsure what to say. I was happy for Paula and Aunt Eileen, but I couldn’t help feeling a little weird. After all, I had only found out a few months before that I was adopted. It was a discovery that had led me to realize I was a blood witch, descended from a long line of powerful Wiccan women.

  There was a moment of awkward silence, as if everyone was waiting for my response. I looked at my aunt, knowing how much she wanted me to be happy for her. “Congratulations, ” I said finally. “That’s—that’s great.”

  “That will be a lucky baby,” Hunter said, and Aunt Eileen beamed at him.

  Under the table, he reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  Turning to my mother, Hunter held up a forkful of roast beef and said, “Mrs. Rowlands, this American smokehouse flavor is unbelievable—it’s something we never get in England.”

  My mother hid her grin behind her napkin. “Thank you,” she said.

  I concentrated on my food so that I wouldn’t look at him and laugh. It was strange to see Hunter acting so confident and natural with my parents. When we were alone together, he tended to be more reserved, even a little intense.

  “Mr. Rowlands, Morgan tells me that you’re very interested in physics,” Hunter went on. “Did you happen to read that article in Scientific American about the neutrino collector they’re building in Switzerland?”

  I could see by Dad’s face that this topic of conversation was his idea of heaven. Mom raised her eyebrows at me. On my other side, Mary K. leaned back in her chair to give me a broad wink.

  I couldn’t believe this night was going so well.

  Once we were finished with dinner, Mary K. and I cleared the table and brought out dessert plates. Then I went back into the kitchen to grab the black-bottom pie. Just as I walked in from the dining room, the back door blew open with a bang. I jumped and turned around. Was someone out there? I walked to the door and cast out my senses.

  I felt nothing. I took a quick lungful of the crisp night air. It was the middle of February, and in the moonlight the trees loomed black beneath their shrouds of snow. I shivered suddenly. It’s just the wind, I told myself as I crossed to the door and grabbed the doorknob. Looking out into the night, I was hit with a sudden image of my old boyfriend, Cal Blaire. His dark, shaggy hair and golden eyes swam in my brain for a dizzying second, and then, just as quickly, the image was gone, leaving me with a dull ache in my chest.

  Cal.

  For a moment I tried to picture this evening with Cal at the dinner table instead of Hunter, but I couldn’t. Cal had introduced me to Wicca, and he had told me that he loved me and that I was special. . but I had always felt insecure around him. Not that I’m particularly secure to begin with when it comes to guys, but there was something about Cal that made me feel like he was doing me a favor by listening to me.

  It had turned out that he only got to know me in the first place because his mother, Selene, wanted to drain me of my magick. She had almost succeeded, but at the end Cal had given his life to stop her. That had left me with a deep well of confusion and sadness. Cal had betrayed me, but in his own way, he had loved me.

  “Where’s that pie? The natives are getting restless,” Mary K. said as she strode into the kitchen. She stopped when she saw my face. “Are you okay?”

  I gave my head a quick shake to clear it and shut the outside door. “Sorry.” I crossed the kitchen and yanked open the fridge. “I was just off in my own world for a minute. The pie’s right here.” I handed it to her.

  “I think this is going really well, don’t you?” Mary K. asked in a low voice as she pulled open the silverware drawer and got out a knife.

  “Shockingly well,” I agreed. I was grateful that Mary K. was being so supportive. She wasn’t exactly a huge fan of Wicca, either, but she really liked Hunter.

  My dad’s black-bottom pie was a treat, thick with nuts and silky chocolate. Once it was served, conversation slowed as everyone savored each bite.

  “I’m stuffed,” Aunt Eileen said, once she had finished her pie.

  “Everything was delicious,” Paula chimed in.

  My dad looked around the table. “Coffee in the living room?”

  “Hunter?” my mom prompted. “Coffee? Or maybe you’d like some tea?”

  “Nothing for me, thanks. I’ll help Morgan and Mary K. with the dishes,” Hunter said. He started gathering plates. I joined in, torn between awe and embarrassment.

  “How am I doing?” Hunter whispered as we walked into the kitchen.

  I snorted. “I never knew you were such a ham. Or rather, such a smokehouse-flavored roast beef. I think my parents are just about ready to adopt you.”

  “Fine with me. Can I share your room?” He gave me a look, and my heartbeat suddenly picked up.

  “Eww, Morgan!” Mary K. said from the sink, where she was scraping food into the garbage disposal. “Is this your plate? I can’t believe you hid your roast beef under a pile of mashed potatoes!”

  “Well, you didn’t expect me to eat it, did you?” I countered. “I didn’t see you asking for seconds, either.”

  “I don’t like red meat,” Mary K. said primly.

  “I thought the roast beef was good,” Hunter said, looking surprised.

  Mary K. and I snickered. “Well, he is British,” Mary K. pointed out.

  “I thought you were just sucking up to my mom,” I told Hunter. “The fact that you were actually sincere is a little scary. Should I worry about you?”

  Hunter laughed, and I felt a rush of delight. It was a surprising sound—deep and rich—and one I didn’t hear all that often, especially lately. A few weeks ago Hunter and I had gone to New York to investigate Amyranth, a coven of Woodbane witches. The Woodbanes were one of the Seven Great Clans of Wicca—the ancient clans of blood witches. Historically, Woodbanes were dedicated to expanding their own power at any cost.

  In a horrible surprise we’d discovered that one of Amyranth’s leaders, and the man who killed my birth mother, was actually my birth father, Ciaran MacEwan. Ciaran had almost killed me, too, before he realized I was his daughter. The realization that I had come from someone so totally evil had thrown me into a tailspin, and for a while Hunter and I had broken up. During that time, Ciaran had manipulated me into almost killing him. But now we were back together—ironically, thanks to Ciaran—and Hunter’s warm laugh in my family’s bright yellow kitchen made all the horrible things we’d been through seem like they’d happened ages ago instead of only weeks.

  “All right, Mary K.,” I said, “I’ll scrape the dishes if you’ll clear off the table.”

  “Deal,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel.

  “You scrape, I’ll stack,” Hunter said. Once Mary K. was out of earshot, he gestured after her. “How is she?”

  I felt a pang. Twice in the last week Mary K. had woken up screaming from a nightmare about being trapped in a small room. I was worried that these dreams were tied to the night months ago when Selene had kidnapped Mary K. and used her as bait to lure me to her house. Mary K., spelled by Selene, had seemed unaware of the horrible battle Hunter an
d I had fought with Selene, but I always suspected that at least some part of that evening had penetrated her subconscious. Now I was afraid the suppressed knowledge might be boiling up into her conscious mind.

  “She slept fine last night, as far as I know,” I told Hunter.

  “Morgan, I think you should tell Mary K. the truth.”

  “I know.” I shifted uncomfortably. “You said that yesterday. ”

  Hunter’s voice was low but insistent. “She deserves to know what happened that night—partly for her own sanity.”

  “What happened what night?”

  I wheeled and saw Mary K. standing in the doorway. “What night?” she repeated, her eyes huge. “What were you talking about? What haven’t you told me?”

  Her voice seemed to expand and fill the room, like thick smoke, then slowly fade away, seeping into the walls. I felt the color drain from my face.

  “I—we just meant—” I stammered, turning to Hunter for help.

  But Mary K. didn’t even look at him. She kept her eyes trained on me. “What haven’t you told me, Morgan?” she asked again. “It’s about the night I was with Cal’s mother, the night they both died. Isn’t it?”

  I didn’t answer. The silence hung in the brightly lit kitchen.

  Mary K.’s nostrils flared. “You told me that we were never in any danger.”

  I bit my lip, hesitating. Tell her, I could almost hear Hunter saying. A quick glance at him and I realized that he was throwing up a blocking spell so that my parents wouldn’t be able to hear the argument we both knew was coming.

  I sighed. “We were in danger,” I admitted finally. “You remember that you were at Selene’s house?” I could hear the waver in my own voice.

  My sister nodded. A small crease formed between her eyebrows as she struggled with the memory. In addition to Selene’s spell, I had thrown up a number of obscuring and look-away spells as Selene attacked me and Hunter with every weapon in her dark arsenal. Mary K., I knew, had seen very little that night and understood even less.