by Cate Tiernan
When I looked down, I saw that the star, the pentagram, had begun to glow with a whiter light—their energy. I knew what was coming next, and my stomach clenched. I drew my knees up again and held them tightly against myself and felt that I would bear the scars of this night forever. As would Ciaran.
The chanting ended abruptly, and Hunter bent to touch his athame to the white lines of energy. The knife glowed briefly, and when Hunter raised it, it seemed to draw up a pale, whitish blue film, like smoke or cotton candy. Slowly Hunter walked around the pentacle, drawing this light around Ciaran, as if he were at the bottom of a slow, beautiful tornado. When the light reached the top of Ciaran’s head, Hunter gave me a sharp look.
“Take off the binding spell.”
Praying he knew what he was doing, I released my father. In a split second he sprang up, roaring like a tortured animal, and just as quickly he seemed to hit the barrier of light and drop like a dead thing to the ground, where he lay on his side. He could move now, and his hands clutched at his clothes, at his hair. His bare feet moved convulsively, and he drew in on himself like a snail, trying to avoid any contact with the light. His eyes were closed, his mouth working soundlessly.
A sob erupted from deep within me, then another and another. No longer having to concentrate on holding the spell, my emotions poured out, and I was so shaken and upset that I wasn’t even embarrassed. Through my tears I saw glistening traces on Alyce’s face, on Bethany’s. Silver looked deeply saddened. Mr. Niall looked calm, focused. Hunter looked grim, purposeful, not angry or hateful. Still chanting quietly by himself, he spiraled the energy around Ciaran, slowly and completely. When at last he lifted the athame away, it swirled around Ciaran unaided.
Then the images began, the images that defined who Ciaran had been, who he had become. Watching through my tears, still shaking with sobs, I saw a boy, handsome and happy, running across a green Scottish field with a kite. It was diving groundward, and with a flick of his hand, young Ciaran sent it back up to the clouds. I saw fourteen-year-old Ciaran being initiated, wearing a dark, almost black robe sprinkled with silver threads. He looked very solemn, and I felt that in his eyes there was already a glimmer of the witch he would become. Ciaran aged in the visions, and we saw teenage Ciaran courting girls, working on spells, having arguments with a man I thought must have been his father—my grandfather. Then to my shock, I saw a teenage Ciaran with a young Selene Belltower, just for an instant. I blinked, and there was Ciaran, being wed to Grania, her belly already round with their first child, Kyle. My breath stopped, sobs caught in my throat, as I saw Ciaran with the woman I recognized as Maeve Riordan, my birth mother. Maeve and Ciaran were wrapped tightly together, clinging to each other as if to be separated would equal death. Then Maeve was crying, turning away from him, and Ciaran was staring after her, his hands clenched. I saw Ciaran darkly silhouetted against the bright background of a burning barn. On and on it went, these images being born from the energy and floating upward to disappear into nothingness. On the ground, Ciaran lay jerking as if he were having a seizure, and I could make out a thin keening coming from him.
The images turned darker then, and I flinched as I saw Ciaran performing blood sacrifices, then using spells against other witches who cowered before him in pain. I felt ill as I saw him calling the dark wave, saw the exultation in his face, how he felt the glory of that power as before him whole villages were decimated, the people fleeing pointlessly. It grew to be too much, and I closed my eyes, resting my head on my knees.
When I looked up next, I saw myself and Ciaran hugging, I saw us turning into wolves, and even from over where I was, I felt Alyce’s and Silver’s surprise. And then we were at tonight, when I had used his true name and he had been bound. When the last image had floated away and no more were coming, I knew that we had seen his life unraveling before us, seen the destruction of everything that had made him who and what he was.
My blood father lay unmoving on the cold March ground. Hunter drew his athame, and slowly the swirling energy surrounded it and seemed to be absorbed by it. When the last of the energy had gone, Hunter sheathed the knife and went to stand over Ciaran.
“Ciaran MacEwan, witch of the Woodbanes, is now ended,” Hunter said. “The Goddess teaches us that every ending is also a beginning. May there be a rebirth from this death.”
With those words, the rite was over.
When David had been stripped, Hunter had brought him healing tea, and Alyce had held him as he cried. I knew no one would do that for Ciaran. I wanted to go sit next to him, but my guilt was too great. Then Alyce, softly rounded, dressed in her trademark lavender and gray, knelt down on the ground near where Ciaran lay crumpled.
Hunter came and sat next to me on the cement bench, carefully not touching me. He seemed much older than nineteen and looked like he’d been battling a long illness.
Bethany stooped, touched Ciaran’s temple once, then came to me and did the same thing. I felt her caring, her concern, and then she left through the woods. Silver Hennessey came to clasp Hunter’s hand, then she, too, left, after a sympathetic glance at me.
Mr. Niall strode over to us. “I’m off, lad,” he said in his odd, rough voice. “Good work.”
I gazed stonily at the ground.
“Morgan,” he said, surprising me. “It was a hard thing. But you did right.” I didn’t look up as he walked away.
Alyce stayed by Ciaran, and Hunter stayed by me. We were all silent. It was past four o’clock in the morning, and I felt that I would never sleep or eat or laugh again.
We sat in the darkness like that for another hour until we heard Killian crashing through the woods, and then he emerged through the cedars and pines.
“Hey, sis,” he said cheerfully, and it was clear he’d been drinking. Great—he’d driven here from Poughkeepsie. He ignored Hunter, which wasn’t unusual.
“Killian,” I whispered. I had no idea what to say—words didn’t cover this situation. I motioned over to where Ciaran lay on the ground.
If I had seen my real father, Sean Rowlands, lying on the ground in the woods in the middle of the night, I would have run over immediately. But Killian wasn’t me, and Ciaran wasn’t anything like my real father, so instead Killian just gaped at him.
“What’s happened, then?” he asked.
“Amyranth has been casting dark wave spells,” I said tonelessly. “Ciaran wanted me to join him and Amyranth. I said no. So he decided to bring the dark wave on Kithic. I met him here tonight, and then a group of five witches stripped him of his powers.”
Killian’s eyes widened almost comically. He couldn’t even think of what to ask or say, just kept looking from me to Hunter to Ciaran in astonishment.
“No,” he finally said, all traces of alcohol gone from his voice. “He has no powers? Are you sure?”
“We’re sure,” Hunter said, not sounding proud about it.
“You stripped Da of his powers. Ciaran MacEwan.”
I understood why he was having a hard time with it. Ciaran seemed invincible—unless you knew his true name.
“Can you please take him to a safe place until he’s better?” I asked.
Killian still seemed unsure whether or not this was reality. “Aye,” he said hesitantly. “Aye. I know a place.”
“I’ll help you get him to your car,” said Hunter. “Watch him closely. He’ll be very weak for a while, but when he’s able to move, he might... hurt himself.”
“Aye,” said Killian, slowly absorbing the meaning of Hunter’s words. He gave me a quick backward glance, then walked over to the father he had feared and respected. Alyce edged back to give him room. Killian put a hand on Ciaran’s shoulder and flinched when he saw Ciaran’s face. I looked away. Then Hunter and Killian walked away through the woods, supporting Ciaran between them.
Alyce got up slowly and came to sit by me. “It was a hard thing, my dear,” she said.
“It hurts,” I said inadequately.
“It needs to hur
t, Morgan,” she said gently, rubbing my back. “If you had done this without it hurting, you would be a monster.”
Like Ciaran, I thought. Hunter came back, alone. Alyce kissed my cheek and left, going back through the woods the way she had come. With only Hunter as my witness, I let go and began to cry. He sat down next to me and put his arms around me, hard and familiar. I leaned against him and sobbed until I thought I would make myself sick. And still there was pain inside.
“Morgan, Morgan,” Hunter barely murmured. “I love you. I love you. It will be all right.”
I had no idea how he could say that.
12. Alisa
“It’s a thin line between light and dark, between pain and pleasure, between heat and cold, between love and hate, between life and death, between this world and the next.”
— Folk saying
By five o’clock in the morning, I was totally ready to freak. Where the hell had Hunter and his father gone? Why weren’t they back? It was going to be dawn soon, and I was supposed to be home! Any minute now, Hilary would be getting up for her.
I was stalking around their house, too worried and upset to be tired, though my body felt like I’d been up for days. Should I call a taxi? Wait—this was Widow’s Vale. There was no taxi service at five in the morning. I would have to wake someone up to come get me. This sucked!
I was trying to decide if I should just start walking when I heard heavy footsteps on the front porch. I almost flew to the door, just in time to see Hunter and Mr. Niall came in. They looked like someone had taken all the blood out of them while they were out.
“Are you okay?” I blurted. “What’s wrong? Where were you?”
Hunter nodded, then patted his father on the back as Mr. Niall passed us, then headed slowly upstairs, his tread lifeless. “I’m sorry, Alisa,” Hunter said. “I had no idea it would take so long. Do you need to get home?”
“Yes—but what’s happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m all right. Morgan’s waiting outside—she’ll give you a ride.”
“Morgan?”
He nodded, rubbing his hands over his face, pressing gently on his eyes. “Yes. Tonight Morgan met Ciaran MacEwan—we told you about him—out at the power sink. You know, that old Methodist cemetery at the edge of town. Things got strange, and then Morgan ended up putting a binding spell on him. She called me and my da, and we went out there, and we got some other witches, and we stripped Ciaran of his powers.”
I stared at him. “You just stripped Ciaran of his powers? Just now?”
“Yes. It was very hard—Ciaran was incredibly powerful, and he resisted strongly. It was especially hard on Morgan.”
I could hardly take it all in. “What does this mean about the dark wave?”
Hunter gave a wry smile, and I could tell all he wanted to do was drop onto his bed and sleep for a year. “I would guess there won’t be a dark wave now,” he said. “Looks like you’re off the hook—you won’t have to torture yourself with this spell anymore.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. “I can’t believe it’s all over,” I said, getting into my coat. I had been working so hard—we all had. And it had been for nothing. I mean, I was glad there wouldn’t be a dark wave coming, but at the same time, in a way I had been almost looking forward to seeing how well I did. Call me self-centered.
My adrenaline started to ebb, and suddenly I could hardly lift my feet enough to walk to the door. I looked back at Hunter, drawn and pale in the harsh overhead light of the living room. “Was it very bad?”
He nodded and looked down at the scarred wooden floor. “It was very bad.”
“I’ll talk to you soon,” I said softly. “Take care of yourself.” I gently closed the door behind me and walked across the front porch and out to the street, where Morgan was waiting in her big old car. Hunter and his father had looked awful. I wished there was something I could do for them. Maybe later today I would try to bring them something. What would be good in this situation? Chicken soup?
The door was unlocked and the engine still running when I got in. I looked over at Morgan. “Hi,” I said quietly. “It sounds like you guys had a really hard time.”
She inclined her head a tiny bit, then put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. I sneaked another glance at her. Morgan usually looked pretty natural, not too spiffed up, but tonight she looked terrible. Like she had literally been through hell.
“I’m sorry, Morgan,” I said. “I’m sorry tonight was so hard, and I’m sorry for how I’ve acted toward you the past couple of months. I wish... I wish I could help you somehow.”
She looked over at me, a pale slash from a streetlight bisecting her face. The edges of her mouth curved in a tiny acknowledgment, and then we turned the corner onto my street. She stopped a few houses away and looked at me expectantly, like she was waiting for me to get out. “Um, should I get out here?” I asked, grabbing my purse.
Morgan nodded. “So your dad doesn’t hear the car.”
“Ohhh.” Very wise, I thought. “You’re good at this,” I said in admiration, and she let out a little laugh that sounded like broken glass.
I opened the door as quietly as I could and stepped out onto the silent street. When I turned back to whisper thanks, I saw that Morgan’s face was shiny with tear tracks. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. It was all I could think to say. She gave a small nod and put the car back into drive.Very slowly, she turned around and headed back toward her house.
The morning air was still and heavy as I walked over to my house. It was that last moment of quiet before the early risers get up; I felt like I could breathe in the peaceful sleep of my family and my neighbors and the whole town. After silently making my way to my room, I kicked off my shoes and looked for just a minute out the window. The rim of the horizon was just barely highlighted with pink: the dawn of a new day.
I woke up later that same morning, not even caring how late I was for school. When I went downstairs Hilary looked up in surprise from the yoga mat she had spread on the living room floor. She glanced at the mantel clock, then looked thoughtful.
“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“Yeah,” I said wearily, collapsing on the couch.
“Are you sick again, or did you and your friend stay up too late talking on the phone?”
“I’m sick again.”
She uncoiled herself and came to look at me. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and somehow she looked both younger and older than twenty-five. I wondered what it was that made my dad so crazy about her. Reaching out, she pressed her hand against my forehead.
“Hm. Well, I guess I should call the school.”
“Thanks,” I said, not having expected her cooperation. It had never occurred to me that my twenty-five-year-old stepmother-to-be would actually have the authority to do stuff like this.
“Why don’t you go back upstairs and get into bed? Do you need anything?”
“No thanks.” I hauled myself up and headed to my room as I heard her dialing the school’s number.
When I woke up again later, I heard light footsteps in the hall. Hilary tapped on my door and opened it. “Are you awake?”
“Uh-huh.” The open eyes are always a good clue.
“It’s past lunch. Are you hungry?”
I thought.“Uh-huh.”
“Come on downstairs and I’ll fix you some nice sardines on crackers,” she said, and I stared at her in horror before I noticed she had an evil grin on her face.
I couldn’t help smiling back. “Good one.”
In the kitchen I fixed myself a PB&J, poured some juice, and sat down.
Hilary sat down across from me. I sighed but tried to hide it behind the sandwich. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, she was going to be part of my life. And so was my half sibling. So I should probably make an effort to get along better. I should also ask my doctor for a prescription for Prozac. That could help.
&n
bsp; “How’s school going?” she asked, destroying all my good intentions.
I looked at her matter-of-factly. “It’s high school. It sucks.” I waited for her to tell me about how it had been the most wonderful four years of her life, how she was captain of the pep squad—
“Yeah. Mine sucked, too,” she said, and my mouth dropped open. “I hated it. I thought it was so stupid and pointless. I mean, I liked a couple of classes, when I had good teachers. And I liked seeing my friends. But you couldn’t pay me to go back. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with real life.”
She was warming to her topic. I stared at this new Hilary in fascination, chewing my sandwich.
“You know what real life is?” she went on. “Knowing how to make change from a dollar. Knowing that virtually everything is alphabetized. That’s real life.”
“What about mortgages, life insurance, lawn care?” I asked.
“You pick that stuff up as you go along. They don’t teach that in school, anyway. Now, college was different, I have to say. College was cool. You could control what you wanted to study and when. You could decide to go to class or not, and no one would hassle you. I looooved college. I took tons of lit and art courses, and fun stuff like women’s studies and comparative religion.”
“What did you graduate with?”
“A basic liberal arts degree, a bachelor’s. Nothing useful for a job or anything.” She laughed. “It would have been better if I had studied to be an accountant.” She put her arms over her head and stretched. “Which is why I’m doing medical transcription from home. It requires knowing how to listen, read, and type. And I can set my own hours, and the money isn’t bad, and I’ll be able to do it after the baby’s born.”
“Is that what you’re doing on the computer all the time?” I had thought she was writing a romance novel or having an Internet relationship or something.