by Cate Tiernan
“Of course I’ve heard what you said,” I responded. “Haven’t you heard whatI’vesaid? I thought you’d come to agree with the council’s position on true names of living beings.” “I said Iunderstoodit,” Justine cried, getting to her feet. “Not that Iagreewith it! I thought I’d made that perfectly clear.”
I stood up also. “How can you not agree? How can you possibly defend keeping a written list of the true names of living beings? Don’t you remember that story I told you, about the boy in my village and the fox?”
She threw her arms out to the sides. “What has that got to do with anything? That’s like saying don’t go to Africa because I knew someone who tripped and broke their leg there. I’m not an uneducated child!”
Before I realized it, we were shouting our views and shooting the other’s down. It turned out that all week we had been dancing around each other, skirting the issues, avoiding openly confronting each other and, in so doing, had made incorrect assumptions about what we agreed on, how we felt, what we were willing to do. I had thought I was being a subtle but influential Seeker, but Justine had chosen not to be influenced. Ten minutes into it, our faces were flushed with heat and anger, and Justine actually put out her hands and shoved against my chest, saying, "You are being so pigheaded!” I grabbed her arms below her shoulders and resisted the temptation to shake her. “Me pigheaded? You have pigheaded written all over you! Not to mention self-centeredness!”
At that very instant, as Justine was drawing in a breath to let me have it again, I became aware
that someone was watching me, scrying for me. I blinked and concentrated and knew that Justine had just picked up on it, too. It was Morgan, trying to find me. She must not have cast concealing spells. As soon as I made that connection, she winked out, as if she were only trying to locate me to see where I was. I looked down at Justine, saw what we looked like, with her hands pressed against my stomach and me holding her arms, both of us arguing passionately, and realized what it might have looked like to Morgan. “Oh, bloody hell,” I muttered, dropping my hands. “Who was that?” Justine asked, her anger, like mine, deflated. “Bloody hell,” I repeated, and without warning, my whole life came crashing down on me. I loved Morgan, but she’d been spying on me! I was a Seeker but growing increasingly uncomfortable with the council’s secrecy and some of its methods. And my da! I didn’t even want to go there. My father who wasn’t a father; my mother who was dead. It was all too much, and I wanted to disappear up a mountain-side, never to be seen again. I rubbed my hand against my face, across my jaw, feeling about forty years old and very, very tired. “Hunter, what is it?” Justine asked in a normal voice. I raised my head to look at her, her concerned eyes the color of oak leaves in fall, and the next thing I knew, she had pressed herself against me and was pulling my head down to kiss me. I was startled but could have pulled back. But didn’t. Instead my head dipped, my arms went around her, and our mouths met with an urgency as hot as our argument had been. Details registered in my mind: that Justine was shorter and curvier than Morgan, that she was strong but less aggressive than Morgan, that she tasted like oranges and cinnamon. I drew her closer, wanting her to turn into Morgan, then realized what I was doing and pulled back. Breathing hard, I looked down at Justine, horrified by what I had just done, even as I acknowledged that I had liked it, that it had felt good. She smiled up at me, her lips full, her eyes shining.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the first moment I saw you,” she said, her voice soft. “I haven’t been this attracted to anyone in I don’t know how long.” She reached for me again and spread her hands across my chest, splaying her fingers and pressing against the muscle there. Gently I covered her hands with mine and pulled them away from me. “Justine,” I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I shouldn’t have kissed you, for several different reasons. I don’t know what came over me. But I apologize.” She laughed—a light, musical sound—and tried to pull me close again. “Don’t apologize,” she said, her voice drawing me in without a spell. “I told you, I’ve been wanting to kiss you. I want you.” Her eyes took on more intent, and she stepped closer to me so we were touching from chest to knees. I felt her full breasts pillow against me and the width of her hips against mine. It felt terrific, and I felt awful, guilty. “I’m sorry, Justine,” I said again, stepping back. I crossed the room with big strides and grabbed my coat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Then I was out the door like a dog turned loose and rushing toward my car.
I was back at the bed-and-breakfast hours before I had expected to be. All I wanted was to lie on my bed and figure out what the hell had just happened. I knew I loved Morgan sincerely and truly, and I knew I was intensely attracted to her. The fact that we hadn’t slept together didn’t seem to have any bearing on this—I was sure we would, when it was right. No, this was a freak occurrence, and I needed to figure it out so I could make sure it never happened again. I also just needed to get my head clear about the council and my father. A daunting task. Groaning to myself, I turned my key in the lock and tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. I
tried the key a couple of times, then realized that the damned door wasspelledfrom the inside!
Working as quickly as I could, I dismantled all the blocking spells, then crashed into the room. Da was on the floor, hastily brushing a white substance under his bed. I lunged for it, dabbed my fingers in it, and tasted it. Salt.
“What have you been doing?” I demanded while he got up and sat on his bed, brushing off his hands. He was silent, and I looked around the room. Now I saw a small section of the concentric circles of power he had drawn on the floor with salt, and I also found a book, written in Gaelic. Written Gaelic is a struggle for me, but I could read enough to decipher that there was a chapter on creating a sort of artificialbith dearc , far from a power sink. I wanted to throw the book across the room.
“Did Justine give you this, or did you take it?” I demanded, holding the book out to him. He looked at me. “I took it,” he said without remorse. I shook my head. “Why am I even surprised?” I asked no one. Suddenly feeling angry seemed pointless. Instead a deep sadness came over me as I accepted the fact that I wasn’t enough of a reason for Da to want to live. I flopped down on my bed and looked at the ceiling. “Why am I disappointed? You don’t want to stop contacting Mum. You don’t care that it hurts her, that it hurts you, that it hurts me. You don’t care that you’re going to take away the only parent Alwyn and I have left. I just—I don’t know what to do.Youneed a father, a father of your own. I’m not up to it.”
“Son, you don’t understand,” Da began.
“So you say,” I interrupted him, turning on my side, my back to him. “No one understands how you feel. No one has ever lost anyone they cared about, except you. No one has felt your kind of pain, except you. You’re so bloodyspecial.” I didn’t try to hide my bitterness. I hated the fact that I cared enough to be disappointed. I hated Da for being who he was, and who he wasn’t. “No, I mean you don’t understand what I was doing,” Da said, a stronger tone in his voice. “I was trying to help you.”
“Help me?” I laughed dryly. “When have I ever mattered enough for you to want to help? I know I’m nothing to you. The only good thing about me is that I’m half Mum.” Silence dropped over the room like a curtain. My father was so still and quiet that I turned over to see if he was still there. He was. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at me, a stunned, confused expression on his face. “You are,” he whispered. “You are half Fiona. You, and Alwyn both. Fiona lives on in you.”
I sighed. “Forget it, Da. I’m not going to hassle you anymore. I’m giving up.” “Wait, Hunter,” he said, using my common name. “I know you won’t believe this, but you, Linden, and Alwyn were the most precious things in my life, after your mother. You three were our love personified. In you I saw my strength, my stubbornness, my wall of reserve. But I also saw your mother’s capacity for joy, her ability to love deep
ly and give freely. I had forgotten all that. Until just now.”
I rolled over to face him. He looked old, beaten, but there was something about him, as if he’d been infused with new blood. I felt a more alive sense coming from him. “I liked being a father, Gìomanach,” he said, looking at his hands resting on his knees. “I know it may not have seemed like it. I didn’t want to spoil you, make you soft. My job was to teach you. Your mother’s job was to nurture you. But I was happy being a father. I failed Cal and left him to be poisoned by Selene. You and your brother and sister were my chance to make that up. But then I left you, too. Not a day has gone by since then that I haven’t regretted not being there to watch my children grow up, see your initiations. I missed you.” He gave a short laugh. “You
were a bright lad, a bulldog, like I said. You were fast to catch on, but you had a spark of fire in
you. Remember that poor cat you spelled to make the other kids laugh? I was angry, you misusing magick like that. But that night, telling Fiona about it, I could hardly stop laughing. That poor cat, batting the air.” Another tiny chuckle escaped, and I stared at him. Was this my father?
“Anyway,” Da said. “I’m sorry, son. I’m a disappointment to you. I know that. That’s bitter to me. But this seems to be where my life has brought me. This is the spell I’ve written.” “Maybe so, up till now,” I said, sitting up and swinging my feet to the floor. “But you can change. You have that power. The spell isn’t finished yet.” He shook his head once, then shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’ve always been sorry. But—you make me want to try.” These last words were said so softly, I could hardly hear them. “I want you to try, too, Da,” I said. “That’s why I’m so disappointed today.” I gestured at the circles, smudged on the floor, the salt crunching underfoot. “I really was trying to help you,” he said. “I didn’t trust Justine. How is she acquiring the true names of living beings? Of people?”
I frowned. “She told me she inherited some of them from her mother. Others she found by accident. Two names have been contributed by their owners, in the interest of her research.” “Maybe so,” said Da, not sounding convinced. “But she also gets a lot from the shadow world.” “What?”
“I wasn’t contacting Fiona this time,” Da explained. “I have no wish to harm her further. But the shadow world does have its uses. One of them is that people on the other side have access to knowledge that not many can get otherwise.” “What are you talking about?” I asked, afraid of where this was going. “Justine acquires many of the true names of living beings, including people, from sources in the shadow world,” Da explained.
I blinked. “How do you know this?”
“Sources in the shadow world. Reliable sources.” I was quiet for several minutes, thinking it all through. Obviously if Da’s sources were correct, I had to come up with a whole new game plan. The situation had developed a new weight, a new seriousness that would require all my skill as a Seeker. Da had gotten this information for me. He had risked his own health—not to mention the irresistible temptation of calling my mother—in order to help me in this case.
Finally I looked up. “Hmmm.”
Da examined my face. “I have—a gift for you. To help you.” “Oh?”
He went to the room’s small desk and took out a sheet of paper. With slow, deliberate gestures he wrote a rune in the center of the paper. Then, concentrating, he surrounded the rune with seven different symbols—an ancient form of musical notes, sigils denoting color and tone, and the odd, primitive punctuation that was used in one circumstance only. Da was writing a true name. At the end he put the symbol that identified the name as belonging to a human. I read it, mentally transcribing it as I had been taught, hearing the tones in my mind, seeing the colors. It was a beautiful name, strong. Glancing up, I met Da’s eyes. “She is more dangerous than she seems. You may need this.” The paper in my hand felt on fire. In my life, I had known only five true names of people. One was mine, three belonged to witches whose powers I had stripped, doing my duty as a Seeker, and now this one. It was a huge, huge thing, a powerful thing. My father had done this for me.
“I have an idea,” I said, feeling like I was about to throw myself into a river’s racing current. “I
think you need to get away from Saint Jérôme du Lac—far away. It has bad memories for you. Not only that, but Canada is too bloody cold. You need to start fresh. I think you should come back to Widow’s Vale with me. Sky and I have room, and I know she’d be glad to have you. Or we could get you your own place. You could be around other witches, be back in society. You need to rejoin the living, no matter how much you don’t think you want to.” For a long time Da sat looking at a blank spot on the wall. I prayed that he had heard me because I didn’t think I’d be able to repeat the offer. But at last my father’s dry croak of a voice said, “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know how long I can resist the pull of thebith dearc. I don’t want to hurt your mother anymore. I can’t. But I need help.”
I was amazed and wondered what I had just gotten myself into. I would have to deal with it as it came. “Right, then,” I said. “We’ll leave tomorrow, after I clear up a few matters with Justine Courceau.” I looked again at the true name and memorized it. “We’ll stop in Saint Jérôme du Lac, get what you need from the cabin, and be in Quebec City by nightfall.” My father nodded and lay down on his bed with the stiff, jerky movements of an old man. Confrontation
The next morning, after our last breakfast at the B and B, Da and I pulled up to Justine’s stone
cottage. Our bags were packed and in the boot of the car; by this afternoon Da and I would be back at his cabin, getting ready to leave for the States. I felt a strong sense of reluctance, and the true name I’d memorized seemed to burn in my mind. This would probably be the last time I would ever see Justine Courceau. Which was fine. But I had to clear up the matter of the kiss, and more importantly, I had to witness her destroying the list of true names. Which meant first I had to convince her to do it. I had never met a witch who so openly defied the council—even Ciaran MacEwan, evil though he was, acknowledged that the council had legitimate power.
“Right, then, show time,” I said, starting to open my door.
“Hunter,” said my father, and I turned to look at him. “Good luck.”
Encouragement from a father. I smiled. “Ta.” We got out of the car. Justine greeted my knock and gave us an easy smile. If she was upset about our kiss yesterday, she didn’t show it. Today she wore a deep red sweater that made her look vital and curvaceous. I tried not to think about it.
“Bonjour,”she said, letting us in. “I just poured myself some coffee. Would you care for some?”
We both agreed, and she left us in the lounge. On the floor in front of the fireplace was a large wooden crate that had been crowbarred open. I looked inside shamelessly: it was full of leather-bound books, beat-up journals, even some preserved periodicals. All about Wicca, the craft, the Seven Clans. Additions to her library. “I see you’re examining my latest shipment,” Justine said cheerfully, handing us each our coffee. It was scented with cinnamon, but other than that I detected no magickal addition, no spell laid on it. I took a sip.
“Yes,” I said, tasting the coffee’s warm richness. “Are these about anything in particular or just general witchiana?”
She laughed her musical laugh. “Most of these are about stone magick, crystals, gems, that kind of thing. For the gem section downstairs.” “I was hoping to go downstairs again,” my father said. “Certainly,” Justine said graciously. She walked Da down the hall, opened the door leading down to the library, and turned on the light. “Call if you need anything.” She came back into the lounge with an almost predatory expression on her face. “At last we’re alone,” she said, smiling at the cliché. “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday,” I said. I hadn’t sat down and now stood before her. I put down my coffee.
“Why did you run?” she asked softly, looking up at me. She stretched out one
hand and rested it against my chest. “You must know I want you. And I know that you want me.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “Yesterday shouldn’t have happened. It isn’t just that I’m a Seeker and I’m investigating you. It’s just—I find you very attractive, and I’ve enjoyed our times together.” “Me too,” she said, moving closer. I could detect her scent, light and spicy. “But I’m involved with someone,” I pressed on. She didn’t move for a moment, then she laughed. “What doesthatmean?” “I have a lover.” All right, it was stretching the truth a bit. Ialmosthad a lover. I would have, if I hadn’t been such a git.
Justine’s beautiful brown eyes narrowed as she weighed my words. “Where?” “Home.”
She turned away from me and walked across the room to stroke one of the cats that lay sleeping on the back of the couch. Then she dismissed my unseen lover with a shrug. “People get together,” she said. “People break up. They move on. Now you’ve met me, and I’ve met you. I want you.” She gazed at me clearly, and if I hadn’t had the tough hide of a Seeker, I would have squirmed. “You and I would be a formidable team. We would be good together—in bed and out of it.”
I shook my head, wanting to run again. I’m terrible at dealing with things like this. “Not a good idea.”
“Tell me why.”
“Because I have a lover. Because I’m still a Seeker and you’re still someone who has an illegal list of true names. I’m here to watch you destroy them before I leave town.”
She stared at me as if I had suddenly grown antlers.
I had decided not to use my secret weapon unless I needed to. Better to have her achieve true understanding. “Justine, I understand your motives for wanting to collect true names. But there’s no reason for any one person to amass that kind of power, that kind of knowledge. Even though I know you’re a good person and a good witch, still, power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”