by Cate Tiernan
I can't breathe, Morgan thought, shock actually making her feel faint. As she stared, jaw clenched, the image of Hunter faded slowly. She gulped convulsively, trying to get air to her lungs. It was all she could do not to scream, Bring him back! But another image slid forward: a woman. She was dark, the light was behind her, and though Morgan peered desperately, she could make out no details. It was a woman, standing before a huge fire that was spitting and smoking into the air. The woman raised her hand, and in it was an athame. In her other hand she held a writhing black snake, its triangular head whipping back and forth as it tried to bite her. Morgan winced as the woman brought athame and snake together, and then she threw the serpent into the fire. A huge, stinking cloud of smoke rose up, billowed over, and filled the cave. Cave? The smoke roiled poisonously and blotted out the woman's image. Morgan recoiled.
Suddenly the front door burst open and Moira rushed in. "Mum!" she cried. "Mum!"
Startled, Morgan dropped Katrina's hands and pulled back. A gust of cold, wet air swirled in and doused the scrying candle. Morgan blinked, trying to make sense of reality. She'd just seen Hunter. Had Katrina seen him, too?
Moira was there, followed by Ian Delaney, followed by… Killian?
"Mum!" Moira cried again.
Morgan's brain wasn't functioning properly. Katrina was blinking, too, obviously shaken by what they had seen. Morgan felt her heart slowly begin to thud.
"Honey, what is it?" she managed, her voice a croak.
Moira motioned back over her shoulder to Killian. "Mum, who was your dad? Your real father. Wasn't it Angus?"
Oh, no. Not this, not yet. She'd known this was coming- Moira was reading her Books of Shadows. And perhaps it should have come a long time ago. But right now, on top of everything else, it just felt like too much. Morgan's shoulders tensed as she looked at Killian. He shrugged again, an unrepentant look on his face. If you can't tell your own daughter the truth… he seemed to say.
"It's… it's complicated," Morgan said lamely.
Moira's eyes widened, and she gestured to Killian. "So you know him?" Obviously she hoped that Morgan would deny all knowledge of him, but it was too late for that.
"Yes," Morgan said, wishing with all she had that this wasn't how Moira was finding out. "He's my half brother. Killian, come in."
Killian stood a moment, glancing back and forth between Morgan and Moira. "Cute cottage you've got here," he finally said, a bit awkwardly, and then came over and sat at the table. "Is that tea?"
"Yes," Morgan said. "Moira, why don't you sit down, too." She looked over at where Ian was standing, just inside the door. "Ian, I'm sorry-this is kind of a bad time for us."
"I understand," he said, and he went up a notch in Morgan's opinion. He looked like a nice kid. Unfortunately, so had Cal. Ian squeezed Moira's hand, and she let him out the front door. Once he was gone, Morgan pulled out a chair for Moira, who sat down reluctantly.
"I'm so sorry, Moira," Morgan said.
Moira looked from Killian to her mother, her face pale. "I met him in the village," she said. "He says he's your half brother. He says Ciaran MacEwan was your father. Your father! What is he talking about?"
Morgan took a deep breath. Colm, be with me, she thought.
"You know that I was sixteen when I first found out I was adopted," she began. "I've told you about how shocking it was, how weird it made things in my family. And over the next several months I found out more about my birth mother, Maeve Riordan, and Angus Bramson."
"You've told me all this," Moira said. She picked up a paper napkin and twisted it in her hands.
"Later that same fall I discovered that Angus wasn't actually my real father," Morgan went on. She looked at Katrina, who shook her head sadly. "I found out that in fact another witch, Ciaran MacEwan, had had an affair with Maeve, and that was when she got pregnant with me. They were muirn beatha dans, but Ciaran was already married-they couldn't be together. I know Maeve loved him very much." Morgan refused to look at Killian, who was sitting quietly.
"And I think in his own way, he loved Maeve," Morgan went on. "But as I said, he was married, and he already had three children. Killian was his youngest child. I met Killian a long time ago, in New York, and we realized we were half siblings. Since then he and I have kept in touch."
Moira looked stunned and angry. "Ciaran MacEwan! One of the most evil witches in history was your father!" She looked at Killian. "You don't care?"
Killian shook his head slowly. "I wish many things had been different, lass," he said seriously. "I wish Ciaran had not been evil. I wish my parents had loved each other, I wish my dad had been different, I wish my mother could have done better for herself. But it's not Morgan's fault for having been born, and it's not my place to judge anyone. None of us are without stains. I'm happy to have Morgan for a half sister, no matter how we happened to get here."
It was times like these that made up for all the times Killian drove Morgan crazy. As close as she had always been to her sister, Mary K., she was still happy to have a sibling with whom she shared a blood bond. She smiled at him sadly, her half brother.
"But Ciaran MacEwan." The horror in Moira's voice was an eerie echo of Morgan's own reaction, so many years ago, to the revelation about her relation to Ciaran. Moira's napkin was in shreds and she started tapping her fingers nervously on a fork. "Did you ever meet him?"
"Yes," Morgan said. "I did. He was… already dark by then. He knew I was his daughter. He wanted me to join him, but I wouldn't. So he tried to kill me and take my powers. But all the same, in his own way, I know he loved me. He was proud of me. He saw something of himself in me."
"Goddess, I hope not!" Moira said.
"It's true," Killian said. "Not that your mum is evil, not at all. But of all of his children, Morgan inherited Da's greatness, his strength, and his ruthlessness. Your mum can be very ruthless." He smiled as he said it, and Morgan knew he didn't consider it an insult.
"Did Ciaran know about you before Maeve died?" Moira asked.
Morgan shook her head. "No. She had me and gave me up for adoption because she didn't want Ciaran to know. But he still came for her, and when she refused to be with him, because he was married and she was with Angus, he locked her and Angus in a barn and set it on fire." How bizarre to state the facts so calmly, Morgan thought.
Moira's eyes were huge and round. "Goddess," she whispered. "He killed them?"
"Yes." Morgan felt a familiar sadness. "He loved her so much, and he killed her. And he loved me and tried to kill me. And I loved him, and in the end I trapped him and bound him so his powers could be stripped. And he died because of it."
"You trapped him and bound his powers?" Moira whispered. "You bound Ciaran MacEwan?"
Morgan nodded, looking down at the table. "And he had his powers stripped. And he was never the same after that, and he hated me for it. And then he died." She swallowed hard and felt that Killian was feeling the same ache.
"And Ciaran is part of you, and you're part of me " Moira trailed off, her eyes full of anguish and confusion. Morgan felt herself being torn apart all over again, watching her daughter suffer the same shock and betrayal she had once experienced. Only it was even worse this time, because Morgan would have taken on a world of pain to spare her daughter an ounce.
"I'm so sorry," Morgan said again, her voice cracking. "I should have told you earlier. It's just-I remember how horrified I was when I realized who my father had been. I would have given anything for it not to be true. And-for you not to have to live with that knowledge as well."
"So Ciaran loved your mum and then killed her, and Ciaran loved you and tried to kill you, and then you bound him and had his powers stripped." Moira shook her head. "And this is my family," she murmured. "This is who you are-who I am."
Morgan jumped up and went to Moira, gripping her shoulders firmly and looking deep into her eyes. "There's more to your family than that," she said. "Maeve was a good, strong witch. She didn't know Ciaran was married when she got inv
olved with him. She loved me so much, she gave me away rather than see harm come to me. You have your gran and Poppy and Nana. You had your dad. I loved your dad, and he loved me, and it was good. Good and safe and true."
"Gran-did you know all this, all about Mum's past?" Moira's voice trembled.
Katrina nodded evenly. "As Killian said, it isn't Morgan's fault who her parents were and what they did. Morgan is a good witch and a good person. The best daughter-in-law one could hope for. One's heritage is important, but one's own choices are more so. Morgan's got nothing to be ashamed of, and neither have you."
Moira just sat and stared at Morgan. "If you've got nothing to be ashamed of," she said, "why haven't you told me any of this? Why am I finding out about it from strangers in tea shops? How could you have lied to me all this time? What's next?" She looked away. "I don't know who you are anymore," she told Morgan, and Morgan felt tears come to her eyes. "I–I need some air." She strode to the front door and pulled it open, pushing through it into the night outside.
"Moira, wait!" Morgan cried, immediately heading after her.
Katrina stopped her, holding her by the shoulders, as Morgan had just held Moira. Morgan started crying, hanging her head. "I'll go after her," Katrina said. "You're both too upset. You stay here. We'll be back soon." She moved toward the door, her arthritis making her limp slightly.
"No, she's my daughter. I need to go," Morgan insisted.
Katrina fixed Morgan with a calm, steady gaze. "If you want what's best for her, you'll let me go," she said. "Moira needs a bit of space right now if she's going to come back to you. Do you understand?"
It went against her every instinct not to go after Moira herself, but Katrina was right-Moira didn't want to see her right now, and if Morgan chased her, Moira would keep running. There was too much danger out there now, danger Morgan didn't yet understand. Moira trusted her grand-mother, and Morgan would have to do the same. "Just… keep her safe," Morgan told Katrina.
Katrina nodded and headed out.
When the door closed behind her, Morgan sat down weakly. She wiped a napkin across her eyes, then dropped her head into her hands. "How many stupid mistakes can I make with her?"
"Quite a few, I should imagine," Killian said, not unkindly. "You'll see… things will be all right in the end."
If only things were that easy, Morgan thought dully.
9. Moira
Once outside, Moira stared around blankly, realizing there wasn't really anywhere to go. She had no car, and Vita and Tess both lived a good distance away.
The front door opened, and Gran came out. She walked over to Moira, limping slightly, and Moira realized that her grandmother was getting older. In fact, she'd seemed a lot older since Dad had died.
"Come sit here with me," Katrina said, patting the small iron bench that stood next to the front gate. Moira paused, then sat. Everything was wet out here from the rain, but neither of them said anything about their pants getting soaked.
"Did Dad know?" Moira asked. "About… about Mum's family?"
Gran smiled at her kindly. "Yes, your dad knew," she said. "He loved Morgan for who she is, not for who her people were. Tell me… what would you think of someone who married a man just because his family was rich and powerful and she was poor? She didn't love him, she just loved who his people were, what he had." "I'd think she was awful," Moira said, frowning.
"What about the opposite, to not marry someone just because their people weren't who you wanted them to be? To think that someone's family is beneath them, not good enough?"
Moira sighed. "That's not good either, I guess."
"Morgan is Morgan," her gran said. "We searched her out years ago because she was Maeve's daughter, a Riordan, and we hoped she'd have the Riordan powers. But if she hadn't been a good person, we never would have invited her to help us rebuild Belwicket, no matter how powerful she was."
"But she's been lying to me all these years," Moira said, her feelings still raw and hurt. "Or at least not bothering to tell me the truth."
"You don't have to know every detail of your mother's past," Gran said reasonably. "No child does. It's your mother's job to love you and try to do the best she can to bring you up well. She isn't obligated to tell you every secret and make sure it's fine with you. All she can do is her best. If she makes mistakes, well, everyone does."
"But not everyone has Ciaran MacEwan for a father," Moira cried. "He's my grandfather! How am I supposed to live with that? What will people think about me when they find out?" A terrible thought occurred to her. "Oh, Goddess-tell me no one else knows about this. Does anyone in the village know?"
"Some of the coven. I'm sure others as well," Katrina said gently.
Moira moaned and put her face in her hands. "I'm Ciaran's granddaughter. I have his blood. What does that mean?" "It means you face choices every day, like everyone else," Katrina said. "You will have to choose goodness over and over again your whole life. And you'd have to do that even if all your relatives were saints who had led blameless lives."
"When you first met Mum, did you know who she was?"
"Yes, of course. I sought her out, remember? When I found out a child of Maeve's existed, I learned all I could about her. I knew about Ciaran and everything else. When I met Morgan, I knew she was for Belwicket."
"You didn't mind her marrying Dad?"
"Heavens, no." Katrina paused for a moment, thinking. "I was thankful when she agreed to marry Colm, grateful that she would stay among us and help bring Belwicket back up to speed. I was grateful I was able to help her."
"Help her?" Moira looked at her gran. "How did you help her?"
"Your mum went through a bad time," Gran said, weighing her words carefully. "A friend of hers had died in an accident, and she was very, very upset. She'd already done so much to invigorate Belwicket. I knew that with her strength and positive energy, our coven could be strong once again. We could triumph over those who'd tried to destroy us. We needed Morgan, and she helped us." Gran paused and looked down. "So when I could help her, I was happy to smooth her troubles away," she said softly. "To help her adjust to her new life."
Something feels off. Gran's uncomfortable. Moira'd had no idea that her mum had ever gone through a "bad time" and that she'd had troubles. "What kind of troubles?" she asked, intrigued. "How could you smooth them away?"
Katrina frowned, as though she regretted saying anything. "Sadness. Troubles from her life before. We all loved her so much and wanted her to be able to heal. Our love did a lot to smooth the way for her here." She stood up, slowly straightening. "The important thing is not to judge your mother, love. Try not to judge anyone. You can never know what causes another person to act, can never tell how true their motivations are. Now, I'm going in to help your mum get dinner together. Looks like Killian will be staying for it. You come in when you're ready, but don't stay out too long-your mother is quite worried about you. All right?"
"All right." Moira sat on the wet bench for a minute after her grandmother had gone inside. She couldn't shake the feeling that Gran had been keeping something back, something major. Had Mum had a nervous breakdown? Had she been in trouble with the police? Moira couldn't believe that. Had it had something to do with Ciaran? Who was the friend who'd died? She had so many questions and no answers.
Moira sighed, smelling the dampness from her storm still on the grass, her mother's herbs, the stones. She'd felt so happy with Ian today. He made her feel as though she could do anything. He thought she was amazing. If only she could see him now-feel his arms around her, hear his soothing voice. It would be so comforting, so wonderful. It would help soothe this awful pain she had inside.
She knew where he lived-across the headland, around the curve of the coast, maybe three miles away. Moira glanced at the living room window. Killian was sitting at the table. Her mum was getting out plates. Gran was slicing bread. When they realized she was missing, Mum would scry to find her. But she might still have enough time to see him. J
ust for two minutes. Two minutes with him would feel so perfect. After another quick glance through the window, Moira got her bike from around the back and silently wheeled it through the garden gate.
Moira had never been to Ian’s house before, but she knew which one it was. He lived in the next village over, Hewick, and once Mum had taken some herbs to a friend who lived not far from Ian. She'd pointed out Lilith Delaney's cottage.
It was dark, going across the headland. There was no road here, only a rough, rutted trail that farmers used to move their sheep. The headlamp on her bicycle made a pale beam that bobbed every time she hit a pebble. Of course, Moira had magesight. Not as much as she would have after she was initiated, but she could see enough so that she could just manage to avoid killing herself by hitting big rocks or running off the road into a ditch.
Though Ian’s house wasn't far, it took Moira much longer to get there than she had expected. Once she had pulled up outside the cottage's fence, she had a wave of second thoughts. This was stupid, to show up uninvited. Mum couldn't stand Lilith Delaney-Lilith couldn't stand her mum, either. And there was still the question of the black smoke from Saturday night. What if her mother was right about Lilith having been behind that? Even if Moira was right about Ian, that didn't mean his mum was good as well. And no one knew she was here. She thought for a second about sending her mum a witch message, then thought better of it. She'd just ride home.
Quickly Moira swung her leg back over the seat of her bicycle and was about to set off when the door of the cottage opened. A rectangle of light splashed onto the lawn, and then Ian’s voice called, "Moira?" Moira winced. The first thing she would do after she had been initiated would be to learn a complete disappearing spell. What was the point of being a witch if you couldn't get yourself out of stupid, possibly even scary situations like this?
"Hi," she said lamely, getting back off her bike. "I was just out, and-"
"You're upset," Ian said. "What happened after I left? Can you come in and tell me about it?"