by Cate Tiernan
He clearly wanted to refuse: his face was red with anger and overlain with worry for his mother. But Morgan's voice was a force field, and Ian stood and disappeared into the house. A few moments later he returned, a much-used and faded map of Ireland in his hand. He threw it on the ground between Morgan and Sky, and Sky picked it up.
"Arsdeth," she said. "In the north."
Moira swallowed hard as she saw a dark red drop of blood slide from Lilith's nose to sink onto the worn stone step under her head. Goddess, this was a bloody night. She understood now what Keady had meant when she'd told Moira it would truly be better never to understand what Morgan was capable of. So much pain and terror already. Did she have enough of her mother's strength in her to bear it?
"Arsdeth," Sky murmured again, tracing the map with her finger. "Oh, Goddess, here it is. Arsdeth, way the hell up north in County Donegal, by the ocean."
Morgan looked at her, and Sky nodded. Then Morgan said to Lilith, "What will happen to you if we go there and find you've been lying to us?" Morgan let Lilith have a minute to think about it. "What will happen to your son? Your house? Your coven? You do know you'd never escape me." Her tone was conversational, mildly curious.
There was no response, and Morgan rocked her fist from side to side slightly. A crumpled sound of agony came from Lilith, and once again Moira had to look away. "You know that I'll track you to the ends of the earth if you flee, if you've lied to us?"
Lilith nodded. Ian looked as though he was trying not to cry. Goddess, how could she turn off her feelings for him? How could he have betrayed her to his mother? Nothing would ever seem normal again. In one short week, one long night, her life had changed dramatically forever.
"Lilith," Morgan said, her voice sounding horribly gentle, "think about this. Do you believe I'm my father's daughter?"
A flash of fury sparked from Lilith's eyes. Her lips, stained with blood flecks, pressed even more tightly together. Her nod was unwilling, but it was there.
"You are right," Morgan whispered, and straightened. She nodded to Sky, who was looking at her curiously. Sky folded the map and put it on the ground next to Ian. Ian angrily scraped his sweater sleeve across his eyes. Moira couldn't resist meeting his gaze one last time. To her surprise, the look he gave her was anguished, but not full of hatred.
Morgan had already left Lilith and was walking to the car when Sky said softly,"Morgan?"
Morgan turned to look at her, and Sky met her gaze, then flicked her glance over to Lilith, still on the ground. Quickly Morgan turned and strode back to the high priestess of Ealltuinn. "I release you," she said, her voice low and steady. Her hand sprang open, and with an audible gasp Lilith seemed to melt onto her doorstep. "Mother?" Ian said, his hand on her shoulder. He gave the three of them a last glance, then went inside to return moments later with a blanket, which he pulled over his mother. Her face was waxen, and the blood from her nose shone dark and red against her skin.
Morgan turned again and walked to the car, her back stiff, hands hanging like claws from her sides.
Moira followed her quickly, sliding into the backseat as Sky started the car. She still couldn't believe what she'd just seen- her own mother had hurt someone on purpose. Had frightened and threatened someone. Bound someone. Miserably Moira leaned her head against the window, wishing she could just shut down and stop thinking, stop feeling.
In the front seat she saw Sky glance quickly at Morgan, saw her mother's shoulders bend and her head droop-and then she heard her mother start to cry. Not just smothered sniffles, but huge, heaving sobs.
Then Moira remembered one of the most basic Wiccan teachings, the threefold rule-What you send out comes back to you-times three. Morgan had just sent horrible pain to Lilith-what would be returned to her or to Moira and Sky for participating?
Sky shifted the car into a higher gear, and Moira saw that they were going back toward town, where Sky could get on the highway going north. "Morgan, it's all right," Sky said. "You need to be strong now. You had to do it. For Hunter."
"Oh, Goddess," Morgan sobbed. "What have I become? Who am I?" And she cried harder. Those were the only words Moira heard her mother say the rest of the night.
16. Morgan
In the end it took almost seven hours of driving to get to County Donegal. There was little traffic, but the roads were small and often curvy or hilly. Dawn was starting to break when Sky stopped the car not far from Arsdeth.
Morgan looked back at her daughter, sleeping in the backseat. What had she been thinking, dragging Moira into this? Moira ought to be at home, just waking up to go to school. Some mother she was. Oh, Colm, help. Colm had been her rock, her anchor, all those years. It was his steady presence that had allowed her to put her painful past behind her. His gentle insistence that she live in the present, that she continue to find joy and meaning in her life was what had enabled her to fulfill her dream of becoming a healer.
Nearly twenty years ago she'd thought she'd seen the last of truly dark magick. For all these years in Ireland with Colm, it had been a triumph to live a quiet, satisfying life, filled with healing rites, study, school, and Saturday night circles. Now this, plunging back into strong, hurtful magick, dealing with people who reveled in darkness and pain-it was so deeply wrong. That outside forces were causing her to sink back into darkness and fear, rage and revenge, filled her with fury. She was the Destroyer. She would end this, here and now.
Next to her Sky was looking fatigued. She had worked a couple of keep-awake spells during the night but hadn't let Morgan share the driving. Morgan had cried for an hour, and by then they had been on the highway and Moira had fallen asleep. They had thrown a blanket over her when Sky had stopped for gas, and when they got back in the car, Sky had glanced over at Morgan and said, "Bloody hell."
There had been blood on the front of Morgan's sweatshirt.
When the bleeding had abated, Sky had convinced Morgan to rest for a while.
Now, with dawn approaching, Morgan was feeling better. At least she wasn't crying anymore or oozing blood.
"We don't have a plan," said Morgan, and Sky made a noise like a bitter chuckle.
"Let's turn around and go back home, then," she said.
"You know-we could be walking into a trap here," Morgan said. If Hunter was alive, why was Iona just now letting Morgan glimpse the truth? Could they even trust Lilith's information? These signs that had been coming to her… they had a purpose behind them. Had Lilith set Moira up to «catch» her scrying for Hunter? She certainly hadn't been very careful about hiding the image from Moira, and if she was behind those hexes and spells at Morgan's house, then she was capable of more secretive magick. Then there was Hunter's warning, too, not to come. It all pointed to the fact that this was a trap, Iona wanted Morgan to search for Hunter-but why?
Trap or no, Morgan couldn't stop now. She had to find Hunter.
"I know," Sky said. "But what choice do we have?"
"I should have left Moira at home," Morgan said.
Sky shrugged. "This is her life, her father. She would never have allowed us to leave her behind."
"Maybe so."
"And Morgan… you need her right now. Hunter needs her."
Morgan swallowed hard, thinking about this.
Behind them Moira stirred, then sat up, yawning. "Where are we?" she asked, and then Morgan watched the memories of the night before cross her face.
"Almost to Iona's," Sky answered her. Turning, she said, "I have a friend who lives not far from here. Maybe I should call her and you could stay there, just for today. Your mum and I don't know what's going to happen."
Morgan was grateful the suggestion came from Sky, but not unexpectedly, Moira's reaction was an instant furrowing of the brow, a determined expression on her face. "No, thank you."
Morgan turned to face her daughter. "Moira, last night was terrible. But it was nothing compared to what we might be facing. I can't guarantee that Iona won't be expecting us, that we're not heading into
a trap. In fact, I'm sure we are." Morgan shook her head, thinking with dread of what might lie before them. "All my instincts are telling me to run a thousand miles from this situation, but I can't-not if Hunter's still alive. That's my choice, but it doesn't have to be yours." She looked deeply into Moira's hazel eyes, like her own, but with slightly less brown, slightly more green. "We lost your dad six months ago. I can't risk anything happening to you. I can't let it. Iona could be much worse than Lilith ever was. Please, go to Sky's friend's house."
"No."
"I wonder where she gets that from?" Sky murmured.
Sky had the foresight to begin casting pathfinding spells while they were still almost twenty kilometers-a good half hour or forty-five minutes-away. Even with the spells, they took wrong turns and got lost twice. Without them, they never would have found their way at all.
Arsdeth itself was a small, unremarkable village, not as quaint as some more southern towns, but with an older feel to it. It was rougher, less civilized in a way, with bits and pieces of ancient castles visible in the distance.
On a side street in Arsdeth they stopped the car and Morgan scried. She closed her eyes, lit a candle she placed carefully on the dashboard, and called images of fire to her, building her own power and strength. She pictured Iona as she remembered her from Ciaran's funeral, then asked the Goddess to show her the way to her. In her mind she wandered down roads, turning, heading north, then east, then north again. Eventually she saw the house, an ugly redbrick saltbox, with white-painted window frames and doorway.
"Okay, head north." She consulted their map. "We'll hit it up at this intersection. Then I'll tell you where to turn."
"Right, then," Sky said, shifting into a higher gear. "Let's go wring some information out of this woman."
Morgan knew that what was ahead of them was going to be very dangerous. There was no way to turn back now. Not when Hunter might be at the end of the trail. Not while there was still the slightest shred of hope. She still couldn't believe all of this was really coming from Iona. Iona wasn't strong enough-but then, Killian had told her that since their father's funeral, Iona had vowed to become stronger.
Ciaran's funeral. Morgan sat up. "Sky. Ciaran's funeral! At Ciaran's funeral Grania, Kyle, and Iona were furious I had come. Kyle tried to put a spell on me. But then Iona-Iona smiled. As though she had a secret." Morgan shook her head, remembering. "She knew she had taken Hunter from me."
They finally found Iona's house. Sky carefully turned the car and parked it facing outward, back toward the road, in case they had to leave in a hurry. Morgan pulled a wind- breaker over her sweatshirt to conceal the bloodstain in front. As calmly as they could, Morgan and Sky took several minutes to lay new and stronger ward-evil spells on the car.
Looking behind her, Morgan made sure Moira was beside her. She paused for a moment, casting out her senses. Frowning, she walked to the edge of the driveway and looked past the house.
"She's up there," she said, pointing. There was a low hill behind Iona's house, and on the hill were the battered remains of what had once been a Celtic stronghold.
"Up in the castle ruins?" Moira asked.
"Yes." She looked at the two of them. "Are we ready?"
Moira nodded, though she was unsuccessful in keeping the fear out of her eyes. Sky's face was grim, resolute. They pushed through the hedge bordering the driveway and lieaded toward the hill. There was no path, and the turf was spongy with rain. Soon their shoes and pants bottoms were soaked through and flecked with grass. They'd reached the first gentle slope of the hill when an unearthly baying sent chills down their spines. The next thing Morgan saw was four large Rottweilers, tearing down the hill at them, barking ferociously. Their jaws gaped, showing large white fangs that seemed ready to snap a tree limb in half. Suddenly the dogs were almost upon them, and Morgan felt Moira freeze with fear.
"Stop there," Morgan said softly when the dogs were ten feet away. Holding her hand out flat, she sent out a sensation of running up against a wall and a calm, quiet, happy feeling, where life was good, bellies were full, and there was a raw steak waiting back at the house.
Gentle things, Morgan crooned in her mind. Sweet and calm. We're friends, friends to you, we mean no harm.
The four dogs stopped with almost comical suddenness, their front paws backpedaling and screeching to a halt on the wet grass. From snarling, vicious, out-to-kill man-eaters, they became almost bashful giants, bobbing their heads and pulling their lips back in apologetic grins. Muscular tails began wagging as they stood in a confused group, wondering what to do next.
Morgan walked up to them, held out her hand for them all to smell. Sky did the same, and Morgan made sure Moira did also.
"We're your friends," Morgan said gently. "Remember us. Remember us." She traced the rune Wynn on each silky black forehead, writing happiness and harmony on them.
The huge black-and-tan dogs stood aside, cheerful puppies wishing they had a tennis ball. They watched the three witches walk past them up the hill, unconcerned. Every muscle in Morgan's body was coiled and ready for anything. Her blood was singing with tension, adrenaline flowing through her veins like wine. Each breath took in more oxygen than she needed, each sense was hyperaware: the clouded blue of the sky, the scent of the wet grass. No birds sang here; there was no other life than the four dogs they'd just left.
They were maybe thirty feet away from the ancient stones when Morgan became more aware of Iona's presence. In a gaping window hole, where she had looked only a moment before, stood Iona.
Iona looked nothing like Morgan remembered. At Ciaran's funeral Iona had been plump, doughy, with a heavily made-up face. This Iona was thin to the point of being skeletal, with burning, overlarge eyes. Her skin was chalk white, as if she spent too much time indoors, and her hair was stringy, wispy, and prematurely gray. This was her half sister, but as unlike her as if they shared not one chromosome, not even the ones that made them inherently human.
With no warning Iona's hand snapped forward and a crackling, spitting blue ball of witchfire shot toward Morgan. Instinctively she raised her own hand to deflect it, but the fire grazed her skin, causing a stinging burn.
Iona laughed, showing a gaping mouth, the skin of her jaw stretching grotesquely. "That was a welcome, sister," she said. "I've been expecting you, of course. Ever since that idiot Lilith told me you'd be coming. Pity about Lilith-she was a blubbering mess after you finished with her. She hasn't held up quite as well as I'd hoped. But she played her part well: you are here. I can only imagine what you had to do to get her to admit where I was." Morgan kept her face expressionless. "I started crushing her capillaries, from the outside in. They're very, very small and very delicate. If you damage enough of them, you bleed to death."
Morgan's senses prickled as everyone's tension level ratcheted up a notch.
For an instant a wary, speculative look crossed Iona's face but disappeared at once. "Sounds nasty," she said dismissively.
Morgan narrowed her eyes, wondering if Iona had ever believed the rumors about Morgan's power all these years. Whatever it took, Morgan had to convince Iona that she was no match for her. If she could frighten Iona, Morgan might not be forced to do things that would diminish her own soul.
"It was," Morgan was surprised to hear Moira say.
Iona looked at Moira, and Morgan forced herself not to panic. Moira, stay back, be invisible, she sent.
"It was very ugly," Morgan said evenly. "I was sorry to do it. But it's only a fraction of what I will do to you." This wasn't her true self, who she was inside. It was a warrior Morgan-one who came out only in times of need.
"Ooh, stop, you're scaring me," Iona said in a bored tone, leaning against the crumbling stone window. "By the way, where are my dogs?" Her tone was casual, but Morgan picked up on her true emotion-fear.
"They were in my way," she said, and Iona's eyes darted around, searching. Her jaw, with its tissue-thin skin, tightened.
Slowly Morgan realized th
at she felt no fear and surprisingly little anger. She was icy and unstoppable. She was Morgan of Belwicket. This pathetic excuse for a witch was just someone in her way. The feeling simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.
"Where is Hunter Niall?" Morgan asked. "Lilith told me everything she knew. I'm sure she would have preferred to be loyal to you, whatever your hold on her is. But in the end she crumbled. She had no choice. But you do. I recommend you choose wisely."
"Why, I heard Hunter Niall drowned in a ferry accident almost sixteen years ago," Iona said lightly.
"Iona," Morgan said, her voice glacial, "tell me where he is." She was becoming more and more tightly wound, a rubber band about to snap. She didn't want to cause harm here. She didn't want to. But she would.
"Tell me!" she shouted, flinging out her hand. An ancient stone burst apart next to Iona's head, shooting ragged shards of rock in a starburst Iona flinched and turned away, but Morgan saw scrapes on Iona's cheek and flakes of stone in her thin hair.
Morgan could feel Iona's fear growing-but she could also sense fear coming from next to her. From Moira. She cast a quick glance at her daughter, sending her as much warmth and reassurance as she could. Moira's face was a mask-she was fighting hard not to show her true emotions, Morgan knew. But she was terrified inside, and Morgan wished with all her heart she wasn't here to witness what Morgan was doing.
"How dare you!" Iona shouted. Morgan whipped back around to face her. Iona brushed at herself-she was covered with dust and rock flakes. She looked at Morgan, her eyes burning. "This place is sacred!"
Wordlessly Morgan snapped out her other hand, her finders stiff and tight. Another rock exploded, on Iona's other side. This time Iona cried out and covered her eyes with her hands. Gingerly she brushed at her face, leaving pale streaks of blood where her fingers had been.
"My eye!" Iona snarled, then looked up in concern as they heard a rumbling, scraping sound. The explosion had weakened part of the wall, and a large boulder was teetering on the edge above her. Quickly Iona jumped down onto the grass in front of Morgan just as the boulder fell and crashed into the window frame, right where she had been standing.