Текст книги "Changeling"

Автор книги: Cate Tiernan

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3. Challenge

Winter has set upon us, Brother Colin, and it is a raw one, compared to Weymonth's mildness. It does not freeze, not yet snow, but it is cold with a wetness that chills one's bones to the marrow. Brother Colin, I have not wavered in my devotion to these people and my blessed calling of spreading God's Word. But I tell you, the people of Barra Head have a deep suspicion of me, the other brothers (there are five), and even our blessed Father Benedict, who is as holy as a man as I have known. Heads turn away as we walk through the village, dogs bark, children run and hide. Today I found a marking drawn on the abbey door. It was a star encircled. The sight of this devil's mark made my blood run cold.

– Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, January 1768

I stood in my doorway for a moment, blinking stupidly at Eoife McNabb. I felt like she'd just somehow sucked all the air out of my lungs.

At last I realized I was being rude. "Um—do you want to come in?" I asked.

"Yes, thank you." She stepped in and looked around our hallway and living room with interest. From what I could pick up, she was worried, a little tense, and unsure about coming here. I guess she felt me scanning her senses because she blinked and looked at me more closely.

"Um, sit down, Eva," I said, waving a hand at the couch. "Do you want something to drink? Some tea?" Since she had (I thought) a Scottish accent, I figured tea was a safe bet.

"It's Eoife," she corrected. "E-o-i-f-e. Tea would be lovely thanks."

"Eef-uh?"

She gave a slight smile. "Close enough." She stepped into the living room and took off her heavy wool coot. Underneath she was dressed in black pants and a pink turtleneck that clashed amazingly with her carrot-colored hair. Her image stayed with me as I went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She had no freckles to go with that hair. Her face was smooth and unlined, but she gave the impression of being older then she looked. In her forties, maybe? It was impossible to tell.

I brought the tray out a few minutes later. Eoife waited until we had our cups in front of us, and then she looked at me, as if I were an exhibit she's heard a lot about and was finally seeing. I looked back at her.

"How do you know me?" I asked.

She took a sip of her tea. "There are very few council members who don't know about you," she said. "Of course we'd been watching Selene Belltower for years, and anyone who came into contact with her. From the very beginning, the council has found you very interesting. Then recently we learned that you were the daughter of Ciaran MacEwan and Maeve Riordan. As you can imagine that heightened our interest."

I could feel my eyes widening. "You mean the council has been spying on me?"

For a moment Eoife looked almost uncomfortable, but the expression passed so quickly that I wasn't sure if I had imagined it or not.

"No, not spying," she said, in her melodic Scottish accent. "But surely you of all people understand that there are dark forces out there. The council tries to protect all witches: especially those who practice only bright magick, who understand the dangers of the dark."

Then where were you when I was in danger of having my power sucked out in New York? I thought angrily.

"We know, of course, what happened to you in New York," Eoife said, and I wondered if she was aware of my thoughts. It was incredibly irritating. "It was appalling," she went on quietly. "It must have been horrific for you. Someday the council would like to hear the whole story—not just what Hunter knows."

A cold fist gripped my heart. Hunter. Of course. He was a seeker for the council. What else had he told them? He knew more about me than anyone else. I felt sick.

I took a sip of tea, trying to calm down. It didn't have the life-affirming jolt that Diet Coke had, but I was getting used to it. It was a very witchy drink.

"Okay, so Hunter's been reporting on me." I tried to sounds casual. "Fine. But why, exactly, are you so interested in me now?" Three months ago I would have been too insecure and intimidated to be this direct. Almost being killed more than once had put insecurity into perspective.

"Hunter is your loyal friend," Eoife said. "And we're interested in you for several reasons. First, because you've impressed several of out contacts with your remarkable power. Some of the things you're apparently capable of are simply unfathomable, coming from an uninitiated witch who's been studying only three months. Second, because you're the daughter of two extremely powerful witches—a daughter we didn't know either of them had. Bradhadair was the strongest witch Belwicket had seen in generations."

Badhadair had been Maeve's coven name. It meant "Fire Fairy."

"We know about Ciaran's other children, of course," Eoife went on. "To tell you the truth, none of them has caused waves of excitement."

Ciaran had three children with is estranged wife, back in Scotland. I had met one of them, Killian, in New York. My half brother. Ciaran and Maeve had been lovers, and I was the illegitimate result. Ciaran hadn't even known I existed until a few days ago.

"The council needs you to find Ciaran."

Eoife dropped this bomb right after I had taken a sip of tea, and almost spit it out all over her. I gulped and swallowed, trying not to cough.

"What?" I asked.

"Do you know what a dark wave is?" Eoife asked.

"It's… devastation," I said. "I read about it in my mother's Book of Shadows. A dark wave can kill people, level houses, destroy whole villages, whole covens."

"You have Maeve's of Belwicket's Book of Shadows?" Eoife's eyes practically gleamed.

"Yes," I said quietly, feeling a little resentful of her excitement. "But it's private."

She sat back and looked at me. "You're very… interesting," she said, as if speaking to herself. "Very interesting." The she remembered where we were in the conversation. "Yes. In essence, a dark wave is destruction. Utter destruction. Belwicket was obliterated by one. Until recently, no one knew Maeve and Angus had survived."

Angus Bramson had been Maeve's lover also. They had know each other since childhood and had lived together after they had fled to America. But Angus wasn't her mùirn beatha dàn. Maeve loved him, but she never felt the connection to him that she did to Ciaran. Maeve had never married Angus, and he wasn't my father. But he had died by Maeve's side in a barn in upstate New York. Ciaran had locked them inside the barn and set on fire.

"Belwicket isn't the only coven that had been decimated by a dark wave," Eoife went on. She took a picture out of her black leather brief case. "This was Riverwarry," she said, handing me the photograph. It was a black-and-white shot of a charming village. I couldn't tell if it was Irish, English, Scottish or Welsh.

"This is Riverwarry now," she went on, handing me another photograph.

My heart filled with sadness as I saw what had happened to Riverwarry. It looked like a bomb had gone off right in the center village. Only rubble remained: bits of wall, shiny, melted lumps of glass that had once been windows, blackened remains of trees and shrubs. I was afraid to look too closely—in Maeve's BOS, she had described how she had seen the body of her cat among the ruins and her mothers hand beneath a crumpled wall.

"There are many others," Eoife said, gesturing to a stack of photographs in her briefcase. "Chip Munding, Bett's Field, The MacDouglas, Knifewind, Crossbrig, Hollysberry, Incdunning. Among others."

"Why were these covens destroyed?"

"Because they had knowledge and power," Eoife said simply. "They had books, spells, tools, charts, or maps that Amyranth wanted. Amyranth gathers knowledge at any price. As you know, they are willing to steal power from witches outside their coven to make themselves stronger. We call them old Woodbanes because they conform more closely to the traditional Woodbane tenets: knowledge is power, and power above all."

Of course she knew I was Woodbane. Belwicket had been a coven of «new» Woodbane, those who had renounced dark magick and sworn to make only good an positive magick. Ciaran was one of the old Woodbanes. Yet he and Maeve had slept together and made me, a Woodbane who had one foot in darkness and one foot in light.

"These pictures are awful. But what do they have to do with me?" I asked.

"We've recently received information that Amyranth is planning on calling another dark wave," Eoife said. She tucked the photographs back into her briefcase. "Here, in Widow's Vale. They plan to wipe out the Starlocket coven."

My mouth dropped open. Whatever I had expected, it wasn't this. Starlocket had once been Selene Belltower's coven. When Selene had fled Widow's Vale, her most loyal Woodbane followers had disappeared with her. But not all of Starlocket had been Woodbane or dark Woodbanes. The members that had been from the other great clans—Leapvaughn, Brightendale, Vikroth, Rowanwand, Burnhide or Wyndenkell—and also those who were not blood witches had continued on under the leadership of my friend Alyce Fernbrake. Alyce owned Practical Magick, a store in the next town over that specialized in Wiccan necessities. Ever since I first discovered my powers, Alyce had been a kind of adviser, and after our tàth meànma brach, in which we shared one another's knowledge and experiences, I felt a special closeness to her.

Now my birth father and his coven were planning to plunder Starlocket for its books, tools, spells, star charts—anything they could find. Not only that. I knew from bitter firsthand experience that Amyranth could actually steal people's magick, their power and their knowledge, in a dark ritual. Unfortunately, the person didn't usually live through it. That was what had almost happened to me in New York before Ciaran had helped Hunter stop the ritual.

"How do you know about this?" I asked faintly.

"We had an agent who infiltrated the San Francisco cell of Amyranth. It was the last message she sent us," Eoife said. "Right before she died."

I was startled. "Died?"

"She was killed," said Eoife sadly. "Found drowned in the bay, with the Amyranth sigil burned into her skin."

"Oh, Goddess." My brain began piecing together ideas.

"But if she was killed because of passing on that message, then surely Amyranth knows the council is onto them. Surely they'll change their plans." I said.

"We thought of that. But it's not necessarily true. After all," Eoife went on, her voice turning bitter, "we've been singularly ineffectual in finding out anything about most cells of Amyranth—especially the New York one. And even having this bit of information doesn't really help us. Alyce and some of the other Starlocket members have been having disturbing visions. Some of their spells have gone terribly awry. They have bad dreams. It all feels like a noose closing around their necks."

"But why can't the council help? Isn't it made up of the strongest witched alive?"

Eoife looked at me with anger. "Yes. But we're not gods or goddesses. Simply knowing about a dark wave doesn't help us stop it. Frankly, we have no idea to stop it."

"So what can I do?" I asked carefully.

My guest took a deep breath, trying to control her emotions. Her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as she sipped tea that by now must be cold.

"We want you to help us stop the dark wave," she said.

My world went white in an instant. Jagged images of what had almost happened to me in New York crashed into my mind, and my breath went shallow. With tunnel vision I stared at Eoife, sure that the horror and panic were written on my face.

"Eoife," I breathed. "I'm seventeen years old. I'm not initiated. I don't see how I can help with anything…"

"We know about your situation. But you have a great deal of power." She tried to keep defeat out of her voice but didn't succeed. "And you're our only hope."

"Why?"

She looked at me. "You're Ciaran's daughter. His daughter by the woman he loved. And you're very, very powerful. He would be intensely attracted to that. You could get close to him."

"And then what?" I was trying not to sound hysterical. Inside my thoughts were running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

"We need information," Eoife said. "We have strong evidence that Amyranth is planning a strike on Starlocket during its Imbolic celebration. There's a possibility we could stop them if you could learn something—anything—of the spell they plan to use to call the dark wave. Knowing even a few of these words would help us fight it. If Ciaran were to make you his confidante, you might be able to get us this information."

I looked at Eoife in disbelief. "And what if he tries to kill me?"

"He's your father," she said. "He didn't let his coven kill you in New York."

I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. "Okay. Get close to Ciaran. Discover what I can of the dark-wave spell. God, this is so surreal."

Eoife gave me a level glance. "There's more."

"Why am I not surprised?" I muttered.

Eoife shifted in her chair. "If you planted a watch sigil on him, it would help us track his movements. We'd have a better chance of knowing where he was."

"How am I supposed to plant a watch sigil on him? He's a thousand times stronger than me!" I was frightened now and running out of patience with this crazy conversation. What this woman was suggesting could easily get me killed.

"We don't believe he's a thousand times stronger than you," Eoife said, but her gaze dropped from mine. "Anyway, we would teach you how to do it. We would cover you with deception spells, with protection, with every weapon we have. With luck, you could even attend an Amyranth circle. Any information you pick up there would be useful. The more we know about them, the more chance we have of being able to dismantle their coven, remover their power, scatter them so they could never again call on a dark wave to obliterate a clan, to pillage their knowledge, to destroy their homes. With your help, we can save Starlocket. Without you help, they are surely lost."

"The witches in Amyrant would recognize me," I pointed out.

"But now they know you're Ciaran's daughter." Eoife said. "They would believe you'd want to be close to him."

This was all just too incredible, too absurd. "You must have someone more qualified," I said.

"We don't Morgan," Eoife said. "The San Francisco cell of Amyranth is the only one we've been able to infiltrate—and that was unsuccessful. It's only because we're so desperate, so without options, that we even considered asking you to take this risk. Amyranth has been gaining power for the last thirty years, and we've made hardly any progress in fighting them. But know we have you, the daughter of one of the one of the main leaders. Ciaran is incredibly charismatic. Anyone would believe you would want to be closer to him."

"What about you?" I asked. "I'm Ciaran's daughter after all. Do you believe I'd want to get closer to him? Do you believe I might actually turn to the darkness?"

The older witch gazed at me steadily. "It's true that great witches have fallen before this. But many have resisted, too, Morgan."

But which will it be? I thought desperately. "Oh, God," I said, standing up and lifting my hair off my neck. I walked around the living room, stretching, not really seeing anything. I realized it was chilly and knelt before the fireplace to make a small tepee of kindling. I looked around for matches, but I didn't see any. I thought, Fire, and a tiny spark of flame leapt into existence, catching the dry sticks of fatwood, chewing them eagerly. When the kindling was well on its way, I added two small logs, then stood up and brushed off my hands.

"I didn't believe them when they said you could kindle fire," Eoife said. Once again her gaze fixed on me, measuring me, examining me.

I shrugged self-consciously. "I like fire."

"One of my teachers studied with her teacher for more than three years to learn how to kindle fire," said Eoife.

Startled, I glanced at her. "How can you even teach it? It's just there."

"No, my dear," she said, softening for the first time since she'd come in. "It isn't. Not usually."

I sat down again and twisted my fingers together. Get close to Ciaran. The idea made my stomach clench. He was my blood father, and he was the epitome of evil, guilty of hundreds of horrible crimes: unaccountable devastation. He was the very image of everything bad that Woodbanes had ever been accused of. He had killed my mother and tried to kill me. Yet…Yet, before I had known who he was, I had felt a strange connection to him, a sort of bond or kinship. I could tell he was very powerful, and I wanted him to teach me what he knew. Then so many things had happened, and I was still sorting out the pieces. Now Eoife wanted me to pretend to have a relationship with him on order to give me the council information. Information that would lead to his being stripped of his powers, certainly. I'd watched Hunter perform the spells that wrested a witch's magick from him, and I still shuddered at the memory. I had heard that most witches who had their magick taken away never really recovered. They lived a kind of half life—more a pale grey existence than a real life. Eoife and the council wanted to do that to Ciaran, and they wanted me to help them.

"I won't lie to you," Eoife said. "This will be very hard, perhaps impossible, and very dangerous. You'll be tempted by darkness, as we all are at times. How well you resist is up to you. You probably know what's likely to happen to you if you are found out, if you fail." She looked down at her hands in her lap. "But if you succeed—you will have saved not only Starlocket, but all the covens and clans after them, the ones who will in the future be targeted for a dark wave. And… you would have more power."

I looked at Eoife. "Magickal power?"

"Perhaps, though that isn't what I meant. I meant the power that comes from doing something profoundly good and selfless, the power that comes from putting good out into the world. Remember, what you send out is thrice returned."

"Does Hunter know about this? What you're asking?"

"Yes, he's against it. But the decisions is yours."

"What makes you so sure Ciaran will trust me?" I asked.

"We're not," Eoife admitted. "But you're our only hope."

I paced the room. I noticed it was dark outside—hours had passed since Eoife had come. My parents might be boarding their cruise ship by now.

What if I failed? Not only would Alyce and the rest of Starlocket die, but I would be forever corrupted. If I wasn't strong enough to resist Ciaran, I would become as evil as he was. On the other hand, where was I now? I had lost Hunter, I was afraid to make magick with my coven…What did I have left to lose? How strong was I? Think, think.

Eoife waited patiently, just as her teacher who was trying to kindle fire must have waited patiently for three years, trying to learn it. I wasn't patient. I didn't have their inner calm that most witches had, the inner compass that allowed them to stay on track, stay focused yet completely connected with the world. I didn't know if I would ever have it.

Could I do it?

Oh, Goddess, help me.

I don't know how much time passed. Finally I turned to look at Eoife, so small and still, like a garden statue.

"I'll do it," I said.

4. Danger

Brother Colin, my hand shakes as I write this. I have told all to Father Benedict, and he is praying on the matter now. Tonight after matins I found I could not sleep and determined to walk in the chill air along the cliffs in the hopes that healthy exercise would help me rest.

I set out at a brisk pace, giving thanks for my sturdy wool cloak. After a time I spied the glow of a cheerful fire. Thinking it was a lone shepherd, I hastened to join him and share in the warmth before heading back to the abbey. Coming quite close, I saw this was no lone shepherd, but a group of people. Women from Barra Head, each soul bare to the sky. danced in pagan nudity around the fire, wailing some unearthly song.

Horror overwhelmed me, and after but a few moments I dashed away from the evil place. I immediately found Father Benedict and confessed what I had seen. What do you make of this, Brother Colin? I had assumed that Wodebayne was simply a clan name, but now I wonder if they are some darker, heathen sect. Please send me your earliest council, for I am most distraught.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, March 1768.

To my surprise, Eoife McNabb didn't jump up and down in joy at my announcement. She looked very solemn and then nodded slowly. «I was hoping you would say that.»

I released a deep breath and tried to relax. "So what now?"

"Well, you'll need to go to New York at once," she said.

"What? I can't." I shook my head. "My folks are out of town, and I have to house-sit and go to school everyday, or they'll kill me."

Eoife blinked once, and we looked at each other. Realizing the ridiculousness of my situation, I began to laugh nervously. After a moment of surprise, Eoife smiled.

"All right," she said, shrugging. "I know that you're unusually young to have so much power. But remember, we're talking about the destruction of countless innocent witches. There has to be a way for you to help us and still keep your grades up and feed your cat."

As if he'd been called, Dagda prowled into the room and fixed his green eyes on Eoife. He walked toward her, sniffed her delicately, then presented his triangular head for petting.

"You're a beauty," Eoife muttered while he purred. Finally he purred so hard, he fell over in his side, and she tickled his grey tummy.

"You must stay in Widow's Vale," she said, thinking out loud.

"Yeah."

"Right. Let's see. You met your half brother Killian in New York, yes?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"Does he know you're his sister?"

"I don't think so. By the time I found out, he had disappeared. I haven't seen him since then."

"We're speculating that he was supposed to take part in Amyranth's ritual," Eoife explained. "Ciaran would like one, any one, of his children to be a worthy successor. If that was Killian's test but he left town instead, Ciaran would be furious with him."

"He didn't strike me as a coven leader," I said. "He seemed more like just a party guy to me."

"Killian isn't power hungry like Ciaran," Eoife said. "But he does seem to be amoral—he does what he wants but for the pleasure of it, not to gain anything. I'm thinking—maybe the way to get to Ciaran is through Killian. We could get Killian to come here somehow. He'd come out of curiosity, if nothing else. Once Killian is here, explain your relationship to him. Then ask him to have Ciaran come here so you can get to know him better, as his daughter."

A chill went down my spine, despite the cheerful warmth of the fire. It was horrible—the name Ciaran brought so much conflicting images and feelings: the understanding, compelling man at the bookstore and then terrifying, powerful Woodbane witch who had wanted to take my magick by force. He terrified me in a way that nothing else did, and… he was my father. I wanted to know him. And how would I hold out for one second against his power if he really wanted me to join him in Amyranth? I would have no chance.

"You have until Imbolic," she said, interrupting my thoughts. Imbolic was February 2. Less than two weeks. Two weeks from now, what would I be? Alive? Dead? Evil? I felt like throwing up.

"A few more things," Eoife said, sounding business like. She poured herself more hot water from the teapot and once again steeped the tea leaves. Their smooth, complex, smoky fragrance rose through the air. "One, you'll be functioning as a council agent and as such will check in with your council mentor, who is me. We can set up a contact schedule. If I'm not available, Hunter will take your reports."

Great, I thought, already feeling the pain that seeing him would bring. Somehow I didn't think that Eoife would care that we were broken up.

"Second, we'll be teaching you the spells you need to help you through this. It goes without saying that learning them is imperative."

No kidding, I thought. Crap. What had I gotten myself into? Her face softened, and I wondered again if she was in tune with my thoughts. "This could be worse than what happened in New York, but I wouldn't ask you to do it if I thought the mission was hopeless. I—and the rest of the council—truly feel that you can do this."

I digested this. "Okay. So now I call Killian?"

"Do you have is phone number?" She looked surprised.

"No," I said confused. "I thought you meant, you know, a witch message."

Her face was carefully blank. "You can send messages? With your mind?"

Why didn't I just get "Zoo Exhibit" tattooed on my forehead? "Uh-huh."

Eoife swallowed. "I thought Hunter was exaggerating," she said quietly. "An uninitiated witch—kindling fire. Sending witch messages. Calling on the ancient lines of power. Even putting a holding spell on Hunter. I couldn't believe it was true, though Hunter was never inaccurate before. I came here expecting to leave in disappointment. Expecting to go back to the council and tell them we had no hope."

"Then why did you even go through with this?" I asked. "Telling me you'd teach me the spells, that you'd help me. That I was your only hope. Why do it if you really thought I wouldn't be able to help you?"

"I was doing as I was instructed," she replied with dignity. "Believe me, I far prefer this reality to what I was afraid I would find. Now I think it's time to call Killian."

"Okay," I said. Killian, I thought, sending it toward him. Killian. Come to Widow's Vale. For long minutes we sat silently. I wondered how far away Killian was and if that made any difference. But then I felt his response.

I took a minute to breath and orient myself. When I stood, I felt creaky, like I'd been there for hours. "Okay," I told Eoife. "I think he's going to come."

"Very good," said Eoife. "Morgan, I'm going to teach you the watch sigil in case things start to move quickly and you have the opportunity to mark Ciaran before we meet again."

I nodded and watched Eoife carefully as she drew the sigil in the air.

"The symbol itself isn't complicated," she continued. "What will be difficult is getting close enough to Ciaran to place it on him without his detection. Practice the sigil so that you'll be ready when the opportunity presents itself."

Slowly I began to mirror Eoife's motions in the air. "All right," I said finally. "I think I've got it. I'll keep practicing when you leave."

Eoife nodded. "Excellent." She reached for her briefcase and stood, glancing around to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. "I'm glad to have met you, Morgan Riordan," she said formally, holding out her hand to shake.

"Rowlands," I said frowning. "That's my last name."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Oh, of course. I'm going to report back to the council about the nature of our plan and that you've sent Killian a message. I'll check in with you soon to set up a time for you to start learning spells."

"Okay." I walked her to the front door, feeling a deep sense of foreboding. After what happened in New York, I had hoped to lie low for a while, to have everything to be calm and quiet. Now I was signed up to enter the lion's den. And I might not make it out alive.

"You know you're more then welcome to come stay," said Aunt Eileen an hour later.

I had called her to check in, though my parents hadn't even gone a whole day yet. I had needed some normalcy after the surreal visit with Eoife MacNabb. "Oh, no, I'll be fine," I said. "I'm just going to school, do homework, eat and sleep." Oh, and try to trap one of the world's most dangerous Woodbanes. That, too.

"Okay," she said. "But promise you'll call us anytime, day or night, if you need anything or want to talk or feel worries. All right?"

"Okeydokey," I said, trying to sound cheerful.

As soon as I hung up, I felt my senses starting to tingle. I opened the front door and saw Hunter at the end of our dark walkway, heading for the house. He looked up, saw me, and didn't smile.

Just seeing him made me want to cry. This was the one person who could comfort me, who would understand, who would be on my side. Yet I couldn't be with him, couldn't turn to him for support or love. I knew that it was better to hurt him now than crush him later—what if I turned in him down the road? After seeing what Ciaran had been willing to do to me, I could only imagine the pain I could cause Hunter if and when my evil Woodbane nature showed itself. As painful as this separation was, surely it was better than the pain of knowing I had attacked him from the darkness.

Typically, he didn't say hello. He just leaned against the house while I rubbed my shoulders to keep warm. It was another bitter night. He waited until I met his eyes, then launched in.

“I can’t believe you’ve decided to go along with this ridiculous plan, far-fetched plan!” he began, his English accent more pronounced then usual. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it’s going to be? Do you have any idea what you’re up against? This isn’t one of our circles! This is life or death!”

“I know,” I said quietly. “I was there in New York, remember?”

“Exactly! So how can you even consider going along with this? It’s not your responsibility.”

I just looked at him. In the dim yellow glare of the front porch light he looked gorgeous, as usual, and angry, which also seemed fairly common these days. But I had also seen him laughing, his head thrown back; I had seen his face flushed with desire; I had seen the look in his eyes before he kissed me. My chest felt fluttery as I thought about it, and I rubbed my arms again, grateful for the distraction of the cold.

“Have you heard anything more about your parents?” I asked. In New York, Hunter had made the decision to begin looking for them. I knew that the loss of his mother and father was a huge event in his life, and it hurt me to see him unable to find them.

Hunter’s angry expression softened lightly. He looked away. “No,” he said. “Nothing. You’re changing the subject. I don’t want to talk about it.” He looked me in the eye briefly. “These last few days haven’t been a lark for me, either, Morgan.”