Текст книги "Changeling"

Автор книги: Cate Tiernan

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Thinking about what Starlocket was facing, I once again felt the fear that I was sickeningly inadequate for this job. But somehow Hunter was thinking that, too, was enough to make me go forward.

"We still have nine days. This could still work," I said.

Hunter shook his head, looking out the car window at the darkness. "Want to go have something to eat?" he surprised me by saying.

"I already ate. I've been studying all afternoon, trying to get caught up."

"Deities? Correspondences? Basic forms of spell craft?"

"Uh, American history. For school."

Hunter nodded and looked away, and I felt that once again I had disappointed him somehow. Sometimes it seemed like everything I did was wrong.

"I flunked a test today, so I'm trying to catch up." Hoping to make Hunter smile, I said, "I'm so tempted to do a tàth meànma on my teacher so I wouldn't have to study the rest of the year."

His eyes flicked to me. "Morgan. Doing a tàth meànma with a regular human would likely leave that person an drooling vegetable."

"I was just kid—"

"Rules about things like that exist for a reason," he went on. "Witches have been using magick for thousands of years. Witches far more experienced than you have created these guidelines to benefit everyone. They saw what could happen if magick was unchecked."

"I was just kidding," I said stiffly. Sometimes Hunter seemed so inflexible and humorless. He wasn't, I knew, but he definitely seemed that way sometimes.

"Things are very clear for you, aren't they?" I asked almost wistfully. "Decisions seem clear, the right path is in front of you, you don't have to agonize over what's right or wrong."

He was silent for a few minutes. I cracked a window so we wouldn't die of carbon monoxide poisoning. "Is that how I seem to you?" he asked softly, his words barely reached me.

I nodded.

"It isn't true." His words were like velvety leaves, falling between us in the darkness. "Sometimes nothing is clear. Sometimes there is no right path, no correct decision. Sometimes I absolutely want what I shouldn't have and do what I shouldn't do. Sometimes I want to reach out, grab power from the air; and bend everything around me to my will." He gave a slight smile as I reacted to his words. "So far I haven't," he said more lightly. "Most of the time I do all right. But not always, and not without a struggle."

I'd never known this about him, and of course it made me fall even more in love with him than I already had. He had vulnerabilities. He wasn't perfect. Oh, Goddess, I wanted him so much.

"That's what magick is," he said. "Many choices, through your lifetime. How you are determines how you make them."

Wicca is full of pithy sayings like that. I was tempted to write them all down in a book and watch it become a bestseller: Chicken Soup for the Witch's Soul.

But I knew what he meant. I got it. I rubbed my hands down on my jeans. "I'll go call Killian."

"All right. Be careful. Call me if you need me. Don't do anything that feels unsafe."

I smiled wanly. "Yes, Dad."

In a move so fast I didn't see it, Hunter was across the seat, his arm around my back, holding me against him, hard. As I gasped in surprise, he slanted his mouth across mine and kissed me with a hunger and urgency that rocked me to the core. Yes, yes, yes. Just as suddenly he pulled back, leaving me wide-eyed and breathing fast and awash in a desire so strong, I didn't know what to do with it.

"I'm not your dad," he said, looking at me. Then he opened his door and got out. Agape, I watched him head to his own car, his long wool coat billowing around his legs like a cape. I was shaking, and my arms felt empty because he wasn't in them.

9. True Name

I am sorry for the delay in answering your last two letters. I have been ill. The summer grass sickness felled our community, and we have lost both Brother Sean and Brother Paul Marcus, God have mercy on their souls.

Myself, I owe my life to Nuala, who nursed me back from death not once but several times. In a babe's weak voice I bid that pawn of the devil to be gone. She laughed, her voice like a mountain stream. Surely you'll not think me evil, said she. Truly, we in Belwicket do more good than you, holed up in your Abbey of gloom.

Through my delirium I insisted she did the devils work. She bent close to me, so that her black hair fell across my chest. I a whisper she told me, «We do no work but that which should be done. My ancestors were gathering knowledge while your people were still fighting the Crusades.»

I felt as if I were drowning. Today my head is clearer, and I do not know whether that interview took place. Remember me in your prayers, Brother Colin, I beg you.

–Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, August 1768.

In American history I got a forty-seven on my test. I had never flunked a test before in my life, and my stomach clenched in a know of embarrassment.

"Morgan, can you see me after class, please?" said Mr. Powell. I nodded, my face flushing.

After class I waited until the other kids had left. Mr. Powell looked up at me, his wide grey eyes thoughtful behind gold wire glasses. "What happened with this test?" he jumped right in with no preamble.

"I forgot about it," I admitted.

He looked perplexed. "But even if you forget, you should have known enough to squeak by with a D. This test showed that you've learned virtually nothing since the winter holidays. I don't get it."

I was so hating this. "I just… I've just had a lot going on."

Once again he waited. I'd always liked Mr. Powell, even though I couldn't stand American history. I felt he always tried to make it interesting.

"Morgan, I'll be frank with you." I hate it when teachers say that. "You've always been an excellent student. But the other teachers and I have noticed a significant drop in your grades this past quarter." He paused, as if waiting for me to explain. I didn't know what to say. "Morgan, I've heard… rumors."

I blinked. "Rumors? About what?"

"About Wicca. Students having witchcraft circles, performing rites." He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. How in the world had he heard about that? Then I remembered the kids who had come to one or two of Cal's first circles. They'd left—it wasn't for them. I guessed they'd been talking about it.

"Do you know anything about it?" he pressed.

I felt like he was asking if I ever been a member of the Communist Party, if I was gay, if I was Jewish. "Um, well, I practice Wicca." Morgan takes a stand.

Mr. Powell looked nonplussed for a moment, then tapped his fingers on his desk, thinking. Finally he said, "Is this interfering in your schoolwork?"

"Yes," I almost whispered. Far from being surreal. I was smack-bad in the middle of harsh reality. I was going to flunk my junior year if I didn't get my act together.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asked.

"Study more?"

"Will that be enough?"

"Do extra credit?" I offered hopefully.

"Let me think about it." He shut his notebook, no longer seeming approachable.

"I'm sorry," I said, and he looked back at me.

"Morgan, you're only seventeen. You're extremely bright. You could do anything you want with your life. Don't screw up this young." He turned and walked out of the room, as if he was personally hurt by my poor grade. I felt awful. I was being slowly crushed by pressure from all sides. I just had to get through and do the best I could do. The problem was, that probably wouldn't be good enough. For anyone.

"Morgan!" Killian was waiting for me on his usual bench. But as I started toward him, I heard Mary K.'s voice behind me. My heart clutched suddenly—I didn't want them to meet. Quickly I turned my back to Killian and went to meet my sister.

"I didn't see you this morning." She grinned. "Let me guess. You're having a hard time getting up in the morning."

"You know me too well. How are things at Jaycee's?"

My sisters face clouded. "It's fine," she said unconvincingly. "Jacyee's got a new friend—you know her. Alisa Soto. And a new boyfriend—Micheal Pulaski."

I wasn't sure, but I thought Micheal was a sophomore. "She sounds busy."

"Yeah." Mary K. shook her head. "I guess I'm not really used to sharing Jaycee. And Alisa is into Wicca, and I don't want Jaycee to get into it." This said with an apologetic glance. I know she hated my involvement with Wicca. "And it's hard to watch her being all happy and lovey-dovey with Micheal after—"

"Hmmm," I said. "Yeah, I can see how that would bother you. Are you going to tell Jaycee how you feel about things?"

"No. It wouldn't do any good, and it'd just make me look weird and clingy. Anyway. We're going to the mall tonight 'cause it's Friday. Alisa isn't going, and Micheal has hockey practice."

"Good. You and Jaycee have a good time, then. And call me tomorrow, okay? Since I won't see you at school."

She nodded. "Okay. Thanks." She gave me one of her quick, sweet smiles, and I felt a rush of love for her. My sister.

After Mary K. had rejoined her friends, I walked over to Killian. Raven was practically in his lap. I wondered meanly how she avoided getting pneumonia, showing as much skin as she did. As I walked up, other members of Kithic drifted toward us.

"Hey!" Killian greeted me. "I found something I wanted to show you all. Do we have enough cars?"

And just that easily we were all swept into the Killian tide. Fifteen minutes later I realized we were almost to the old Methodist cemetery where our original coven, Cirrus, had first made magick. Where Cal and Hunter had had a showdown and I had put a holding spell in Hunter that he was probably still pissed about. What had Killian found here?

"We've been here before," Matt told him as we gathered at the edge of the property.

"You have? Then you know about power sink?" he looked disappointed.

"What power sink?" I asked, and he perked up and began to lead us through the overgrown brush to the actual graveyard.

"You know about power leys?" he asked. At our blank faces, he went on. "All around the earth, like strings wrapped around a ball, there are ancient lines of power that were created when the world was made. If a witch stands on one, works magick on one, their magick will be enhanced, more powerful. Anytime two or more of these leys intersect, the inherent power is even greater. Right in this cemetery is a huge power sink, probably five or more lines crossed together."

It was somehow demoralizing that my party-guy, irresponsible, devil-may-care half brother was so much more knowledgeable than I was. Then we were standing in front of the stone sarcophagus that Cirrus had used as an altar on Samhain. The marker read Jacob Henry Moore, 1845–1871.

"Right here!" Killian said enthusiastically. "This is an incredible power sink."

Bree met my eyes, and the other Kithic members were quiet. Cal had brought us here several times. Obviously he'd been aware it was a power sink and had used it to his advantage. And none of us had known.

It occurred to me that of course Hunter knew about it also. He must have felt it when he was here with Cal. The power sink might even be the reason my holding spells had worked so well when I'd used them to stop Hunter and Cal from fighting. But Hunter hadn't told me.

"Is a power sink important?" Bree asked.

"Oh, yes," said Killian. "It's like turbo charging your magick—for both good and bad. I mean sometimes magick shouldn't be turbocharged. Know what I mean?"

"No," Robbie said.

"I mean, some spells need to be gentle and shallow," Killian explained.

While he was talking, I felt paranoia creeping into my veins. Quickly I cast my senses out strongly, sweeping the area for any kind of danger, anything out of the ordinary. Killian looked at me, his brows knit together, but I didn't stop until I was sure there was nothing unusual going on. Then I met his gaze calmly, and he cocked his head to the side.

"Watch this," he said, and held out his left arm. He wore a thick suede glove on his hand and pulled the heavy wool tweed of his coat over his wrist. Then he opened his mouth and began to sing into the setting of the afternoon light. It was an odd, unholy song, in a voice nothing like his own It sounded inhuman but also frighteningly, hauntingly beautiful. The notes rose and fell and waxed and waned, and all the time my half brother, Ciaran's son, watched the sky. I realized he was repeating the song over and over again, and we all started to watch the sky also.

Slowly, in the deepening twilight, I became aware of a large bird wheeling above us, dropping down toward us in reluctant spirals of grace.

"Uh-oh," Ethan breathed, and Sharon moved closer to him.

I could see now that the bird was a large red-tailed hawk, big enough to pick up a small dog in it's talons. It dipped and swayed above us, descending ever slower as if being reeled in on a kite string.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"I know it's true name," Killian said. "It can't resist me."

We all stepped back as the large, powerful predator dropped the last eight feet, wings beating, to land on Killian's arm, I couldn't breathe. This wasn't a zoo bird, wings clipped so it couldn't fly. This was a raw piece of nature, a killing machine, with eyes the color of liquid gold and a beak designed for ripping open rabbits' stomachs like silk. Its talons gripped Killian's coat sleeve, but if it hurt, he didn't show it.

"So beautiful," Jenna whispered, looking mesmerized.

The bird was clearly nervous and afraid, not comprehending why it was here, so against its will, against its nature. I could smell fear coming off it, an acrid fragrance overlaid by anger and humiliation.

"That's one fine bird," Ethan said in awe.

"Incredible," said Bree.

"Let it go," I said with clenched teeth. "Let it go now."

Killian looked at me in surprise—the killjoy—then spoke some words. Instantly, as if released from a prison, the hawk took off. Its powerful wings beat the air with a sound like a helicopter's rotors. Within seconds it was a dark speck in the sky, leaving us behind.

"Well," Killian began.

"It hated being here," I said impatiently. "It hated it. It was afraid."

Killian looked intrigued. "How do you know?"

"I felt it!" I said. "Just like you must have."

"How did you do that?" Raven asked, interrupting us.

Killian turned to her, as if he had forgotten his audience. "I know its true name. The song I sang was its true name, the name it was born with. Everything has a true name that's irrevocable and individual and unmistakable. If you know something's true name, you have power over it."

"Is a true name like a coven name?" Matt asked.

Shaking his head, Killian said, "No, no one can give something else its true name. It's part of the thing or the person, like eye color or skin color or the size of your hands, You're born with it, you die with it.

"Do you have a true name?" Raven asked.

He laughed, showing the smooth column of his neck. "Of course. Blood witches learn their true name during initiation. Everyone has one, every person, every rock, every tree, every fish or bird or mammal. Crystals, metals—anything natural. They all have a true name. And if you know it, you own them."

I watched Killian intently. Own them? There was a difference between owning a living being versus a crystal or even a plant. I wondered what my true name was. A chill went down my spine as I considered what might happen if somebody else were to know it. If there was one thing I had learned over the last few months, it was that there were plenty of people out there who would love to be able to own me and my power.

"Does anyone else know your true name?" Robbie asked Killian. "Like your parents?"

"Oh, Goddess, no!" Killian looked appalled at the thought. "It gives someone power over you if they know your true name."

"You don't want your parents to know?" Robbie asked.

"And give them power over me? Never. I'd rather be dead." All his humor was gone, and his face was closed and set. He glanced at the empty, darkening sky. "It's getting late. We'd better go."

As we walked back to the cars, I thought about what Killian had just done. It had been beautiful; beautiful, painful magick. He had forced a living thing to do act against his nature, and he had done it lightly, capriciously, and solely to impress. He had broken about a hundred council rules with this one stunt. If every witch were like this, it would be a disaster. I began to comprehend the role the council played in the order of witches.

I was almost to Das Boot when Killian took my arm gently. He leaned close to whisper in my ear: "Speaking of parents… I heard from Da, He's coming to see us."

10. Blood Ties

Brother Colin, my battles are usually of the spirit, but today I had one of the flesh. On the road home from Atherton to Barra Head, I saw three roadside bandits set upon Nuala Riordan.

I commanded them to unhand her, and two of them immediately set upon me. God forgive me, Brother Colin, but it was as if I were a lad once more, wrestling with you and Derwin. You'll remember that I always trounced you both at wrestling and I trounced both those sorry louts today. As for the third, he fell into some sort of fit; with no warning he fell to the ground, writhing in pain. At last he fainted, and Nuala and I left with all haste.

Thanks be to God, she was unharmed. When I suggested that perhaps she should not leave the village, she looked at me oddly. Then boldly she told me she had no husband, nor a lover either.

My cheeks burned at her frankness, Brother Colin, I admit is. Then, as soft as a dove's wing, she said my name—Sinestus—and it was as if her very voice was weaving a spell around me. I left her as quickly as I could, for to speak the truth, I feared the temptation of sin.

It is time for vespers, Brother Colin, and then Brother Edmond is taking the post. I must finish this letter another time.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, September 1768

«Well, I'm fine,» I told Aunt Eileen the next day. So far. I checked her name off my list of phone calls.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Why don't you come spend the weekend here?"

"Oh that's okay," I said. "I'm just going to stay home and study. I need to pull up some grades."

"You? Pull up them up to what? What's past an A?"

I laughed nervously. We chatted for a few more minutes, then hung up.

Next I called Mary K. at Jaycee's. It turned out that Jaycee's parents were taking the girls skiing for the weekend. I felt relief. I'd spent most of the night lying awake, dreading Ciaran's arrival. I wanted Mary K. away from here—I didn't want her associated with whatever happened between me and my blood father. I told her to be careful and not to break her leg and asked if she needed money, which she didn't. She was a chronic baby-sitter and consequently as rich as Midas.

"Take care," I told her. "Use your good manners."

She laughed at my Mom imitation.

Next on my phone list was Hunter. "I haven't heard from Killian yet," I reported. "I don't know when Ciaran's coming in."

"All right. Listen, I just got a cell phone. Write down this number."

I did.

"Now I need you to come to my house. Eoife is here, and we need to talk to you about plans and also teach you some spells you'll need to deal with Ciaran."

I sighed. So much for hitting the books today. "Okay," I said. I'll be there soon."

"Try to hurry."

"All right." We said our good-byes, and I went to take a shower.

Hunter let me in half an hour later. When I saw Eoife perched on the couch in the living room, my mood darkened. She looked paler, more fragile than the last time I had seen her, as if she were carrying a heavier weight. She gave me a faint smile.

"So you where successful," she told me.

"Well, Killian say's he's coming. We'll have to see if he does or not." I said.

"He'll come," said Hunter, already pouring tea. "Now, tell us again everything Killian has told you."

I did. I drank my tea, feeling its warmth slide down my throat, soothing me from the inside out. I told them about Killian finding the power sink at the cemetery and met Hunter's eyes. His expression betrayed nothing. I told them any snippets of conversation I had remembered, anything he had mentioned about his family. I felt disloyal to Killian, doing this, yet that had been the plan. That was that I signed up for.

"Anything else?" Hunter said, his eyes on me.

I thought about the hawk spell and closed my mind to Hunter. I didn't even know why, except I didn't want to get Killian in trouble. He didn't seem evil to me—just irresponsible. I wondered if he even understood the abuses that knowing someone's true name might lead to. When I looked up, Eoife's eyes seemed to look right through me, and I prayed I didn't blush. I wasn't fooling either one of them. Was I already the inherent test in all this, my choosing good over evil not just sometimes, but every time? I felt so inadequate.

Hunter expelled his breath and sat back in his chair. He ran long fingers through his short blond hair, and to me it seemed like he only became more attractive every time I saw him. The bastard.

"Right," said Eoife, sitting up straighter. "So let's talk about Starlocket. Suzanna Mearis has come out of her coma but has paralysis on her left side. They're continuing to work healing spells but since they don't know exactly what spell Amyranth used against her, they haven't been successful. In the meantime smaller things continue to happen: Rina O'Fallon's car lost its steering, and she had an accident. Someone's cat was found dead of no apparent cause. Someone's winter garden wilted overnight in its cold frame."

I digested this silently.

"The noose is closing," Hunter murmured.

"Why can't they disband?" I asked, wanting it clarified.

"It's traditional not to, in times of trouble," Eoife said, her eyes sad. "The bond between coven members is considered unbreakable. Only in very rare, extraordinary circumstances do members separate during dangerous times." Her glance flicked towards Hunter, and I remembered again that his parents had fled along with the rest of their coven before it was destroyed by a dark wave. I wondered what that extraordinary circumstance had been, but Hunter's face gave no clue.

I felt that if I were in Starlocket, I'd be in Tennessee by now.

"They're determined to fight evil in all its forms," Eoife added. "But I did tell them that we're still working to infiltrate Amyranth, and they were much cheered by this news."

I looked at her blankly, then gulped when I realized that their only hope was me. If something happened to Alyce and Starlocket because I wasn't strong enough, good enough, how would I ever live with myself? Assuming I'd survive.

"Anyway," said Hunter briskly, "we need to teach you some sigils of concealment and more wards of protection."

"Yes," Eoife began, but then we were distracted by Sky's angry voice coming from the kitchen.

"Dammit, that's not what I meant and you know it!" she was practically shouting.

"Who's here?" I asked. I hadn't picked up on anyone else's presence.

Hunter shook his head. "No one. She must be on the phone."

"Anyway, Morgan," Eoife went on, "one of the first things I want to teach you is a simple concealment spell. It doesn't literally make you invisible, of course, but most people, animals, and even witches won't notice you're there."

I nodded. "Like a you-see-me-not spell."

Eoife looked startled. "You do this already?"

"Um, only occasionally," I answered, wondering if I had just stepped on more Wiccan toes. "You know, if I don't… uh want to be seen."

Eoife shot Hunter a glance, and he sort of threw up his hands, as if I were an unhousebroken dog he'd tried his best with.

"Raven, I'm talking about last night!" Sky interrupted us loudly.

We all felt embarrassed to be hearing this conversation. Then Eoife focused again.

"This spell should get you into and out of most situations," she said. "If Ciaran knows you quite well, if he's familiar with your vibrations and your aura, he may be able to pick up on it, but not right away."

"He knows some of that, if not all," I said thinking back to New York. He'd tried to steal my magick, so yeah, he probably knew my aura.

"We'll have to do the best we can," Eoife said. "Ciaran is quite adept at knowing one intimately, only to use that knowledge to destroy. He enjoys destruction in and of itself, not just the dividends. He is the opposite of a creator."

I hated hearing this about Ciaran but knew immediately it was true. What had happened in his life to make him that way? How much of his legacy had he passed on to me, to Killian, to his other children? Knowing he was evil the way I did, how could I still remember our odd connection with longing? What did that say about me?

Eoife moved to sit cross-legged in front if the fire crackling in Hunter's fireplace. Gesturing to me to sit across from her, she said, "We'll bolster this with other spells of protection and attack. With your inherent strength, I feel it will work. If you learn it perfectly."

Sitting across from Eoife on the floor, I tried to clear my mind and relax my breathing. I could still hear Sky in the kitchen, her voice rising and falling in anger. I tried to block it out. Hunter stayed where he was, in his chair, but I felt his eyes on me unwaveringly.

“We’ll start with the words,” said Eoife, starting to murmur them.

Leaning closer, I let my mind expand to envelop the softly spoken words. I loved spellcraft. There were so many different kinds: ones using crystals, oils, incenses, herbs. Ones using only words, ones combining words and gestures, ones made only within a circle and some you could make anywhere. This one has three parts: words, runes written in the air, and the casting of a glamour.

Ten minutes later I had the words and runes down pat and felt confident I would remember them. The casting of a glamour I would have to work on. It was odd, but unlike school learning, which could sometimes go in me like a stone sinking in water, never to be seen again—magick seemed quite different. I had never forgotten a spell. Once learned it, it seemed part of the fabric of my being, another colored thread that made up the complete Morgan.

I almost jumped when Sky raised her voice again.

"No," she shouted, "That's not what I'm saying. You're twisting my words."

I really didn't want to hear anymore and had stood up to ask if we could go work in the circle room, when Sky stalked out of the kitchen, her black eyes shooting sparks of anger. She saw us sitting there, and her gaze lasered in on me.

"He is your brother," she said acidly. «You brought him here. He's a total bastard, and Raven's thick enough not to see it. But she should know better—after all, he's Woodbane.» This last was spit at me, and I felt the blood drain from my face as she grabbed her black leather jacket and slammed out of the house. Outside I heard the roar of Sky's car as she peeled out, braked squealing.

It was true: I had brought Killian here, and Raven was making a fool of herself over him, with his enthusiastic help. But I had brought him here at the council's wishes and for the greater good. I sat there feeling mortified, not knowing what to say. Hunter looked tight-lipped and withdrawn, but Eoife was calm as she arranged the tea things on their tray.

"This is all part of life, my dear," she said in her soft Scottish accent. "Even pain and embarrassment are part of it."

With a heavy sigh Hunter reached over and patted my knee.

"Sky's just really angry. Not every Woodbane is evil," he said. "Your mother wasn't. Belwicket wasn't. I'm half Woodbane. There are many, many good Woodbane out there."

"But not Killian, right?" I asked somberly. "And not Ciaran."

Neither Hunter nor Eoife spoke, and silently I reached for my coat and let myself out of that house. Once again my heritage was catching up with me.