Текст книги "Changeling"

Автор книги: Cate Tiernan

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15. Persecution

Brother Colin, by now you will have heard of my latest travail. Why God has chosen this fate for me, I do not know. All I can do is His will.

I arrived in Barra Head ten days ago. Father Benedict had changed hardly at all and welcomed me most lovingly, which brought tears to my eyes. The Abbey had changed for the better, with glass windowpanes, a pigsty, and two milk cows. The brothers (there are now eight) were planning the solemn celebration of Easter, our Lord's rising, with the handful of villagers who shared their worship.

Between matins and land, I left my cell and headed for the village in the darkness. I do not know what my thoughts were on that sole, dark walk, but with no warning I was knocked to the ground and a sleek black wolf was ripping at my cowl, tearing at my shoulder. With God's grace I held off its attack for a moment, and what I saw in these few moments before I fainted can only be part of my insanity, I fear. When the moon struck this creature's eyes, I saw Nuala, looking out at me. Poor Brother Colin, how you must pity me in my madness!

Now I am in hospital. I envy you, my brother, for having been spared this hellish existence. As soon as I am able to travel, I am being sent to the hospice in Baden.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, March 1771.

«So this was a good day,» Bree said. She propped one booted foot up on the stone bench next to me. «It's not snowing, it's almost forty degrees, and I missed both trig and chemistry because of that fake fire alarm. Not bad for a Wednesday.»

"Do we know who did the fire alarm?" I asked.

"I heard it was Chris Holly," Robbie said, coming up behind us. Chris was en ex-boyfriend of Bree's and a typical Bree castoff: good-looking in a jock kind of way, with the IQ of your basic garden toad.

"Oh, jeez," Bree groaned.

Robbie grinned. "Word is that he didn't study for his English and panicked. Unfortunately, he was observed pulling the handle."

I shook my head. "What a loser."

A muffled ringing sound overlaced their laughter.

"Your purse is ringing," Robbie told Bree, who was already taking out her phone. She said hello, hang on a minute, then handed the phone to me, mouthing, "Killian."

"Little sister!" came his cheerful voice. "I haven't seen you in days! How are you?"

"I'm fine," I said, smiling at the sound of his voice. "What have you been doing?"

"This and that," he said lightly, and I mentally groaned, wondering what mischief he'd been causing. "Want to get together tonight? Maybe all the gang?"

"Yeah, let's get together," I said, walking a few paces away from my friends. "But can it be just you and me? I want some time to hang out and talk."

"Sure," Killian said. "Alone's fine, too. Let's meet at that coffee place in that row of shops you took me to. We can decide what to do from there."

"Great," I said. "I'll see you there at eight tonight." I hung up and gave Bree back her phone.

"Okay, I'm gone." Robbie kissed Bree on the cheek and took off, not noticing how virtually every female around turned to look at him.

Bree watched him till he got into his red Volkswagen Beetle. "You do good work," she said, referring to the fact that Robbie had once been incredibly unattractive and now looked like a god, thanks to a little spell I had done. It had unintended effects. Another lesson for me.

"How are things with you two?" I asked.

"Up and down," she said, clearly not wanting to talk about it. "What about you? How are you doing with your parents out of town, broken up with Hunter, and with a bunch of new relatives you hadn't known about?"

For a long moment I looked at Bree. Until four months ago I had know her as well as myself. But now we each had big secrets, unshared things between us. And I couldn't share this with her—about my mission, about my imminent betrayal of Killian and Ciaran, about my fear of being inevitably pulled toward dark magick.

"It's been up and down," I said, and she smiled.

"Yeah. Well, see you later. Call me if you want to get together."

"I will," I said.

At eight o'clock I walked through the door of the coffee place that Killian and I had agreed to. I ordered a decaf latte and a napoleon.

An hour later I was royally pissed and rehearsing how I would blast him when he finally did drag his ass through the door. Except that I wouldn't be here to blast him because I was going home. I stomped outside to Das Boot and opened my door, only to see Raven's battered black Peugeot pulling up next to my car.

"Where's your friend Killian?" she said through her open window.

"He's somewhere being an hour late to meet me," I snarled.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? He was meeting me."

«Au contraire,» I said. «We had an eight o'clock date.»

"Well, princess," she said. "Your time is up. I've got him at nine. See ya."

I frowned. This was too strange. Why would Killian stand me up? What if he had messed up somehow, pissed someone off—had Ciaran done something? Or allowed someone else to do something to him?

I looked at Raven. "Will you do me a favor? Will you follow me to the house where he's staying?"

She frowned. "Why? He's supposed to meet me here, not at his place."

I gestured to the empty parking lot. "Do you see him? Besides, if he's on his way, we'll pass him and you can turn around. I just have a funny feeling about this."

Furrowing her brows, Raven glanced around the empty parking lot one last time. "All right," she said finally. "But if we pass him, we turn around and you go home."

"Deal." I climbed into Das Boot and headed out.

This was one of those times when I should have slowed down, thought things through, asked myself questions like, is this smart? Am I likely to be killed or maimed doing this? Should I have some kind of backup plan? Any plan at all?

I screeched to a halt in front of the house where I knew Killian was staying. No cars were in the driveway, but the house was ablaze with light, and even from out on the sidewalk I could here music blasting. Raven and I looked at each other.

I rang the doorbell four times, but no one answered. Picturing Killian lying in a pool of blood, I used a little unlocking spell that Hunter had taught me and opened the door. The scent of incense drifted towards us. The house wasn't large, but it was old, and even I could tell it was beautifully decorated. A hundred candles of every color were burning in the living room. There was an open bottle of scotch on the coffee table and a couple of used tumblers.

Raven frowned, and I followed her glance. At the entrance of the hall leading to the back a black leather jacket lay on the floor. We walked over to it: a clue. My eyebrows rose. This jacket was Sky's—I recognized the silver pentacle hanging from her zipper. Together Raven and I, the unlikely duo, looked farther down the hall. I recognized Sky's black boots on the floor.

"What the hell?" Raven muttered, stalking forward.

Right next to Sky's boots was a man's belt. I thought I remembered Killian wearing it but wasn't sure. As if we were two puppets drawn on strings, Raven and I went forward. We came to a door that was slightly ajar. I heard the murmur of voices, and then good sense at last kicked in and I decided to get the hell out of here. Whatever Killian was doing, he was fine.

But Raven, not coming to this same conclusion, punched the door open with her fist. I knew it must have hurt, but not as much as the scene before us. Sky was sitting on the bed, and Killian was standing at the foot. They looked up in surprise when the door burst open, saw us, and started laughing. Killian was wearing only a pair of black pants. Sky was in a camisole and her underwear. My mouth dropped open in naive shock. Ridiculously, I remembered Hunter saying he didn't think Sky was actually gay—she just like who she like. Apparently right now she was liking Killian.

"Hi," Sky said, and laughed so hard she almost fell sideways. She was drunk! I couldn't believe it. Killian, however, seemed a little more together.

"Little sister!" he said, and hiccupped, which made him laugh more. "Oops, I forgot our date, didn't I?" All around the room I could detect the faint traces of tingling magick, in the air, on the bed, on the floor. Goddess only knew what they'd been doing.

"And ours, too, you bastard!" Raven screeched, launching herself at Killian. He was unprepared and so went down heavily under her fury. She smacked the side of his face as hard as she could, and I winced as his head snapped to the side.

"Ow, ow," he said, but was still laughing weakly.

"Oh, stawp, stawp," Sky was saying ineffectually in her slurred English accent. Leaving Raven and Killian rolling gracelessly on the floor, I went in search of a phone. Once I found it I called Hunter.

"Come get Sky. She's smashed," I said, and gave him the address.

When I got back to the room, Raven was shrieking at Sky, Killian was on the floor, watching the scene with fascination, and Sky was starting to yell awful things back at Raven, personal things about their relationship that made me ears burn.

"Hold it!" I yelled, waving my arms. "Hold it!"

Surprisingly, the three stopped to look at me. I snatched up Sky's black leather pants and what I hoped was her shirt. Leaning over the bed, I grabbed her arm, hard. "You come with me," I said firmly, and she actually did, practically falling off the bed.

I dragged her out into the hall and down to the bathroom, where I shoved her roughly into her clothes. As soon as her arms were in the correct sleeves, I heard Hunter slam through the front door, shouting for Sky.

I produced her, handing him her boots and jacket.

At that moment the other two Stooges emerged from the bedroom. Raven's face was still contorted with fury, and Killian was starting to look a little less cheerful. Sky laughed when she saw him, and as Hunter began hauling her toward the door, she yelled, "Go for it, Raven! He's a great kisser!"

I dropped my head into my hands. I was completely disgusted with all of them. Was everyone going completely insane? Looking at Raven and Killian with disdain, I left the house and went to see if I could help Hunter pour Sky into his car.

He was buckling her in. She looked tired and wasted but not unhappy. He turned to me, his face furious. "Are you happy with your charming brother now?"

My mouth dropped open. "I don't—"

"When is he going to learn to consider others?" he shouted. "Does he think it's a game, making magick in there, in this situation? Does he think it's funny to do this to Sky?"

I stood there, shocked, as he swung into the driver's seat and slammed the door. I knew he was upset about Sky, but I felt like he was blaming me for Killian's behavior. And I was the most blameless person in this ugly scene!

Futile tears of rage started coursing down my cheeks as Hunter peeled off into the night.

I had given up the person I loved most to prevent him from being tainted by my potential inherent evil, and here I was being blamed for my blood ties, even when I had nothing to do with their actions. I was risking my life to try and save Starlocket, and he thought I was cooking up party gamed with those three idiots.

Still crying, I was starting to cross the street to get to Das Boot when a car honked in my face and almost gave me a heart attack. I leapt back onto the curb in to see a pimply faced kid race past me in a souped-up muscle car. I watched him speed off, and as he did, he shot me the bird.

My mouth dropped open for the ninth time that evening. Without having a second to think, I raised my hand in a quick gesture and muttered just five little words. Instantly the kid's car locked up and he started skidding out of control, spinning sideways and heading right for the crash rail in front of a deep ditch. I was shocked.

"Nul ra, nul ra!" I said fast, and with another second the kid had gained control of his car and come to a stop. After a moment he started the engine and continued down the road at a slower pace.

I sat down weak-kneed on the curb. What had I done? I had almost killed a stranger because I was upset at Hunter. I was unbelievable. Just last month I had been involved in two deaths. What was wrong with me, apart from being Ciaran's daughter? Was this how my decent into evil would being? After looking both ways I crossed the street and sat in my car. I cried for a long time, too upset to drive, and then I heard a voice, Ciaran's voice, saying, Power sink.

16. Shape-shifter

I received your letter yesterday, and I thank you most gratefully. To answer your question, this hospice is not at all like a prison; as long as we stay on the grounds, we are allowed much freedom. There is no one here who is dangerous to himself or another, though we are all tormented. I thank God that Father's estate can subsidize my stay here. They have allowed me to wear my monk's habit, and I am grateful.

I do not want to answer your other questions. Forgive me, Brother, but I cannot think on it.

—Simon (Brother Sinestus) Tor, to Colin, July 1771.

The old Methodist cemetery was dark and cold, and a frigid wind whipped through the scrub pines and unshaped cedars that surrounded it. I strode forward, casting my senses strongly, and felt Ciaran waiting for me.

"Thank you for coming," he said in that soothing, accented voice. With no warning I burst into tears again, embarrassed to do it in front of him, and then his arms enfolded me; I was pressed against the rough tweed of his coat, and he was stroking my hair.

"Morgan, Morgan," he murmured. "Tell me everything. Let me help."

I actually couldn't remember the last time Dad had held me when I cried—I was too cool for that. I cried alone, in my room, quietly. Ciaran's embrace seemed so welcoming and comforting.

"It's everything," I choked out. "It's being Woodbane and Catholic, it's having witch friends and nonwitch friends. It's Killian and Sky and Raven. Cal and Selene died, and I was so relieved, but I actually miss Cal sometimes. Or the Cal I thought I knew." More sobs racked me, but still Ciaran held me, letting me lean on him. "And my folks are so nice and I feel like scum because I want to know my birth father!" I sobbed and wiped my nose on the back of my glove. "And I wish I had known Maeve in person, but I can't because you killed her, you bastard!" My fist flew out quickly and slammed Ciaran in his chest. He swayed back a bit, but I'd been too close to put much into the punch. I swung again, but he caught my wrist in a grip like a braigh and stilled me.

"I'm so sorry, Morgan," he said, his voice sounded torn. "I'm tortured about Maeve's death every day of my life. She was the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me, and not a day goes by that I don't feel pain and anguish over what happened. The only good thing about her being gone is that she can no longer feel pain; she's no longer vulnerable and can no longer be hurt."

I leaned backwards into a tall tombstone and buried my face in my hands. "This is all too hard," I cried. "It's too much. I can't do it. I can't bear it." In that second all that felt absolutely true.

"No," Ciaran said, holding my wrists gently. "Yours is not an easy path. Your life feels hard and difficult now, and I can promise you it will only become harder and more difficult."

I made an indistinct sound of despair, and his voice went on, slipping into me like a fog.

"But you're wrong in thinking you can't do it, can't bear it," he said. "You absolutely can. You are Maeve's daughter and my daughter. You have strength in you. You are capable of things beyond your imagination."

I kept crying the tension of the past week spilling out of me into the dark night. Tonight's awful scene, all my conflicting emotions were being dissolved in a salty wave of tears.

"Morgan," Ciaran said, brushing my hair out of my face. "I cherish you. You're my link to the only women I've ever truly loved. I see Maeve in your face. And of my four children, you are the most like me—I see myself in you in a way I don't with the others. I want to trust you. I want you to trust me."

A chill shook me, and Ciaran rubbed my arms. Slowly my crying subsided, and I wiped my eyes and nose. "What happens now?" I asked him. "Are you going to disappear from my life, like you did with your other kids?" I saw Ciaran wince but went on. "Or will you be with me more, teach me more, let me know you?"

How much true and how much manipulation to fulfill my mission? Goddess help me, I no longer knew. He hesitated, and a slow shivering made me tremble from head to toe.

At last he said, "You're young, Morgan. You're still gathering information. You don't need to make any life decisions tonight."

Gathering information? Chills ran up and down my spine. What did he mean by that? How much did he know?

I nodded slowly, unable to look into his eyes.

"What I would like you to do," he said, "to have, is a more complete understanding of what being Woodbane can mean—the joy, the power, the beauty of its purity, the ecstasy of its potential."

I looked up the, hazel eyes meeting hazel eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I would like to share something with you, my youngest daughter," he said. "You, who are so close to my heart and so far from my life. I sense in you something strong and pure and fearless, something powerful yet tender, and I want to show you what that could be. But I need your trust."

I was scared now and also unbelievably drown to what he was saying. There was a taste in my mouth, and I licked my lips, then realized it wasn't actually a taste so much as a longing: a longing for what Ciaran was talking about.

"I don't understand." The words came out in a near whisper. "Is this about—"

"I'm talking about shape-shifting," he said quietly. "Assuming another being's physical form in order to achieve an heightened awareness of one's own psyche."

Suddenly I realized where he was going with this. I tried not to gape. I had heard about witched shape-shifting before—in fact, I knew the members of Amyranth shape-shifter—but I understood that it was generally forbidden, considered dark magick. Of course, that wouldn't stop Ciaran.

"You're kidding, right?" I asked.

"No. Morgan, you have so much to learn about your own persona. You must trust me—there is not better way to know yourself than looking through another being's eyes."

"Shape-shifting? Like a hawk? Or a cat?" He couldn't be serious. Where was he going with this?

"Not necessarily a hawk or a cat," he explained. "No witch can change themselves or someone else into a being that does not resonate with the one to be changed. For example, if you feel an affinity for horses, want to know what it would feel like to race across the plains, then it's fairly easy to shift into that. But if you feel no affinity for the animal, have nothing of that creature in you, then it can't be done. Which is why witched don't usually shift into most reptile or fish."

Oh, Goddess, he seemed serious. I tried to stall. "Can all witches do this?"

"No. Not even very many. But I can, and I think you can, too." He looked deeply into my eyes until I felt that the two of us made up the entire universe. "What do I feel like to you?" he whispered. "What do you feel like?"

An image came to me, and animal. I hesitated to say it. It was the animal that had come to me in terrifying dreams in New York—the animal that represented Ciaran and all of his children, me included. I was so scared about what might happen right here, right now, that it was beyond comprehension. But if I couldn't understand it, then I couldn't really feel it. "A wolf," I said. "Both of us."

His smile was like the moon coming out from behind a bank of clouds. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes. Say there words, Morgan: Annial nath rac, aernan sil, loch mairn, loch hollen, sil beitha…"

Mindlessly, wondering if I were being spelled by Ciaran but no longer caring, I repeated the ancient, frightening words. Before my eyes Ciaran began to change, but it was hard to say how—were his teeth sharper, longer? His hands curling into claws? Did I see a new, feral wildness in his eyes?

His voice was growing softer and softer, and I cast my senses out to hear the words so I could repeat them. Then I heard something that wasn't a word. It was… a sound and a shape and a color and a sigil, all at once. It was impossible to describe. No. It was Ciaran's true name, the name of his essence. I don't know how I recognized it… it was instinctive. I had learned Ciaran's true name, I thought hazily. That meant…

In the next second I gasped and bent double, racked with a searing, unexpected pain. I stared down my hands. They were changing. I was changing. I was shape-shifting into a wolf. Oh, god, help me.

I cried out, but my voice was already not my own. I dropped to my hands and knees, feeling the soft loam beneath me, barely aware of Ciaran changing slipping out of his clothes, revealing a thick black-and-silver coat. His intelligent hazel eyes looked at me from a wolf's face. I tried to scream in horror and pain, but my voice was strangled and broken. My body was in a rack, being forced to bend and curl in unnatural ways, as if every bone was being stretched or compressed or twisted in some incomprehensible nightmare. Helplessly whimpering, I closed my eyes and fell on my side, unable to fight or resist this overwhelming process. When Ciaran nuzzled me, I reluctantly opened my eyes again, and when I got up I was on all fours. I was a wolf. My fur was thick and russet colored. I looked down and saw four straight, strong paws tipped with sharp, non-retractable claws. I looked at Ciaran and recognized him: he was absolutely himself, yet he was a wolf. I felt absolutely myself, but as I began to cautiously examine my internal process, I felt quite different. Foreign. Like a wolf instead of a person. It was as if my humanness was a rope hammock that had come undone in one end, and I was now watching it unravel. Soon it would be completely gone. I had two thoughts: How would I get back? And what of my mission?

I stepped closer to Ciaran, my four legs moving smoothly, precisely, with no effort. I felt hw strong I was, how powerful—my jaws felt heavy, my legs were roped with lean muscle, and I was breathing easily, although the change had been horribly stressful. Ciaran opened his mouth in a sinister, wolfy grin, as if to say, Isn't it great? I grinned back at him and was awash with a sudden ecstasy and exhilaration that I was experiencing this. Instinctively I stepped closer to Ciaran and nuzzled his neck, and he returned it.

Then I remembered. The watch sigil. The wolf in me wanted to be running, to be away, to be coursing through the dark night. The last vestige of a human Morgan remembered the watch sigil. I pressed my face against Ciaran's thick neck fur and breathed the words of the spell against him. In a quick, desperate move I traced the sigil against his neck with my wet canine nose.

Ciaran made no response, as if he hadn't noticed, hadn't felt it. I had no idea whether or not it would «stick» since he was a changed being. Then Ciaran nudged me with his head and, turning, bounded off into the night. Feeling fiercely happy, all thoughts of Morgans and missions and spells gone, I leapt after him. My muscles contracted and expanded effortlessly; it was easy to catch up with him, and we loped along side by side as a million new sensations flooded my animal brain. With my magesight I could always see well in the dark, but now it was as if things were highlighted and outlined for me with infrared. With each indrawn breath a world of scent, flavors borne on the breeze, added an incredibly powerful, exciting beyond description.

When Ciaran looked back, I opened my mouth and showed him my pointy teeth. He had given me the gift of a lifetime, I knew. We ran for miles through the woods, leaving the cemetery behind, following scents, feeling the crisp air ruffling through our fur. I ran happily in Ciaran's paw prints, trying to soak up as much of this sensation as possible. I didn't know if it would ever happen again, and I wanted to relish every second.

I hadn't even begun to tire when Ciaran cantered to a halt and sniffed the air. Eagerly I stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and lifted my head. My eyes widened, and I looked at him, seeing the knowledge in his eyes. I smelled it too. Prey.