The Calling (12 page)

The bear murmured an incantation, and I realized the power-draining ritual was beginning. The others picked up the incantation, turning it into a low, insistent chant. They moved widdershins. The air felt cruel and thick with danger. This was a Wiccan circle of destruction.

And Ciaran was leading it. I couldn't see his face beneath the wolf mask, but I could hear his voice, familiar yet terrifying. Just like the vision. Goddess.

I could feel Amyranth's dark magick flowing around the circle. It crackled like lightning. The air was charged with it. Slowly the strength of their power intensified. I felt an unbearable pressure along every inch of my body. Amyranth was calling up a ravenous darkness.

Irrelevantly, it hit me that Cal had never had a funeral. The council had taken his and Selene's bodies. As far as everyone in Widow's Vale was concerned, Cal and Selene had simply vanished from the earth.

Or maybe it wasn't so irrelevant. That was what was going to happen to me. My family would never know the truth about my disappearance, and it would always torment them.

The circle stopped moving. A thick, black mist clung to its members. “We give thanks,” Ciaran said, “for delivering to us a sacrifice whose powers will make us that much stronger.”

“How much power does she have?” asked the owl.

Ciaran shrugged. “See for yourself.”

The owl held a hand over my stomach. Fine silver needles of light dropped from it. For a second they hovered inches above me, then began to glow red. The owl murmured a syllable, and the burning needles dropped down. I couldn't hold back a scream as they seemed to pierce my skin. Dozens of sharp embers sank into my belly, my arms, my legs. Involuntarily my back arched, and I pulled against the spelled ropes.

“Stop it!” I cried. “Please, stop it!”

“Be quiet!” the owl said harshly.

And then the fiery torture intensified, burned deeper into my body. I imagined my heart shriveling into a blackened lump, my bones crisping. I was wild with pain.

I can't take this, I thought frantically. I'm going to lose my mind.

“That's enough,” Ciaran ordered. “You've seen what's in her.”

“Strong, very strong. She'll serve well,” the owl agreed.

As suddenly as it had started, the pain was gone. I sobbed in relief and hated myself for that weakness.

The wail of a siren came faintly from outside, and a flash of red light shone through the black drapes. The vision again. Oh God, every detail was coming true. I had seen the future. Now I was living it. Amyranth was going to steal my powers, leave me drained, hollowed out—without magick, without a soul, without life.

Ciaran began another chant. One by one the others joined their voices to his. Again the dark energy began to move, gaining power as it traveled through Amyranth's circle. I lay there helpless on the stone table, every muscle in my body clenched tight against the next horrible assault.

I thought of Maeve, my mother, murdered. I thought of Mackenna, my grandmother, killed when the dark wave destroyed Ballynigel. My family had suffered for their magick. Maybe no more was being asked of me than had been asked of them. I had the Riordan strength flowing through my veins. I had ancestral memories and a legacy of incredible power. Surely that meant I had their courage as well.

Give it to us
. I felt the darkness clawing at me, trying to find its way into my very marrow.

Amyranth continued the chant. The dark energy shifted, no longer crackling around the circle. Now it hovered over the table, wreathing my body with sparking purple-black light.

Give it to us
.

The purple-black light licked at my skin the way flames lick at dry wood. There was no pain, but I felt a crushing weight in my mind, against my chest, in my belly. I gasped for breath and could find none. But I could not let them get my power. Desperately, silently, I sang my summon-power chant.

The words that I knew from ancestral memory were suddenly gone from me.
An di ullah be…
I got no further. The chant had been wiped from my mind.

No! I wanted to scream, to sob, but I had no breath. Don't take it! No! Grief consumed me—grief for the magick that was being taken from me. Grief for this precious life that I was about to lose. Grief for Hunter, whom I would never see again.

Ciaran held out a silver athame. A ruby glowed dully on its hilt. He pointed the athame at me, and the dark power coagulated into a spear of searing light.

“You will give us your power,” he said.

No, no, no! I was no longer capable of coherent thought. Just—no!

The chanting broke off abruptly at a sound on the other side of the door. A muffled disturbance, a struggle…someone using magick against Amyranth's spells.

Hunter! I felt Hunter's presence, his love, his desperate fear for me. And it terrified me more than anything. Was I strong enough still to send a witch message? Hunter, go back, I pleaded. Don't come in here. You can't save me.

The doorknob turned with a click, and Hunter stepped into the room, his eyes wild. He glanced at me quickly as if to reassure himself that I was alive, then turned to Ciaran.

“Let her go,” Hunter commanded. His voice shook.

The jackal and the wolf raised their hands, as if to attack Hunter with witch light. Ciaran stopped them.

“No!” he said. “This one is mine. At least for now.” He turned back to Hunter, an expression of mild amazement on his face. “The council must be in bad shape, sending a boy to do a Seeker's work. Did they really lead you to believe you could take me on?”

Hunter's hand shot out, and a ball of witch light zoomed toward Ciaran. Ciaran drew a sigil in the air, and the light reversed course and blazed back at Hunter.

Hunter ducked, his face pale, eyes glittering. When he stood again, he looked taller, broader than he had only a moment before. A new aura of power glowed around him. He emanated both youthful strength and ancient authority.

The council. Sky had once told me that when Hunter acted as a Seeker, he had access to the extraordinary powers of the council. It was a dangerous weapon to call on, taxing to the Seeker, reserved only for emergencies. Like this one.

Hunter stepped forward. The silver chains of the
braigh
glimmered in his hands. He intended to bind Ciaran, to bind his magick. But I could sense no fear in Ciaran at all.

“Hunter, don't!” I croaked. “He'll kill you!”

“This is getting tiresome,” Ciaran said. He muttered a few syllables, and the
braigh
suddenly dropped from Hunter's hand. I saw him bite back a scream.

Desperately I summoned the source of all my magick. “Maeve and Mackenna of Belwicket,” I whispered, “I call on your power. Help me now!”

Nothing happened. No awakening of magick. Nothing. I was sick with disbelief. My mother's and grandmother's magick had failed me.

Ciaran said, “Bind him,” and the other members of the coven surrounded Hunter and enclosed him in binding spells. The jackal gave Hunter a savage kick. He went down with a groan.

“Stop it!” I cried. My voice came out as little more than a whisper.

“I'm sorry, Morgan,” Hunter said, and the grief in his voice broke my heart. “I've failed you.”

“No, you haven't. It's all right, love,” I said, trying to comfort him. I couldn't say more. Total, soul-destroying despair overtook me. It was I who had failed him. Hunter and I were both lost now, and all because of my fatal arrogance. Neither one of us was going to get out alive. I'd signed my own death warrant and Hunter's as well.

“Put him somewhere safe,” Ciaran ordered. “We'll take care of him later.”

The jackal and the weasel dragged Hunter out of the room. A few moments later they returned. The bear picked up the chant again. The ritual was resuming. I didn't care.

The animals circled widdershins. The circle suddenly stopped moving and parted. And Ciaran in his wolf mask stepped to the head of the table. He placed a deliberate hand on either side of my forehead.

“No!” I screamed. I knew what was going to happen. He was going to force
tàth meànma
on me. Even if I hadn't been drugged and weak, I doubted I would have stood a chance against Ciaran. He was the strongest witch I'd ever known. He'd have access to my every memory, thought, and dream. There was nothing I could hide from him.

I tried to sink into the haze that was clouding my mind. I tried to have no thought. I felt Ciaran's power streaming through his hands into me. For a heartbeat I fought him, and then I was hallucinating, reliving my life in flashes from the moment of my birth. Watching and feeling image after image as they flared in bright, almost unnatural colors.

The rush of air, light, and sound as I came through the darkness of the birth canal.

Angus, with his fair hair and bright blue eyes, touching my arm, tentative and sweet.

A day later. Maeve cradling me, gazing into my face with tears running down her cheeks. Saying, “You have your father's eyes.”

“Bloody hell!” It was Ciaran swearing.

He broke the connection, and my vision clouded over. Another spell to obscure something they didn't want me to see. I heard footsteps and the sound of a door closing.

The air in the room had changed. Ciaran was gone. And so was Hunter.

With Ciaran gone from the room, the owl took over. “The rites must continue,” she said.

They started their chanting again. I felt the dark energy building, the summoning of the purple-black light that would take my magick from me. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was completely outmatched.

I thought about Hunter. How much I loved him. How he was about to lose his life for me. How he was my
mùirn beatha dàn
and I'd known it all along but had never let myself embrace that truth. And I'd had the nerve to criticize Bree.

A world of regret rose up inside me. Regret for everything I'd done wrong.

I'd never told my parents how much I appreciated them. They'd given me a wonderful home and all their love, and when I'd found out I was adopted, all of that had seemed insignificant. Because of me, Mary K. had been kidnapped. Because of me, Cal was dead. He'd given his life for me and I'd wasted it completely.

Because of me, Hunter was going to die. That was the hardest thing of all.

My mind was spinning. I'd been alive only a little over seventeen years. How had I managed to make such a complete disaster of everything? The purple-black light crackled around me, and I thought, Take my power. Take my life. You're welcome to it.

Well, I'll drink a toast to you, Maeve Riordan. You pulled one over on me from beyond the grave. You were so young and beautiful when you died. I daresay you wouldn't find me attractive now. My own reflection stares back at me from this silver goblet, distorted, gruesome. How did I ever get such a beauty to love me, even for a night? Look at my eyes, two dark muddy slashes unlike anyone else's…except this girl's.

What do you think, Maeve? You know me better than most, so answer the question that looms before me: Can I now destroy our daughter?

The purple-black light surrounded the inner circle, holding me fast. The masked Amyranth witches stood in a circle around me, murmuring their chant.

I couldn't even control my own muscles. I tried to cast my senses to see just how much my tormentors were enjoying the show. But by now I was too weak even to do that.

The cougar held up a hand, and with a dull horror I saw that a cat's curved claws were growing from human fingertips. He muttered an incantation. The purple-black light crackled loudly and shot through my chest. I felt it wrap around my heart, squeezing mercilessly.

The magick was ebbing out of me. I felt it leaving. I didn't want to give in to Amyranth, to Ciaran's coven. I didn't want to let go of my magick. But I was so very tired of fighting. I felt the last bit of my resistance float away, and I followed it.

“Morgan, come back!” It was Hunter's voice. A hallucination, I told myself, and slipped back into the fog.

“No! I won't let you go. Not like this.”

I forced my eyes open. Hunter stood in the doorway. A new aura of power seemed to flicker around him, his own sapphire light tinged with a purplish glow I'd never seen before.

Was he really there? How had he gotten away from Ciaran? Where was Ciaran? I couldn't imagine that Hunter had single-handedly overcome such evil. It had to be a dream.

“Seeker.” The viper advanced on him.

Not a dream. My heart leaped wildly in my chest.

The weasel hurled a ball of blue witch light at Hunter. It found its target, and Hunter gasped in pain.

I struggled to pull myself out of the deadening fog. Hunter. I had to help him. Mentally I began my draw-power chant again.
An di allaigh…

Power stirred inside me, faint as a hummingbird's heartbeat. But there.

In my mind I sang the chant again and again until I felt a thin, steady stream of magick pouring into me. And then I sent it all to Hunter.
Help him,
I charged it.
Make him stronger. Heal his wounds.

Hunter blocked a blow from the jackal, then turned and shot me a quick look of gratitude. I love you, Hunter, I thought. You've got to survive this.

Then Hunter chanted a spell in a language I didn't recognize. The fine garnet inlays on the table began to shudder. I watched wide-eyed as their forms rose into the air, glowing with the bloodred light of the gems. They were sigils, I realized. Hunter was calling them up.

The masked witches moved away from him, and I felt their terror. “Impossible,” one murmured. “There's no way a Seeker could know how to use those sigils.”

How did he do it? I wondered with distant amazement. Could the council really make him that much stronger? He seemed practically invincible.

The witch in the bear mask charged Hunter, but the witch never made it. He let out a sickening scream as he hit one of the glowing red sigils. He crashed to the floor, where the sigil ate at him the way fire ants devour a body.

And then Hunter was at my side, his athame out, its blade slicing through the spelled ropes that bound me. I felt him lift me from the table, murmur, “Thank God you're still alive.”

“Hunter, no,” I whispered. “Save yourself.”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “It's all right.”

But the fog was washing over me, drawing me under again. And this time I let it take me.

Time had passed, I don't know how much. There was only Hunter and me, and we were on the sidewalk. He set me on my feet gently. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, though I was still terribly weak. Then Hunter was pulling me away from the house.

We got as far as the Museum of Natural History, where we both collapsed on the steps. It was dark and cold, and our breath came out in little clouds of vapor.

“Are you all right?” Hunter asked.

“I think so. My power…they didn't take it.”

“No,” he said softly. “You fought off an entire coven of Woodbanes. Thank the Goddess. I was nearly out of my mind with fright for you.”

That was when I started to cry, great, gulping sobs that felt like they'd never stop.

Hunter folded me into his arms and held me. For a long time I stayed there in the shelter of his arms, crying until I had no more tears. Even after I stopped crying, I stayed there, listening to the steady sound of his heart, thinking it incredibly precious.

“I must be a mess,” I said, finally breaking away to blow my nose. That's when I noticed Hunter's face was as tear-streaked as mine. “Hunter?” I asked uncertainly. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I'd better send a message to Sky, let everyone know we're all right.” He concentrated for a moment, and I knew the message was being sent. “Here,” he said then, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders.

“How did you find me?” I asked. “I called you, but I got no answer. Ciaran was blocking my messages.” I shuddered.

“I finally found Ciaran's ex-lover, and she told me where the coven was,” Hunter explained.

“What happened to the Amyranth witches?” I asked.

“Still in the house. Recovering, I imagine. I hit them pretty hard, but I don't think I did much permanent damage,” Hunter said. “I was more concerned with getting you out alive.”

“But they're still there.”

“Yes. I've sent a message to the council, but I doubt they'll get there before Amyranth clears out of that house. They'll surface again, though,” he added grimly.

A kid came up to us, clutching a fistful of individually wrapped roses. “Hey, mister, want to buy a flower for the lady?” he asked.

Hunter stood up. “Yes, God, yes, I ought to buy her an entire bouquet, but”—he reached into his pocket and pulled out his billfold—“I'll take one. Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” the boy said, his face lighting up as he realized Hunter had given him a twenty.

“That was generous,” I said as the boy ran off and Hunter dropped down beside me again.

He shrugged. “I'm feeling generous and grateful—and phenomenally sorry. So much more than sorry.” He handed me the flower. “Morgan, I don't know how to apologize.”

“For what? You don't have anything to apologize for,” I protested. “I'm the one who charged in there like the Mounties to the rescue.”

He gave me that stern Hunter look. “You did, and remind me to give you a hard time for it someday, but the truth is—this was all my fault.”

I snuggled closer. “How do you figure that?”

“Isn't it obvious? I should have realized Amyranth wanted you.”

“Stop blaming yourself,” I told him. I ran my hand along his smooth cheek. He was so dear to me. “It was the council who got it totally wrong. How could they have thought the target was Ciaran's child?”

Hunter didn't say anything.

“I guess I shouldn't blame them,” I added grudgingly. “I mean, I did see myself as a wolf cub in the dream. But obviously that didn't mean what we all assumed it meant.”

Hunter gazed at me with an expression of pity and grief. “Oh, Morgan,” he said. “I thought you already knew.”

“Knew what?” Sudden, nameless dread lodged somewhere below my heart, a dark, cold mass.

“The dream meant exactly what we thought. The council didn't get it wrong. The target was Ciaran's child.”

“But Killian was never their captive and—”

“Never mind Killian. There's one thing none of us knew,” he interrupted, his voice gentle. “Not even Ciaran—until he did
tàth meànma
on you. He saw Maeve holding you as an infant—and he heard what she said about your eyes. Morgan, Angus had blue eyes. Yours are brown…like your father's.”

“No.” I started to shake again as I understood what he was saying. “That can't be. It's impossible. I won't believe—”

Hunter put one hand on the side of my face. “Morgan, you
are
Ciaran's child.”