The inside of the barn was dark. Angus and I stood in the middle of the building, hearing running footsteps around the outside. I was muttering spells under my breath, spells I hadn’t used in two years. My magick felt dull, blunted, an unhoned blade no longer useful. Beside me I felt Angus’s fear, his hopelessness. Why are you wasting energy on feelings? I wanted to scream.
My eyes adjusted to the blackness inside the barn.The scents of old hay, animals from long ago, ancient leather filled my nose, and I wanted to sneeze. Still I chanted, drawing power to me:
“An di allaigh an di aigh . . .”
I reached out with my senses, probing, but they recoiled on me. It was as if we were trapped in a cage made of crystal—a cage that reflected our power back at us rather than letting it out to do its work.
The first sharp scent of smoke came to me. Angus gripped my hand tightly, and I shook him off, feeling sudden anger at the way he’d loved me all these years—years when he’d known that I didn’t love him. Why hadn’t he demanded more from me? Why hadn’t he left me? Then maybe he wouldn’t be here now, dying with me.
Smoke. I heard the hungry crackling of the fire as it lapped the base of the barn, as it whipped down the sides, hurrying to meet itself, to make a full circle of flames. The barn was old, dry, the wood half rotted: perfect kindling. Ciaran had known.
“Our child.” Angus’s voice was full of pain.
“She’s safe,” I said, feeling guilt weighing on me, further weakening my powers. “She will always be safe.” The small windows, high on the barn walls, glowed pinkly, and I knew it was from fire, not from dawn. No one would find us. Ciaran’s magick would make sure of that. No one would call the fire department until it was much too late. Already the building was filling with smoke, hovering by the ceiling, swirling on itself, thickening.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could find a way out. I still had my power, rusty though it might be.
“An di allaigh an di aigh . . . ,”
I began once again.
But at my words, the cage of magick around us seemed to tighten, to contract, glittering as it pressed in on us. I coughed and inhaled smoke. And then I knew there was no hope.
It had come to this. Ciaran was going to be my death. He had shown me what love was, what it could be, and now he would show me my death. I felt sharp regret that Angus would die here, too. I tried to console myself with the fact that it had been his choice. He had always chosen to be with me.
I wondered what Ciaran was doing outside: if he was still watching, making sure we didn’t escape; if he was weaving magick all around us, spells of death and binding, panic and fear. I felt panic’s claws scraping at my mind, but I refused to let it in. I tried to keep calm, to call power to me. I thought about my baby, my beautiful baby, with her fine, fuzzy infant hair the color of my mother’s. Her tilted, brown eyes, so like her father’s.The most perfect baby ever born, with a thousand years of Belwicket magick in her veins, in her blood.
She would be safe from this kind of danger. Safe from her heritage. I had made sure of that.
It was hard to breathe, and I dropped to my knees. Angus was coughing, trying to breathe through his shirt, pulled up to cover his nose and mouth. I had mended that shirt this morning, sewed on a button.
Ciaran. Even here, now, I couldn’t help remembering how he’d made me feel when we’d first met. It had been so clear we were meant to be together. So clear that we were
mùirn beatha dàns
. But he was married to another and a father. And I chose Angus. Poor Angus. Then Ciaran chose the darkness, over me.
I felt light-headed. Sweat was beading on my forehead, in my hair; soot was stinging my eyes. Angus was coughing nonstop. I took his hand as I sank into the fine dust on the barn floor, feeling the heat pressing in from all sides. I no longer chanted. It was no use. Ciaran had always been stronger than I—he had gone through the Great Trial.
I had never had a chance.
14
Bait
November 1981
I’m pregnant. It’s a bizarre physiological experience, like
being taken over by an alien that I can’t control. Every cell in
my body is changing. It’s thrilling and terrifying: much like being part of Amyranth.
Daniel, of course, is furious. These past six months he’s
always furious with me, so there’s nothing new there. We’d agreed not to have children because our marriage has seemed so rocky. By myself, I decided I wanted to have part of Daniel always, wanted to have something permanent that was partly me and partly him. So I used magick to override his conception block. It was easy.
So Daniel’s thrown a fit and hightailed it back to
England. I’ve settled in San Francisco because of the strong
Amyranth presence here. What is it about England that pulls him back so strongly? This is the third time in three months that he’s gone back. For me, my home is where Amyranth is. Daniel’s sentimental loyalty seems naive and
misplaced.
He’ll be back soon. He always comes back. And the mirror shows me that pregnant, I am more beautiful than ever. When he sees me glowing, carrying our child, it will be a new start for us. I can feel it.
—SB
When I opened my eyes, tears were streaming down my face. Hunter was watching me, looking calm and alert. He reached toward me and brushed some tears away with his hand.
“Did you see any of that?” I asked, my throat tight and full of pain.
“Some,” he said, helping me stand. We were both chilled through, and I wanted to be gone from this place, far away from these feelings. I looked down at the broken foundations and could still smell the ancient ash, the charred boards. I could hear the snap of the windows as they broke one by one from the heat. The smell of skin and hair, burning. They had been dead by then.
“The images I got were confused,” said Hunter. He pulled me to him as we walked back to the car, and by the time I had changed out of my robe and was sitting in the passenger seat, I was crying hard, my hands over my face. Hunter hugged me, his arms around me, his hands stroking my hair.
“It was Ciaran,” I finally got out. “The love of my mother’s life. He killed her and Angus.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said, frustrated. “Because he couldn’t have her? Because she rejected him when she found out he was married? Because she chose Angus? I don’t know.”
I rested my head against Hunter’s chest, feeling how lean and hard he was through his coat. I knew that he understood pain because of what had happened to his parents. Maybe someday, I’d be able to help Hunter as he was helping me now. Suddenly his fingers stilled against my back and tension entered his body. I raised my head and closed my eyes.
“Selene,” I whispered, already throwing up the magick blocks I had learned from Alyce. I quickly erected wall after wall around me, sealing my mind off from outside influences, surrounding myself and Hunter with ward-evil spells, protection spells, spells of concealment and strength. It took only instants, and I felt Selene’s increased pressure as she tried to get through, tried to get into my mind. My hand gripped Hunter’s, and our powers joined—I felt his strength shoring up mine and was grateful.
Just like that, it was over. I no longer felt any other presence. Slowly Hunter and I let each other go, and I felt a pang of regret at losing that particular closeness.
“She wants you badly,” Hunter said grimly, sitting back in his seat. “That’s the second time she’s tried to get into your mind. She must be closer than I thought. Dammit! We’ve searched everywhere for her—I scry every day. But I haven’t been able to pick up on anything.” He thought for a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m calling in help from the council.” He started the car and turned on the heater.
“Will they really be able to help?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself. I felt overwhelmed, sad, and weary.
“I hope so,” Hunter answered me. “Selene is working up to something, and it’s going to happen soon. I feel it.” He glanced over at me and put his hand on my leg. I was starting to thaw but still felt nauseated. I hoped I wouldn’t have to ask Hunter to pull over so I could barf.
“Recline your seat,” he suggested as I sipped the rest of my Diet Coke. “Are you sure you should be drinking that? We could stop and get a nice cup of tea somewhere.”
“Coke settles your stomach,” I said. “Everyone knows that.” I put the can in the cup holder, then pulled the lever that reclined my seat.
“Better?” Hunter asked.
“Um,” I said. My eyes felt heavy, and I let myself sink into a lovely lack of consciousness where there was no pain. The next thing I knew the car had stopped and Hunter was gently rubbing my shoulder.
“Home again, home again, jiggity jig,” he said.
We were parked in front of my house. Through my window I saw that the day had turned ugly, with dark, heavy clouds rolling in from the West. It looked like snow was on the way. My watch said it was four o’clock.
I reached for the handle to straighten my seat but was caught by the expression in Hunter’s eyes. All at once he seemed like the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I smiled at him. His eyes flared slightly, and he leaned down. I curled my arms around his neck and held him to me as our mouths met. Eagerly I kissed him, wanting to join with him, wanting to show him how I felt about him, how much I appreciated him. His breathing quickened as he held me closer, and it was thrilling to know how much he wanted me, too.
Slowly he pulled back, and our breathing gradually returned to normal.
“We need to talk about what you saw,” he said quietly, stroking one finger along my jaw.
I nodded. “Maybe you could come in for a while? We could hang out in the den. My mom will more or less leave us alone in there.”
He grinned at me, and we walked up to my front door. Before I could unlock it, it opened, and my mom looked at me kind of wild-eyed.
“Morgan! Thank goodness you’re home! Do you know where Mary K. is? Is she with you?” She looked past me as if expecting to see my sister walking up the driveway.
“No,” I answered, feeling a jolt of alarm. “I saw her this morning. She said she was going to Jaycee’s.”
“They haven’t seen her all day,” my mom said, the lines around her mouth deepening. “I came home early, and there was a message from Jaycee asking why Mary K. had stood her up.”
Mom stepped aside and motioned us to come in. I was thinking about possibilities, my brain firing fast, battling the weariness I’d had since Sunday.
“Did she leave a note? What does her room look like?” I asked.
“No note anywhere, and her room is fine, like she just left,” said my mom. “Her bicycle is here.” Her voice sounded strained. I knew what she was thinking: Bakker.
“Let me call Bakker’s house,” I said, shrugging out of my coat. I headed for the kitchen, looked up Bakker’s number, and dialed it. Maybe his family would know where he had gone. Maybe Mary K., showing incredibly poor judgment, had gone over there to watch TV or something.
His mother answered, and I asked to speak to Bakker. To my relief, he was home, and soon said a cautious, “Hello?”
“Bakker, it’s Morgan Rowlands,” I said briskly. “Where’s Mary K.?”
“Huh?” he said, instantly defensive. “How would I know?”
“Look, is she there? Just let me talk to her.”
“Are you kidding? Thanks to you, she’ll never speak to me again. I haven’t seen her since school let out.”
“It’s
your
fault she won’t speak to you,” I said scathingly. “If I find out she’s there and you’re lying to me—”
“She’s not here. Go screw yourself.” Click.
I looked up to see Mom and Hunter watching me. “Apparently she’s not with Bakker,” I said. I tapped my finger against my lips, thinking. Mary K. had been so different lately. She’d been going to church so often, praying and reading the Bible. I felt a pang of guilt, thinking of all the times I’d tried to talk to her but hadn’t pushed her to open up to me. She might be in real trouble now, and maybe I could have prevented it.
“Maybe she just went shopping or something,” I said, not believing it. “Or maybe she went to an afternoon service at church. But why would she stand up Jaycee?”
“She wouldn’t,” said Mom, and I felt her tension, felt how close she was to panicking. “She would never do that. You know how conscientious she is.”
I looked at Hunter and saw that he was thinking the same thing I was: that we should scry to find Mary K., and that we couldn’t do it in front of my mom.
“Okay,” I said, reaching for my coat. “Tell you what. Hunter and I will go and look at the coffee shop and church, maybe Darcy’s house, and some of the shops downtown. We’ll call you in an hour with an update, but I’m sure we’ll find her. She probably just forgot to leave a note. I’m sure she’s okay, and there’s a simple explanation.”
“Okay,” my mom said after a moment. “I’m probably overreacting. It’s just so unlike her to take off like this.” She bit her lip. “I already called Dad. He’s on his way home. He said he’d take a look around the Taunton mall, see if she’s there.”
“It’ll be okay. We’ll call you.” Hunter and I went out the front door and started down the walk toward his car. I felt like I’d been in that car all day and didn’t want to get back in it. Just as we reached the sidewalk, our next-door neighbor, Mrs. DiNapoli, walked over from her house.
“Hi, Morgan,” she said, drawing her coat around her. “Is your mother home?” She smiled and held out a glass measuring cup. “I need to borrow—”
“Sugar?” I asked.
“Flour,” she said. “Harry’s aunt and uncle are coming to dinner, and I’m making a roux. Do you think your folks have any flour?”