In Milan now. A close escape. It was my scrying. I think, that alerted the evil to our presence in Bordeaux.
First I sought our children and found then, as I had prayed they would be, safe with Beck. Then I asked my quartz to help me see our coven, and I saw. Oh, Goddess.
I saw the utter devastation of our town, the swathe of burnt houses, charred cars, blackened tree trunks whose branches seemed to claw at the sky in their agony. . Nothing, it seemed, was spared. Nothing except our house. It stood there, the mellow brick darkened by a pall of ask but otherwise untouched.
Then, from our bedroom, I heard Fiona screaming. I ran in and found her sitting upright in bed, her eyes wild. “It's coming.” she cried. “It's found us. We have to go!”
She's calling me. More later.
— Maghach
My dad was in the kitchen when I came down the next morning, wearing his usual winter outfit of khakis, button-down shirt, and knit vest. He was peeling potatoes for dinner, then dropping them into a bowl of ice water. My dad has a thing about preparing far in advance.
"Your cat would like you to feed him," my dad greeted me.
Sure enough, Dagda was sitting on the floor next to his bowl, looking up with a hopeful expression. He wound himself around my ankles, arching his little back against my hand. I bent and picked up the dish.
"How was the party?" my dad asked as I spooned canned food into Dagda's bowl.
"Okay," I replied. Disturbing, I added silently. I went to the fridge and scanned for food.
"Morgan, don't just stand there with the door open," he admonished me.
"Sorry," I said. I grabbed a box of waffles and shut the fridge. As I crossed to the toaster, I noticed the local newspaper on one of the kitchen chairs. It was open to the business section, which my father reads religiously.
"Dad," I said, "have you ever heard of a guy named Stuart Afton?"
"You mean the cement-and-gravel tycoon?" Dad asked.
"He's a tycoon?"
Dad paused. "Maybe not exactly. But he is a big player in the local building supplies industry. I've heard he's kind of ruthless, like a strong-arm guy."
"Hmmm." I had to admit that Afton didn't sound like the kind of person to forgive a debt. No, I told myself, rummaging for syrup, people can surprise you. Maybe Afton is tough on the outside but a softie on the inside. I pushed aside the thought that came after that: that David could also surprise me and that Hunter could be right.
Get your mind off it, I ordered myself. "Where are Mom and Mary K.?" I asked Dad.
"They went to church early to help with the Christmas clothing drive." He wiped his hand on a dish towel. "We're meeting them there for mass."
I brought my waffle over to the table and fiddled with my fork. "Um, I have a lot of studying to do," I said at last. "Is it all right if I skip church?"
Behind his tortoiseshell glasses, Dad's eyes were troubled. "I suppose so," he said after a moment.
“Thanks." I put a big bite of waffle into my mouth so I didn't have to say anything else. Since discovering Wicca, my relationship to Catholicism was changing, like everything else in my life. Though I still found the services beautiful, they didn't speak to me in the way they once had. I was pleased, though, that my parents were at a point where they accepted my ambivalence, despite the worry it caused them.
I spent most of the rest of the day tucked away in my room, studying the books Hunter had lent me. I copied spells and lessons into my Book of Shadows and even, feeling a little silly, made myself a set of rune flash cards. I wasn't going to leave Hunter any room to reprimand me for being lax in my studies.
As if he'd heard me thinking, Hunter called to suggest that I come over Tuesday afternoon for some more lessons. I couldn't think of a legitimate excuse, so I agreed.
That night I had trouble sleeping again. I was troubled by Hunter's suggestion that dark magick had anything to do with Stuart Alton's change of heart regarding Practical Magick. I couldn't believe that David would be involved in anything like that. How would I know for sure? it wasn't as if I could just go up to him and ask him.
I could scry, I realized. Maybe I'd find the proof I needed for Hunter to back off on this crazy idea. I hated that he could make me suspicious of my friends.
I peered out into the hallway. The light in my parents' room was out and so was Mary K.'s. Quietly I took the candle from the altar in my closet, set it on my desk, and lit it.
I stared into the flame, burning bright yellow with streaks of orange and blue. It seemed so insignificant one breath could annihilate it. When I'd scryed before, I'd done it with a full, blazing fire, but in theory there was no reason why a candle shouldn't work just as well. Fire was fire, wasn't it? And right now the thought of any fire greater than this one made me shudder.
I closed my eyes and began to clear my mind. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. I was aware of my pulse slowing, my muscles relaxing, the tiny fibers smoothing themselves into shining ribbons.
Fire, help me to see the truth. I am ready to see what you know, I thought and opened my eyes.
The small flame of the candle had blazed up into a molten, white-hot teardrop. From its brilliant center, a face gazed back at me: a familiar nose and mouth, smooth skin, dark, thick hair, and golden eyes. That isn't David, I thought stupidly.
I stared, frozen, as Cal's image floated before me. His lips moved, and then I heard his voice.
"Morgan, I'm sorry. I love you. I'll love you forever. We're soul mates."
"No," I breathed, feeling my heart implode. It wasn't true. We weren't destined to be together. I knew that now.
"Morgan, forgive me. I love you. Please, Morgan. ."
The last word was a whisper, and I struck out blindly with my hand and brought it down on the candle flame. There was a hiss and a faint, charring smell. And I was alone in the darkness.
12. Ugly
July, 1991
I thought Fiona was delirious from the fever, but her terror was so intense that I ended up bundling her up and putting her into Leandre's car. I chose a direction at random: east. We had driven for less than an hour when Fiona let out a cry. “Leandre!” She grasped my arm. “I can feel him dying.”
I pulled up at the first little village bistro I could find and rushed in to phone Leandre, but I couldn't get though. Not until late that night did we find out that his farm had been consumed by a mysterious wildfire. He and all his family had been trapped in their house.
“It was the dark wave.” Fiona whispered, shuddering. “It's hunting for us.”
Without discussing it, we got back into the car and continued east, fleeting across France. As I drove though the clear summer night, I kept remembering something Selene had said shortly before I left her the first time. She'd come back from a meeting with her Woodbane friends, the ones I feared, and once again she'd been in an oddly frenetic state, as if she had so much energy within her that she must keep moving or catch fire. I asked her what they'd done. “Watched the wave,” she said with a strange, sharp laugh. Of course, I though she meant waves: we lived on the Pacific coast. But now, as I drove, I wondered if she'd meant something else altogether.
Did Selene have something to do with sending the dark wave? Is she taking her revenge at last?
— Maghach
I don't know how long I sat there, shaking, too shocked even to cry. Goddess, help me, I thought desperately.
Cal. Oh, Cal. Tears began to rain down my cheeks, scalding and salty. I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked back and forth, keening quietly, trying to smother the sound. My palm throbbed where I'd crushed the candle flame, and as I sat there, the pain seemed to spread until my whole body was one pulsing, raw wound.