Cal, I need you, I need you, don't listen to me.
Now I was under the kitchen table. "I have to go," I forced out. "I'll call you later." I was shaking, cold, flooded with so much adrenaline that I could hardly think.
"Morgan! Wait!" said Cal. "These people—"
"Love you," I whispered. "Bye." My trembling thumb clicked the off button, and the phone disconnected. I waited a second and hit talk, then put the phone on the floor. If anyone tried to call now, they'd get a busy signal.
"Oh my God," I muttered, huddled under the table. "What's wrong with me?" I crouched there for a moment, feeling like a freak. Trying to concentrate, I slowly took several deep breaths. For a minute I stayed there, just breathing.
Slowly I began to feel better. I crawled out from under the table, my knees covered with crumbs. Dagda gazed owlishly down at me from his perch on the counter.
"Please do not tell anyone about this," I said to him, standing up. By now I felt almost back to normal physically, though still panicky. Once more I glanced around, saw nothing different, wondered if Sky was putting a spell on me, if someone was doing something.
"Dagda," I said shakily, stroking his ears, "your mother is losing her mind." The next thing I knew, I was putting on my coat, grabbing my car keys, and heading outside. I ran.
CHAPTER 11
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I've been studying formally since I was four. I was initiated at fourteen. I've taken part in some of the most powerful, dangerous, ancient rites there are. Yet it's very difficult for me to kindle fire with my mind. But Morgan…
Mom wants her desperately. (So do I, but for slightly different reasons.) We're ready for her. Our people have been gathering for weeks now. Edwitha of Cair Dal is staying nearby. Thomas from Belting. Alicia Woodwind from Tarth Benga. It's a Woodbane convention, and the house is so full of vibrations and rivulets of magick that it's hard to sleep at night. I've never felt anything like this before. It's incredible.
The war machine is starting to churn. And my Morgan will be the flamethrower.
— Sgath
Outside of Practical Magick, I parked Das Boot and climbed out, not seeing the Closed sign until I was pushing on the door. Closed! Of course—it was the day after Thanksgiving. Lots of I stores were closed. Hot tears sprang to my eyes, and I furiously I blinked them back. In childish anger I kicked the front door. "Ow!" I gasped as pain shot through my toes.
Dammit. Where could I go? I felt weird; I needed to be around people. For a moment I considered going to Cal's, but another strange rush of fear and nausea swept over me, and gasping, I leaned my head against Practical Magick's door.
A muffled sound from within made me peer inside the store. It was dark, but I saw a dim light on in the back, and then the shadow moving toward me metamorphosed into David, jingling his keys. I almost cried with relief.
David opened the front door and let me in. He locked the door behind me, and we stood for a moment, looking at each other in the dimness.
"I feel odd," I whispered earnestly, as if this would explain my presence.
David regarded me intently, then began to lead me to the small room behind the orange curtain. "I'm glad to see you," he said. "Let me get you a cup of tea."
Tea sounded fabulous, and I was so, so glad I was there. I felt safe, secure.
David pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the back room. I followed him, saying, "Thanks for let —"
Hunter Niall was sitting there, at the small round table.
I screamed and clapped my hands over my mouth, feeling like my eyes were going to pop out of my head.
He looked startled to see me, too, and we both whirled to stare at David, who was watching us with a glint of amusement in his hooded eyes. "Morgan, you've met Hunter, haven't you? Hunter Niall, this is Morgan Rowlands. Maybe you two should shake hands."
"You're not dead," I gasped unnecessarily, and then my knees felt weak, just like in mystery novels, and I pulled out a battered metal chair and sank onto it. I couldn't take my eyes off Hunter. He wasn't dead! He was very much alive, though even paler than usual and still bearing scrapes and bruises on his hands and face. I couldn't help looking at his neck, and seeing me, he hooked a finger in his wool scarf and pulled it down enough for me to see the ugly, unhealed wound that I had made by throwing the athame at him.
David was pouring me a steaming mug of tea. "I don't understand," I moaned.
"You understand parts of it," David corrected me. He pulled up another chair and sat down, the three of us clustered around a small, rickety table with a round plywood top. "But you haven't quite got the big picture."
It was all I could do not to groan. I had been hearing about the big picture since I'd first discovered Wicca. I felt I would never be clued in.
I felt a prickle of fear. I disliked and distrusted Hunter. I'd grown to trust David, but now I thought of how he used to disturb me. Could I trust anyone? Was anyone on my side? I looked from one to the other: David, with his fine, short, silver hair and measuring brown eyes; Hunter, his golden hair so like Sky's but with green eyes where hers were black.
"You're wondering what's going on," said David. It was a massive understatement.
"I'm afraid," I said in a shaking voice. "I don't know what to believe."
As soon as I started speaking, it was as if a sand-bagged levee had finally collapsed. My words poured out in a torrent "I thought Hunter was dead. And… I thought I could trust you. Everything is upsetting me. I don't know who I am or what I'm doing." Do not cry, I told myself fiercely. Don't you dare cry.
"I'm sorry, Morgan," said David. "I know this is very hard for you. I wish it could be easier, but this is the path you're on, and you have to walk it. My path was much easier."
"Why aren't you dead?" I asked Hunter.
"Sorry to disappoint you," he said. His voice was raspier than before. "Luckily my cousin Sky is an athletic girl. She found me and pulled me out of the river."
So Sky had gotten my message. I swallowed. "I never meant to—hurt you that badly," I said. "I just wanted to stop what you were doing. You were killing Cal!"
"I was doing my job," Hunter said, his eyes flaring into heat. "I was fighting in self-defense. There was no way Cal would go to the council without my putting a braigh on him."
"You were killing him!" I said again.
"He was trying to kill me!" Hunter said. "And then you tried to kill me!"
"I did not! I was trying to stop you!"
David held up his hands. "Hold it. This is going nowhere. You two are both afraid, and being afraid makes you angry, and being angry makes you lash out."
"Thank you, Dr. Laura," I said snippily.
"I'm not afraid of her," Hunter said, like a six-year-old, and I wanted to kick him under the table. Now that I knew he was actually alive, I remembered just how unpleasant he was.
"Yes, you are," David said, looking at Hunter. "You're afraid of her potential, of her possible alliances, of her power and the lack of knowledge she has concerning that power. She threw an athame into your neck, and you don't know if she'd do it again."
David turned to me. "And you're afraid that Hunter knows something you don't, that he might hurt you or someone you love, that he might be telling the truth."
He was right. I gulped my tea, my face burning with anger and shame.
"Well, you're both right," said David, drinking from his mug. "You both have valid reasons to fear each other. But you need to get past it. I believe things are going to be very tough around here very soon, and you two need to be united to face them."