As I pulled into my dark driveway, I wondered where Raven had been tonight. Had she blown off Sky because of their fight, or had she and Killian gotten together?
My chest felt heavy and my hands were cold as I went into the house. In my room I got ready for bed. With Dagda snuggled next to me, purring, I lay in the dark for a long time, thinking. Killian couldn't be trusted, not really. And Ciaran was getting closer with every breath.
It was a long time before I slept.
12. Ciaran
Thank you, Brother Colin, for your kind words and also the gift of wine you sent. I have added it to the abbey's cellar, and Father Josef was most appreciative. Thanks be to God, I am well, though still troubled by confusing visions and dreams. My knowledge of the Prussian language is expanding greatly, and I am in awe of the abbey's library of precious and holy books. They have amassed a glorious storehouse of religious works, and I believe they are most selective about with whom they share this wealth.
Here, living, working and praying in silence, I feel that I am free from my troubles of the past.
—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, April 1770.
When I woke on Sunday, I lay in bed until my head seemed clear. I wondered what my parents were doing and if they had church services on cruise ships. Surely they did. I wondered if Mary K. had found a catholic church near their ski resort. Since I had discovered Wicca, my sister had thrown herself into Catholicism with a vengeance.
"Maybe I'll go to church," I said out loud.
Dagda sat on the kitchen table, where he was so not allowed, and washed a front paw. He looked at me with his solemn gray kitty face, his big green eyes. "I just feel like it," I told him, then went upstairs to get dressed.
My family has been going to St. Mary's all my life. It's like attending a family reunion. I had to talk to five people before I even sat down.
The thing about Catholicism is that it can be comforting. It provides a structure to live your life within. In Wicca everything is wide open: choices about good and bad, ideas about how to live your life, ideas about how you celebrate Wicca and all its facets. Nothing is ever really, truly set in stone. Which was why individual knowledge is so important, because each witch had to determine all these things for herself. The way I saw Wicca, it was more based on the individual's choices and beliefs and less based on a set of rules. However, along with freedom comes responsibility and the increased possibility of completely screwing up.
Today, as I sat and knelt and stood automatically, reciting words and singing hymns, I was able to see some of the things that Wicca and Catholicism shared. They both had the days of observation, reflection, and celebration, according to the year's cycle. Some Wiccan Sabbats and Catholic Holy Days of Obligation coincided—noticeably Easter, which occurs at the same time in both religions, except we call it Ostara in Wicca. Both holidays celebrate rebirth and use the same symbols: lambs, rabbits, lilies, eggs.
Both religions used external tools and symbols: sacred cups, incense, prayer/meditation, robes, candles, music, flowers.
To me it offered a continuity that helped me make the transition from one to another. I hadn't completely given up being Catholic—I didn't truly see how I ever could. But more and more my soul was turning towards Wicca. It seemed a path I couldn't go backward on.
The choir filed out, singing, their voices raised in one of my favorite hymns. Father Thomas, his censer swinging, walked past, followed by the cross and Father Bailey. When it was my pew's turn to leave, I fell in line. I felt pleased and calmed and was glad I'd be able to tell my parents I'd attended services today. The rest of the day stretched before me, open, and I began to think about what I should do.
I was almost to the doors when my gaze fell lightly on someone sitting in the last pew, waiting for his turn to exit. Then my heart stopped, and my breathing snagged in my throat. Ciaran. My father.
He saw me recognize him. Standing, he followed me as I left the church, passing through the tall, heavily carved wooden doors. My heart kicked into gear again and thumped almost painfully in my chest. This was my mother's soul mate: the one person meant for her to love and to love her. And they had loved each other desperately. But he'd already been married; Maeve wouldn't be with him, and so he had killed her.
Killed her. A cold knife of fear slashed through my belly. Ciaran could have killed me, too—hungry for my power, wanting to use it to strengthen Amyranth. I was entirely convinced that I was going to die at his hands until he had realized who I was and allowed Hunter to set me free and transport me to safety. Now we were going to meet again. What to expect? Should I be afraid now? How could we ever have a normal conversation?
Outside the church the sunlight hurt my eyes, and the daylight seemed harsh after the dim church. I smiled and nodded good-bye to several people, then took a left and walked around the side of the church to a small, winter-dead garden. Ciaran followed a few steps behind. When we were apart from everyone else, I turned back to him. My eyes drank him in, trying to see the person who had almost killed me in New York—and then had helped to save my life. Our eyes were similar; his hair was darker and flecked with silver. He was handsome and barely more than forty.
"My son contacted me," he said in his lilting accent, that deep, melodious voice that entered my bloodstream like maple syrup. "He said he was here with you. I thought perhaps he had called me at your request."
"Yes," I said, trying to project courage. "He did. I met Killian in New York, I realized he and I were half siblings, I don't have any other siblings except your other children—not by blood." Mary K., please forgive me again. "I asked him to call you. I decided I wanted to know you because you're my biological father." All this was true, more or less. Very subtly I shut down my mind so he couldn't get in and projected an air of innocence and frankness.
His eyes on me were as sharp as snakes' fangs. "Yes," he said after a moment. "You're the daughter I didn't know about. My youngest. Maeve's daughter. Your coloring is more like mine, but your mouth is hers, the texture of your skin, your height and slenderness. Why didn't she tell me about you I wonder?"
"Because she was scared of you," I said, trying to control the anger that was seeping in my voice. "You'd threatened her. You were married and couldn't be with her." You killed her. "She wanted to protect me."
Ciaran looked around. "Is there someplace we could go?"
I thought for a moment. "Yes."
The Clover Teapot had opened winter before last, on a little side street off Main. It was the closest thing we had to an English-style tea shop, and it seemed appropriate. Also, it was public and safe. I still wasn't sure what to expect from Ciaran. When we had ordered and sat at a small table by the front window, I felt his keen eyes on me again.
"Have you seen Killian?" I asked, playing with the handle of my teacup.
"Not yet, I will soon. I wanted to see you first."
We sat there, looking at each other, and I felt him cast his senses towards me. I shut him out gently, and his eyes widened almost in amusement.
"How long have you known you're a witch?" he asked.
"Four months, a little less."
"You're not initiated." It was a statement.
"No," I shook my head.
"Goddess," he said, and took a sip of his tea. "You know your powers are unusual."