Ciaran and Killian were drinking a wine that was a deep, dark purple-red. I detected a scent of crushed grapes and oranges and some kind of spice I couldn't identify. My mouth watered, and I wished I could have some, but I had sworn never to drink again for the rest of my life. I could almost taste the full, heavy flavor.
The waiter brought over their appetizers and my cheesecake at the same time, and we all began to eat. How could I make this meeting work for me? I needed information. Thinking about this, I took a bite of cheesecake and smothered a moan. It was incredibly rich, incredibly dense, with notes of sour cream riddled with streams of sweet, smooth coffee and dark chocolate. It was the most perfect thing I had ever eaten, and took tiny bites to make it last longer.
"Tell me about growing up here," said Ciaran. "In America, without knowing your heritage."
I hesitated. I needed to share enough to make him feel that I trusted him, yet also protect myself from giving him any knowledge he could use against me. Then it occurred to me that he was so powerful, he could use anything against me and my being on guard was a waste of time.
"When I was growing up, I didn't know I was adopted. So I believed my heritage was Irish, all the way through. Catholic. All my relatives are, all the people at my church. I was just one more."
"Did you feel like you belonged?" Ciaran had a way of cutting into the heart of a matter, slicing through smoke and details to get at the very core of the meaning.
"No," I said softly, and took another sip of the tea. It was light and delicate. I took another sip.
"You wouldn't have fit in any better in my village," Killian broke in. His face looked rough and handsome in the dim light of the restaurant, his hair shot through with gold and wine-colored strands. He didn't have Ciaran's grace or sophistication or palpable power, but he was friendly and charming. "It was a whole town of village idiots."
I was startled into laughter, and he went on. "There wasn't a normal person among us. Every single soul was some odd character that other people had to watch out for. Old Sven Thorgard was a Vikroth who had settled in our town, Goddess knows why. The only magick he worked was on goats. Healing goats, finding goats, making goats fertile, increasing goats' milk."
"Really?" I laughed nervously. As hard as Killian was trying to entertain us, Ciaran was still watching us both with a suspicious, dark expression. I wondered whether that was his response to Killian or just evidence that he was actually planning to do away with both of us.
"Really," Killian said. "Goddess, he was weird. And Tacy Humbert—"
At the mention of that name, Ciaran broke into a smile and shook his head. He drank some wine and poured a tiny drop more in Killian's glass. I relaxed a bit.
"Tacy Humbert was love starved," Killian said in a loud whisper. "I mean starved. And she wasn't bad looking. But she was such a shrew that no one would take her out more than once. So she'd put love spells on the poor sap."
Ciaran chuckled. "Her aim wasn't perfect."
"Perfect!" Killian exclaimed. "Goddess, Da, do you remember the time she zapped old Floss? I had that dog climbing all over me for a week!"
We all laughed, but I thought I detected a warning glance exchanged between Ciaran and Killian. I wondered what Ciaran's problem was. I loved hearing about the very different life Killian had lived in Scotland. "Here, top us up, Da." Killian said, holding out his wineglass.
With narrowed eyes Ciaran filled it half full, then put the bottle on the other side of the table. Killian gave Ciaran a challenging look, but being ignored, he sighed and drained his glass.
"Were there many Woodbane in your village?" I asked.
Killian nodded, his mouth full. He swallowed and said, "Mostly Woodbanes. A couple of others. People on the outside of the village or who had married into families. My Ma's family has been there longer than folks can remember, and they're Woodbanes back to the beginning."
At the mention of Killian's mother, a shadow passed over Ciaran's face. He toyed with the last of his salad and didn't look at Killian.
"It must have been nice, being surrounded by people like you. Feeling like you fit in, like you belong," I said. "All celebrating the same holidays." Like Imbolic.
"It is nice to have an all-Woodbane community," Ciaran put in smoothly. "Particularly because of the commonly held view that most witches have about us. If it were up to them, we would be broken up and disbanded."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean, Woodbanes are like any other cultural or ethnic group who has been forcibly dispersed. The Romany in Europe. The Native Indians here. The aboriginals in Australia. These were intact cultures that other cultures found threatening and so were killed, separated, dispersed, exiled. Within the Wiccan culture, Woodbanes have been cast in that role. The other clans fear us and so must destroy us."
"How do you fight that?" I asked.
"Any way I can," he said. "I protect myself and my own. I've joined with other Woodbanes who feel the same way."
"Amyranth," I said.
"Yes." His gaze rested on me for a moment.
"Tell me about them," I said, trying to sound casual. "What is it like to have an all-Woodbane coven?"
"It's powerful," said Ciaran. "It makes us feel less vulnerable. Like American pioneers, circling their wagons at night to keep intruders out."
"I see." I nodded, I hoped not too enthusiastically. Maybe this was my chance, I realized. Ciaran was opening up. Talking about Woodbane heritage seemed to animate him, to make him less suspicious. I remembered the sigil and thought if I could just touch his arm, in a loving, daughterly gesture, I might be able to quickly trace the sigil on his sleeve…
"I'm glad to hear you say that," I said confidently, shifting my chair closer. "Woodbanes are persecuted, so it's only natural that we'd try to protect ourselves, right?" I smiled, and Ciaran only regarded me curiously. It was impossible to read that expression. Did he trust me? Trying to keep my had from shaking, I lifted from my lap. I will touch his hand and say thank you, I thought. Thank you for telling me that I shouldn't be ashamed of my heritage. I reached out to touch him. "Th—"
"Excuse me for a moment," Ciaran broke in, rising. He headed towards the back of the restaurant, and Killian and I were left alone. I was stunned. I moved my hand back to my lap. What was he doing? Had I been too obvious? Was he calling Amyranth to get help in capturing me again?
Ciaran had left his suit jacket folded over the back of his chair, and my eyes lit on it. If I could put the watch sigil on his jacket… But Killian's bright gaze stopped me.
"Do you have plans for Imbolic?" I asked quickly.
Killian shrugged, giving me an almost amused expression. Had he seen what I was thinking? "I'll hook up with a coven somewhere. I love Imbolic. Maybe I could sit in with Kithic?"
"Maybe," I said evasively, wondering what Hunter's plans were for our celebration.
Ciaran was back in a few minutes and paid the check. I didn't sense any anger in his demeanor. He put on his jacket, and I regretted not tracing the sigil on it. What to do now? Should I press him for more information? Goddess, I was bad at this.