“Morgan,” he said again, his Scottish accent coming through. His brownish hazel eyes, exactly like mine, examined me.
“What do you want?” I whispered. All I could see was him; my circle, the room, my friends had faded out of sight, replaced by this glowing image of my father, the man who had burned my mother to death more than sixteen years ago.
“I know you put the watch sigil on me,” he said softly, and fear clenched my stomach. “But I forgive you.”
The last time I had seen Ciaran, we had shape-shifted together. At the council’s request, I had traced a watch sigil onto him so that council members could track Ciaran’s movements and eventually take him into custody. It had been a betrayal of him, but the risk had outweighed the danger of the deeds he would commit if left free. My birth father was one of the most evil witches in existence. He had murdered scores of people, including my birth mother, Maeve Riordan, as well as the lover she had known from childhood. I had chosen to chosen good over evil.
“I’ve... dismantled the watch sigil,” Ciaran went on, and my knees almost buckled. “It was beautifully done, Morgan. So subtle, so elegant, yet so powerful.” He shook his head admiringly. “Your powers...”
Oh, Goddess, I thought in panic.
“Of course, I was unhappy that you chose to betray me to the council jackals,” Ciaran said dryly. “My own daughter. My favored one. But I do forgive you. And it’s gone now—they have no idea where I am.” He gave a mischievous chuckle, making him appear younger than his early forties. “But I’m coming to see you, daughter. I have some questions for you.”
His image faded quickly. Blinking, I felt like a wall I had been leaning against had suddenly been taken away. There was a split second of seeing the members of Kithic staring at me in concern; then everything went fuzzy, and I felt myself fall.
“Stay still.” Hunter’s reassuring voice made me quit trying to sit up. My eyes opened, then shut again—everything looked too bright.
“What happened?” I murmured.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” said Hunter. He gently lifted my head and rested it on his crossed legs. “You just stopped dead in the middle of our power chant and turned as white as a sheet of paper. You said, ‘What do you want?’ and stared at nothing. Then you keeled over.”
Just like that, it all came back with a sickening rush.
“It was Ciaran,” I said softly, looking up at Hunter.
Above me, his green eyes narrowed. “What happened?” he asked, almost fiercely.
But I knew his anger wasn’t directed at me. I struggled to sit up, feeling my elbow aching where I must have hit it.
The rest of the coven was gathered around, looking at me in concern.Then Bree knelt close to me, holding out a glass of water.
“Thanks,” I said gratefully. I took it and sipped, and felt a bit stronger.
“What happened?” Bree asked also, her dark eyes worried.
“It was Ciaran MacEwan,” I explained more loudly. “I just... suddenly had a vision of Ciaran. And then I fainted.”
That was all I wanted to say in front of everyone, and Hunter must have understood because he said, “I think perhaps we should call it a night.”
He put his arm around my shoulders and helped me stand up. “It would be hard to recapture the energy, anyway.” Still looking concerned, the members of Kithic started pulling on their jackets.
“Do you want me to follow you home?” Robbie asked. “Or drive you?”
I smiled at him. After Bree, Robbie had been my best friend since grade school.
“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’ll make sure she gets home,” said Hunter.
We said good-bye to Ethan and Sharon, who decided to stay, and walked out into the brisk late-winter evening. I breathed in the damp night air, trying to detect the first hint of spring. The change of seasons would do a lot for me. It had been a long, hard winter. I stood next to my beloved white whale of a car, Das Boot, and rubbed my hands on my arms. I cast my senses but picked up nothing. “Hunter, Ciaran said he’s taken off the watch sigil and that he knows I put it on him.”
“Bloody hell,” Hunter breathed.
“Yeah. Let’s go to your place.”
I felt nervous, as if my father would leap out at me from behind Ethan’s holly bush. Hunter agreed and followed me in his own car to his house. I would feel safer there—it was a blood witch’s house, spelled, protected, and familiar. I almost ran inside. The overheated living room felt like a haven. Automatically I cast my senses again and felt Daniel Niall, Hunter’s father, in the kitchen. I tried not to let Hunter see my disappointment. Until three weeks ago, Hunter hadn’t seen his parents in eleven years. They had been in hiding from Ciaran and his coven, Amyranth. Though Hunter’s mom had died before he’d been able to see her, his father was still alive, and the danger seemed to be gone. Things had gotten pretty bad for Mr. Niall in Canada, and Hunter’s trip had ended with Hunter’s bringing his father home to live with him. Mr. Niall was staying in Sky’s room until she came back. If she ever did.
“Sit down,” Hunter said. “I’ll get you some tea.” He headed to the kitchen, and soon I heard murmured voices.
The truth was, I couldn’t help it—I didn’t like Mr. Niall. I had been so excited to meet Hunter’s father, whom I’d heard so much about, whom I knew meant so much to Hunter. But I’d been shocked by his appearance—he looked like a homeless person, all bones and pale skin, mussed gray hair, eyes that looked half crazy. Still, I had put on my best manners, smiling and shaking hands—and he had reacted to me as if I were a gift his cat had left on the doorstep. He wasn’t mean, exactly—just standoffish and reserved. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again.
Hunter was soon back. “Drink this,” he said, holding out a small glass with an inch of dark amber liquid in it. I sniffed it. “It’s sherry,” he explained. “Just a tiny bit. For medicinal purposes.”
I sipped it hesitantly. It didn’t really ring my bells, but after it was down, I felt a bit warmer and more able to deal.
Then Hunter handed me a cup of tea, and I could sense that he’d added herbs and also spelled it to be healing and soothing. It was very convenient, having a witch for a boyfriend.
“Now,” said Hunter, sitting next to me on the couch, so I felt his leg warm against mine. “Tell me everything.”
Feeling safer and less freaked, and becoming more and more aware of his body next to mine, I told him everything about my vision that I could remember.
“Bloody hell,” Hunter said again.
The kitchen door swung open, and Daniel Niall came out, carrying a plate with a sandwich on it. He saw me on the couch and gave me a tight little nod.
“Hi, Mr. Niall,” I said, trying to sound friendly.
“So what did she say?” Hunter asked his father.
Mr. Niall paused at the bottom of the steps, looking pained, as if Hunter had prevented him from making a clean escape. “She said she’d like to,” Daniel said.“And her school has a break soon.”
“Da was talking to my sister, Alwyn,” Hunter explained. “We’re trying to get her to come visit.”
I knew Alwyn was now sixteen and an initiated witch. “Oh, that would be great,” I said. “I’d like to meet her.”
Daniel nodded again briefly and headed upstairs. I sighed, unsure if I should mention my unease to Hunter. Did Mr. Niall treat me as he did only because I was related to Ciaran? I mean, parents always like me. I’m a math nerd, I’m not flashy, and I don’t drink or do drugs—I’m still a virgin, for God’s sake! Not that I wanted to be reminded about that. But I look like I have “future librarian” stamped on my forehead. What else could Mr. Niall have against me?