I glanced at Ciaran and almost shivered at the look in his eyes. He seemed less recognizable, his eyes glittering darkly, with none of the mild affection or warmth that they usually held.
“So you called him to meet you here?” Hunter asked, disbelief in his voice. “And he came?”
“Uh-huh. And he said that if I didn’t join him that he would have to take out our coven. Because I was too dangerous to live if I wasn’t on his side. Because I was the—the, um, sgiùrs dàn? Something like that. Then he put a binding spell on me—”
“Hold it,” Hunter interrupted. “Wait a second. He said you were the sgiùrs dàn?” He looked at Ciaran questioningly, but the older man’s face didn’t change.
“Yes. Then he put a binding spell on me, and I thought I was going to die, right here, tonight. But I distracted him for a second, and broke his concentration, and managed to put a binding spell on him.” I rubbed my hand across my forehead, feeling old and sick and tired.
“How did you distract him?” Hunter asked.
I glanced at Mr. Niall—I thought he’d been way too quiet. In the night’s darkness he almost glowed with a white rage. He was standing stiffly, hands clenched into fists. He looked like he might attack Ciaran at any moment.
“I created a pocket of steam, under that tree’s bark,” I explained, pointing. “It made the bark pop off hard, and it distracted Ciaran just enough for me to be able to use my hand and to speak.”
“What did you say that got you out of the binding spell?” asked Mr. Niall, his voice hard.
“I said... his true name.” The last three words tiptoed out of my mouth. I had never told anyone that I knew Ciaran’s true name, and part of me didn’t like telling anyone now.
Hunter’s eyes got so big, I could see white all around the green irises. His jaw went slack, and then he cocked his head to one side. “Morgan. You said what?”
“I said his true name,” I repeated. “Then I made him take off the binding spell.”
Both Hunter and Mr. Niall looked from me to Ciaran: they had suddenly found themselves in a situation that defied all reason. Ciaran’s eyes now seemed as black as the night, and considering that all he could do was blink, he managed to put a lot of scary expression into it.
“And I put a binding spell on him,” I finished. “Then I called you. I don’t know what to do now.”
Just then, with a hoarse cry, Mr. Niall launched himself at Ciaran. Using his shoulder, he butted Ciaran hard in the stomach, then followed him down to the ground and pulled back his fist. I was already on my way to them when Hunter’s father landed a hard blow to the side of Ciaran’s head. Hunter beat me there and tried to pull his father off, but finally it took both of us to drag Mr. Niall away.
“Da, stop it,” Hunter panted, pinning his father down with one knee. “This isn’t the time or the place. Get ahold of yourself.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Mr. Niall spat, and I got angry.
“No, you’re not!” I snapped. “I understand how you feel, but you don’t decide what happens to him. That’s the council’s job.”
“No, not the council.” Hunter shook his head. “They’ve bungled things twice with him already. No—it’s up to us. We have to strip him of his powers.”
Ciaran lay on the ground like a mummy where he had fallen. He hadn’t displayed much response when Mr. Niall had attacked him, but now, at Hunter’s words, real fear entered his eyes. I had seen a witch stripped of his powers once, and I’d hoped never to see it again. The idea of seeing it happen to Ciaran was stomach turning. Yet I knew, realistically, that there was no other real option. If we let Ciaran go, he would be exactly the same. He would continue to create the dark wave, killing anything that got in his way. He would always be a threat to me, no matter what kind of promise I could get out of him. Once more I met his gaze and saw the disappointment there, the rage, the regret. I looked away.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said roughly, trying not to cry. “I guess you need five witches.”
“We have three here,” said Hunter. If he was surprised by my acquiescence, he didn’t show it.
“I can’t do it,” I said immediately. “Get someone else.”
Hunter took his knee off his dad’s chest and warily let him up. Mr. Niall slowly got to his feet and stalked off to lean against a weatherworn headstone. Hunter stood quite still for a couple of minutes, and I knew he was sending witch messages. Without looking at Ciaran’s face, I went over and pulled him into a sitting position, awkwardly propping him up. There was a lot I wanted or needed to say to him, but I didn’t trust myself to speak. In my heart, I knew we were doing the best thing. After he was sitting up, I sank onto a cement bench nearby and concentrated on the binding spell.
Then we had to wait. Hunter came to sit next to me. I felt like I had been out here about three years and wanted to go home, curl up in my comforter, and cry until dawn.
“Morgan,” Hunter said, his voice pitched for me alone. “You never told me that you knew Ciaran’s true name.”
It was a statement, not a question, but I knew what he wanted.
“I learned it the night we shape-shifted,” I said. “It was part of his spell. I don’t know why I never told anyone. It just felt... wrong to tell.”
“Or maybe you didn’t want Ciaran to be that vulnerable to anyone else. Because whatever else he is, he helped make you.”
I frowned, not wanting to acknowledge this fact at the moment.
“All this time you knew his true name,” Hunter continued, rubbing his chin with one hand. “You could have done anything you wanted with it. You could have killed him, controlled him, turned him in to the council or to me. You could have bound him and done a tàth meànma brach so that you would have all his knowledge, all his skill.”
I shook my head. “No—I couldn’t have. I couldn’t have killed him, and somehow I just kept hoping that he would... be different. And I don’t want his knowledge or his skill. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”
Hunter nodded. He was sitting close but not touching me, and I wondered how upset he was that I hadn’t told him.
It wasn’t long before we heard two cars driving up, and moments later we were joined by Alyce Fernbrake, Bethany Malone, and a woman I didn’t recognize.
“Where’s Finn?” Hunter asked.
“He couldn’t come,” Alyce said, and the way she said it made me think he just hadn’t wanted to come. I didn’t blame him. “This is Silver Hennessy.”
Awkward introductions were made—we all knew why we were here: he was sitting ten feet away from us. I started to feel queasy and had to sit down again.
“More than five witches can take part,” Hunter said to me. “Five is the minimum number.”
“I can’t,” I said, and he didn’t press me.
Having to do this particular rite out in the woods, with no advance warning, wasn’t ideal. Usually the witch in charge chooses a suitable time and place, where the phase of the moon helps lessen the discomfort or the place feels more protected. Ciaran, because of his very nature, couldn’t be held for any length of time. It would be here and now.
Hunter had brought his athame, and now he drew a pentacle on the ground, about eight feet across. The litter of leaves obscured the ground, but he muttered some words and raised his athame high. Then he traced it on the ground, and it left a fine, faintly glowing azure line.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Ciaran, to see the increasing rage and panic on his face. Instead, I huddled on my cement bench, my head on my knees. I knew that using his true name had been the right thing to do. I also knew that I would feel badly about doing it for a long, long time. Bethany Malone and Alyce both came and sat next to me, and I felt the warmth of them on each side of me. Bethany put her arm around my shoulders, and Alyce patted my cold knee. I leaned my head against Alyce, grateful she was here. I didn’t know Silver Hennessy, but I completely trusted Bethany and Alyce and knew that Ciaran was lucky they were performing the rite.