Ian got out a couple of tea bags and plopped one in each mug. "I'm glad you came to see me. You haven't caused any trouble," he said in a normal tone. "That's just my mom. There's just the two of us, and we don't see eye to eye about a lot of stuff." He filled the mugs with hot water and handed one to Moira. "Like this kitchen, for example. All I want to do is turn seventeen so I can get my own flat and have a decent place. All this mess makes me insane. Every once in a while I lose it and clean everything up, and then we have a big row. Mum doesn't see what the big deal is. I don't care who cleans up as long as one of us does. But she won't, and she hates it when I do, so I'm stuck."
"What about your dad?"
Ian’s expression darkened. "They broke up a long time ago."
"Do you ever see him?"
Ian shook his head slowly. "Nah. Not in a couple of years. We moved here, and he didn't seem too interested in keeping in touch. I think he has a new family now."
Moira blinked. Odd-that sounded a lot like what she'd read about Cal in her mum's Book of Shadows. But still, plenty of people had divorced parents and didn't see their dads much. It didn't mean anything.
"I'm sorry," Moira said. "It's different, I know, but I do know what it's like to lose your da." Moira sipped her tea, wondering if she should just say what had driven her here in the first place. After all, according to Katrina, people knew the truth anyway, so it wasn't like she was revealing some big secret. No, the only person it had been a secret from was her, the one person who deserved to know. She looked up and saw Ian looking at her, concerned.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Ciaran MacEwan really was my grandfather," she blurted. "Mum told me everything after you left. It was all true. I feel like I'm, well, destined to be bad."
Ian made a sympathetic face. "Even if Ciaran was your grandfather," he said, "that doesn't change anything about you-you never even knew him, and he's gone now."
"But my mum let me believe someone else was my grandfather my whole life," Moira went on. "I feel like I don't even know her anymore. Like I hardly even know myself. Yesterday I was Moira Byrne. Today I'm Moira Byrne, granddaughter of Ciaran MacEwan. How am I going to face anyone?"
"Look… I know, and I don't care," Ian said seriously, taking her hand. Moira felt her breath quicken and a tingle of awareness start at the bottom of her spine. "Anyone who thinks it's a big deal, just ignore them. And that's whether they think it's good or bad."
"What do you mean, good? How could anyone possibly think it's good?"
Ian looked at her. "Oh."
Dark witches. They'd be happy to find the granddaughter of Ciaran MacEwan. Without thinking, Moira glanced at the doorway, wondering if Lilith was out there. Had Ian known all along about Ciaran? Had Lilith?
Moira sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I'd better go. They were starting dinner when I left." And my mum might be barreling down the road right now in her rusty old banger.
She put her mug down and left the kitchen. She looked over into the dining room as she passed by, where Lilith Delaney was still working, small, half-moon glasses perched on her nose.
"Good night, Moira," Lilith said evenly.
Had she heard what Moira had been saying to Ian? There was no way to know. "Good night, Ms. Delaney," said Moira, trying to smile normally.
Ian walked her outside. The mist had let up; some of the clouds had cleared away and the stars were beginning to assert themselves again. Most of the moon was visible, and it laid a cream-colored wash of light over the landscape. Going home would be much easier than coming.
"Thanks, Ian," Moira said. "Sorry again to barge in on you."
"Please stop apologizing," he said. "I always want you to come to me if you need help. About anything." He looked awkward for a moment, then said, "I wish I had a better place for you to come to."
Her heart went out to him. "Nobody's perfect," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "There's always something wrong with everyone's parents or house or whatever."
"Yeah. I just can't wait to be on my own."
Moira looked into his blue eyes, lighter than the night sky, and saw his impatience. He wasn't like Cal. It was so clear. I wish he would kiss me. And then suddenly he was, leaning over and blotting out the moon. His lips on hers were soft but exploring, as if he was trying to memorize everything about her. She put her arms around his shoulders, excitement coiling in her chest, and wished ludicrously that her stupid bike wasn't between them.
Ian slanted his head slightly and put his hands on her waist. The pedal of her bike was digging into her shin, but she ignored it. Could she just break the kiss, step around the bike, and grab him again?
Then he was drawing back, his eyes glittering. "Move your bike," he said intently, and quickly she stepped around the bike, letting it fall to the soft, muddy grass. Then they were pressed together tightly, and Ian’s hand was holding the back of her neck so he could kiss her. They seemed perfectly matched, their hips pressed together, their mouths slanting against each other, their arms wrapped around each other as if they were trying to meld.
She thought she might love him.
10. Morgan
Morgan thought she was going to explode. First she and Katrina had seen Hunter when they scried. Since Killian was there, they hadn't had a chance to talk about it alone. And when she hadn't been able to sense Moira outside, she'd scried for her and found her at Ian Delaney's house. Morgan had to find her, talk to her, tell her how sorry she was. She sent her a quick witch message. Moira, please come home. Please-or I will have to come and get you.
I'm on my way, Moira sent back, and Morgan almost sobbed in relief.
"Moira's coming back," she told Killian and Katrina.
"Oh, good. She'll be all right, you'll see," said Killian. "You'll make up."
Morgan smiled gratefully at her half brother, who'd grown up virtually without a father himself. Now Killian had three children of his own. He seemed more thoughtful, less self- centered. He stood, clearing the table, while Morgan just sat, her stomach knotting with tension. Just then she felt Moira coming up the front path. Leaping from the table, she ran to the front door just as Moira reached it. As soon as she saw her daughter, she burst into tears and gathered her close. Please don't push me away. At first Moira stood stiffly in her embrace, but she slowly loosened up and gradually put her arms around Morgan.
"I'm sorry, honey," Morgan said. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
"I wish… I wish you had just told me the truth," Moira said.
"I know. I wish I had, too." Morgan pulled back and looked at Moira, brushing some damp hair out of her face. "But you're my family, and I'm yours. And that's all that matters."
Looking a little teary-eyed herself, Moira nodded.
Morgan started to draw her into the warmth and light of the house, but Moira paused, looking at the walk.
"I stepped on something," she said.
"A stone?"
"No." Moira looked, then leaned over and picked up something shiny from the brick path. "Here," she said, handing it to Morgan. "Did you drop this?"
Squinting, Morgan turned sideways in the door so the inside light would fall on her palm. Small, silver, a bit crusty but still glinting. She brushed some of the dirt away as Moira eased past her into the house.
It was a ring-who could have dropped it? She brushed more of the dirt away. Keady, maybe? Katrina? Oh, Goddess.
Morgan's heart clenched, and she wondered if she were dreaming again. It was a silver claddagh ring. They weren't uncommon in Ireland-many people wore them. But no one had one with the rune Beorc, for new beginnings, engraved on the inside. This was Morgan's ring, the one Hunter had given her a lifetime ago. This was the ring that had flown off her finger that day in Wales, when the ferry went down. And now here it was, appearing on her doorstop an hour after she'd seen Hunter.