Da’s eyes were focused intently on me now, and his ashen cheeks were splotched pale red with anger. “I’ve tried to resist—” he began, but I cut him off.
“You haven’t tried bloody hard enough!” I shouted, getting to my feet. My stomach roiled, but I stood, looming over him like a bully. “You just keep giving in! Is that what you want to teach me, your son? You want to teach me how to give in, give up, think only about myself? That’s what you’re showing me. You never would have been this way eleven years ago. Back then you were a real father. Back then you were a real witch. Now look at you,” I concluded bitterly. I could count on one hand the number of times I had been this hateful, this mean to someone I cared about. I hated the words coming out of my mouth but couldn’t stop them once I started.
“You have no idea how hard it is,” my father said, his voice scraped raw.
I snorted and paced around the spent fire in the middle of the log benches. I felt ill, exhausted; I needed to get out of there. I knew I had to bring Da back to the cabin, but I had to talk myself out of leaving him there to freeze. Minutes passed, and I wondered what the hell I was going to do with myself. Everything in my life right now was miserable. The only person who could make me feel at all better wasn’t here, and I couldn’t seem to reach her. Bloody hell, why did I ever come here?
At last, after a long time, Da said, “You’re right.” He sounded impossibly old and broken down.
I looked over at him, and he went on, struggling to find the words.
“You’re right. I’m being selfish, thinking only of myself. Your mother would have been stronger. She should have been the one to live.”
My eyes narrowed as I readied to nip his self-pity in the bud.
“But it was me who lived, and I’m making a hash of it, aren’t I, lad?” He gave a crooked, fleeting smile, then looked away. “It’s just—I can’t let her go, son. She was my life. I gave up my firstborn son for her.”
I gave a short nod. Cal.
“And then,” he went on, “for the past eleven years it’s been only me and Fiona, Fiona and me, everywhere we went, every day. We were alone; we didn’t dare make friends; we went for months without seeing another human, much less another witch. I don’t even know how to be with other people anymore.”
I looked away and let out a long breath. When Da sounded like this, somewhat rational, somewhat familiar, it was impossible to hold on to my anger. Mum had reminded me that he was just a man, in mourning for his wife, and I needed to cut him a huge swath of slack.
I raised my hands and let them fall. “Da, you could learn how—”
“Maybe I could,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to. But right now there’s no way I can give up the bith dearc, no way I can give up Fiona. The only thing that will stop me is to be stripped of my powers. If I have no power, I can’t make a bith dearc; I won’t be able to. So that’s what I need from you. You’re a Seeker; you know how. Take my powers from me, and save me from myself.”
My eyebrows rose, and I searched his eyes, hoping to find any trace of sanity left. Was he joking about such a terrible thing? “Have you ever seen anyone stripped of their powers? ” I asked. “Do you have any idea how incredibly horrible it is, how painful, how you feel as though your very soul has been ripped from you?”
“It would be better than this!” Da said, his voice stronger. “Better than this half existence. It’s the only way. As long as I have power, I’ll be drawn to the bith dearc.”
“That’s not true!” I said, pacing again. “It’s been only two months. You need more time to heal—anyone would. We just need to come up with a plan, that’s all. We need to think.”
He made no answer but allowed me to pull him to his feet. It took almost forty minutes for us to get back to the cabin, with our slow, awkward pace. Inside, I stoked up a fire. A dense chill permeated my bones, and I felt like I would never get rid of it. Keeping my coat on, I lowered myself to the couch. Da was sitting, small and gray and crumpled, in his chair. I felt exhausted, ill, near tears. Frustrated, pained, joyful at seeing my mother. Horrified and shocked at my father’s demand that I strip him of his powers. I had too many emotions inside me. Too many to name, too many to express. I was so overwhelmed that I felt numb. Where to start? All at once I felt like a nineteen-year-old kid—not like a mighty Seeker, not like the older, more experienced witch that Morgan saw me as. Not like an equal, like Alyce felt. Just a kid, without any answers.
Finally I just started talking, my head resting against the back of the couch, my eyes closed. “Mum was right, you know,” I said without accusation. His request that I strip him of his powers had blown my anger apart. “I understand how you felt about her, I really do. She was your mùirn beatha dàn, your other half. You only get the one, and now she’s gone. But you were a whole person before you met Mum, and you can be a whole person now that she’s gone.”
My father kept silent.
“I don’t know how I would feel if I lost my mùirn beatha dàn,” I said, thinking of Morgan, the unbelievable horror of Morgan being dead. “I can’t really say if I would have the strength to behave any differently. I just don’t know. But surely you can see how this is going down the dark path. Ignoring life in favor of death isn’t something you would have taught us kids. This is the path that killed Linden. But two of your children are still alive, and we need you.” Looking at him, I saw his shoulders shake, perhaps with just exhaustion.
I made up my mind. The council wanted me to head west, to go interview Justine Courceau. I decided to take Da with me, whether he wanted to go or not. Mum was right— if Da stayed here, he would keep using the bith dearc and eventually kill himself. It wasn’t a great plan, a long-term fix, but it was all I had.
Standing up, I went and threw clothes for both of us into a duffel. Da didn’t look up, showed no interest. I made tea, packed some food and drinks for the three-hour drive, and loaded the car. Then I knelt by his chair, looking up at him.
“Da. I need to go west for a few days on council business. You’re going with me,” I said.
“No,” he weakly, not looking up. “That’s impossible. I need to rest. I’m staying here.”
“Sorry—can’t let you do that. You’ll end up killing yourself. You’re coming with me.”
In the old days, Da could have lifted me up and thrown me like a sack of potatoes. These days, I was the strong one. In the end, pathetically, he didn’t have much choice.
Half an hour later he was buckled into the front seat next to me, his mouth set in a defeated line, his hands twitching at the knees of his corduroys, as if waiting for the day when he would be strong enough to fasten them around my neck. I had no idea whether that day would ever come, whether my da would ever resemble the father I had known before. All I knew was that we were headed for Foxton, a small town in Ontario, and after my job there was done—I didn’t know what I was going to do.
Justine Courceau lived at the very edge of the Quebec-Ontario province border. I endured three and a half hours of stony silence on the way. Fortunately the scenery was incredible: rocky, hilly, full of small rivers and lakes. In springtime it would be stunning, but here, at the tail end of winter, it still had a striking and imposing beauty.
The small town Kennet had directed me to, Foxton, had one bed-and-breakfast. First I got Da and me settled there and brought up our lone duffel. Da seemed completely spent, his face cloud-colored, his hands shaky, and he seemed relieved enough to curl up on one of the twin beds in our room. I felt both guilty and angry about his misery. Since he seemed dead asleep, I performed a few quick healing spells, not knowing whether they were strong enough to have any effect on a man in my da’s condition. Then I put a watch sigil on one of his shoes, figuring he couldn’t go anywhere without it and that he would be less likely to feel it than if it was on his body. This way I could stay in contact with him, be more or less aware of what he was doing, be aware if he tried to do something stupid, like harm himself. Then I grabbed my coat and car keys and locked the door behind me. Regretting it, I spelled the door so it would be hard for him to get out. In any other circumstance, such a thing would be unthinkable, but I didn’t trust Da to be making the best decisions right now.