“Don’t waste my time, Justine.” I moved closer, raising my voice. “Now destroy the list, or I’ll destroy it for you!”
She flung out her hand unexpectedly, hissing a spell. Instinctively I blocked it. It wasn’t major; the Wiccan equivalent of slamming a door or hanging up on me. But it was enough to make me see that I needed to up the pressure. I cringed; I had been hoping to avoid this. But it was becoming clear that Justine needed a concrete example, right before her eyes, to see a different point of view.
“Nisailtirtha,” I sang softly, looking at her as I traced a sigil in the air. “Nisailtirtha.” I sang her name, feeling it achieve its shape in the air between us. It was a very serious thing, what I was doing. I felt extremely uncomfortable.
Across the room Justine’s eyes opened in horrified shock, and she quickly began to throw up blocking spells. All of which were useless, of course. Because I knew her true name. That was the seductive power of it.
“Nisailtirtha,” I said with gentle regret. “I have you in my power, my absolute power.”
She practically writhed with anger and embarrassment before me, but there was nothing she could do. I came closer to her, close enough to feel her furious, panicked vibrations, close enough to smell oranges and cinnamon and fear. “You see,” I said softly, leaning close to her ear, knowing that I was eight inches taller, sixty pounds heavier: a man. “Now I can make you do anything, anything at all.”
A strangled sound came from her throat, and I knew if she were free, she’d be trying to strangle me. But I held her in place with a single thought. “Do you think that’s a good thing, that I have this power over you because I know your true name? Nisailtirtha? I could make you set fire to your library.”
She sucked in a breath, staring at me as if a devil she didn’t believe in had just materialized in front of her. A thin, stretched moaning sound came from her throat. I hated this kind of threat—of course I would never make her do anything against her will, not even destroy her list. If I did, I would have let power corrupt me. But I was willing to scare her, scare her badly. In my career as a Seeker, I had done much worse.
I said, “Now that I know your name, I could sell it. To the highest bidder. To your enemies. Everyone has enemies, Justine. Even you.”
She looked like she was about to jump out of her skin. “Nisailtirtha, I could make you tell me any secret you’ve ever had.” Tears began to roll down her face, and I knew she was about to implode from frustration and fear. She didn’t know me, not really. I hated this, hated that she was being so stubborn. I went on. “Do you have any secrets, Justine? Anything you don’t want me to know?”
A whimper broke free, and one hand barely clenched. “Now,” I whispered, walking in back of her so she couldn’t see me, “I can make you destroy your list of true names. Or I can release you, and you can choose to destroy it yourself. Which do you think would be better?”
I released the hold on her enough to allow her to speak, and she broke out in sobs. “I’ll destroy it,” she cried. I tried not to think about what it had been like to kiss her.
“I won’t make you promise,” I said, and released her. She collapsed on the couch, as if I had cut her strings. She grabbed one startled cat and held it against her chest as if to make sure I hadn’t made her kill it.
“I won’t make you promise because I know your true name,” I said solemnly. “I have control over you—absolute, unshakable control—for the rest of your life.”
Racking sobs shook her, and if I hadn’t been a Seeker, I would have folded her into my arms.
“That’s the danger of true names,” I said. “That’s the kind of control you have over everything and everyone on your list. Is that good? Are you glad I know your true name? Does it seem neutral, like pure knowledge? Or does it seem a little. . dark?”
“You seem like a complete bastard,” she said, still crying. Her cat was squirming to get away, but Justine held it closely, her tears wetting its fur.
“You know what? I seem like a complete bastard because I know your true name.”
She had nothing to say to that.
14. The Way Home
I hate him. He's gone now, and I'm still shaking with fury. I can't believe Hunter Niall just took my life apart. First I fell for him, hard, but couldn't get him, even with a spelled kiss. Then his insulting, asinine, pointless report to the idiot council. Reeducated! I'm more educated than any member of the council! I cant' believe Hunter, who had such promise, would be so pedestrian, so short-sighted. What a disappointment-though I still held out hope that he would see my point of view. But today, oh, I put Hunter on my list-not the list of true names, but the list of people who have wronged me and my family. He is now at the top.
How did he learn my true name? I have never written it down. How could he possibly have that knowledge? If someone told it to him, then that person knows it, too. I feel completely exposed. I don't want to move from here, this cottage is perfect. But now I know that at least two people-maybe more-know my true name. How will I ever sleep peacefully again?
My house still smells like smoke. Hunter ad I performed the spell that would allow the list to be destroyed. Then I burned the list in the fireplace, crying as I watched the flames lick along the edges, making the parchment curl. It was beautiful, and I had worked so hard on it, with the gold leaf and the calligraphy. Hunter stood by, his arms across his chest, that hard chest that I felt. His face was lit by the fire, and the awful thing was that I could tell that regretted destroying something so beautiful. Seeing that on his face was incredibly irritating, because it only showed me again how much possibility existed within him, how close he was to being exactly what I needed him to be.
I do know this. I haven't seen the last of Hunter Niall, nor he of me. Now I have work to do.
— J.C.
I felt better once we were fifty miles away from Justine. That last scene had left me with bitter feelings, all sorts of conflicting emotions. But I was glad the list had been destroyed and glad I’d had the presence of mind to also check her computer. There wasn’t much there—just a few files she had to purge. I’d have to make an addendum to my report.
Da had little to say about the whole thing—if he had an opinion, he was keeping it to himself. On the drive back to his town he seemed thoughtful, preoccupied.
In Saint Jérôme du Lac, I stopped at the liquor store and picked up several cardboard boxes. Then, back at the cabin, I helped Da pack his few belongings worth saving—some books, a wool shawl of Mum’s, her notebooks and papers. He had almost no clothes; none of the furniture was fit for anything but the bin; he had no art or knickknacks. It took us barely half an hour, but even that half hour made me nervous. The longer we were there, the twitchier Da seemed to become. He kept glancing at the front door as if he would bolt. I threw his stuff into the boot of my car and hustled him out to it, leaped into my seat, and motored out of there as fast as I could without causing my entire exhaust system to fall off.
After we had been on the road for six hours, I felt calmer. Da had curled miserably in his seat, as though the act of leaving that area was physically and emotionally painful.
“We’ll be stopping soon,” I told him, the first words either of us had spoken in hours. “We can get a room for tonight, then tomorrow be back in Widow’s Vale by late afternoon. I think you’ll like it there. It’s an old town, so it has some character. I’ll have to call Sky and get her back from France. You’ll be so surprised when you see her. Remember how she was kind of a pudge? She’s quite thin and tall now.”