Bree looked both amused and horrified. “Great. I’m just imagining one of my father’s clients calling and getting that message.”
The waitress returned. “What’ll you have?” she asked.
“Uh—we’re waiting for friends,” Robbie said. “Could you come back in ten minutes?”
She gestured at the line that had formed near the door. “I got people waiting for tables,” she told us. “Either you’re ready to order or you should let someone else sit down.”
“Let’s just order,” Bree decided.
So we ordered corned beef and pastrami sandwiches and sodas. Raven got a Reuben. The food came immediately, and I’d eaten half my sandwich when I felt Hunter and Sky nearby. I turned around to see them walking through the door.
Hunter was wearing his leather jacket and a bottle-green scarf. His cheeks were red from the cold. “Sorry we’re late,” he said as they reached the table.
Raven rolled her eyes. “Nice of you to show up.”
Robbie, ever the gentleman, managed to round up two more chairs and bring them over to the table. Sky sat down next to Raven.
“Are you hungry?” I offered Hunter the uneaten half of my sandwich.
“No. Thanks,” he said, sounding distracted. He didn’t take the chair Robbie had brought for him. Instead, he knelt by my side. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said in a low voice. “How about if you wrap up your sandwich and we take a walk?”
“I’m full,” I said. I was glad of the chance to talk—I wanted to tell him about having the dream again.
I left money for the check and made arrangements to meet the others back at Murray’s in half an hour. Then Hunter and I set off. By unspoken agreement we headed toward Central Park, stopping only to buy two takeout coffees, defense against the cold.
We walked down a side street lined with gracious brownstones, past the Dakota, where John Lennon had lived, and finally stopped to sit on a low wall overlooking Strawberry Fields, Lennon’s memorial. Because it was so cold, there weren’t many visitors to the teardrop-shaped garden that day. But on the circular mosaic imprinted with the wordImagine someone had left a bouquet of white and yellow daisies.
“Did you know that Strawberry Field was actually the name of an orphanage next door to John Lennon’s boyhood home?” Hunter asked. “His aunt, who raised him, used to threaten to send him there whenever he misbehaved.”
“I’ll have to remember that tidbit for my dad,” I said. “He’s still a big fan.”
“My parents had all the Beatles’ albums,” Hunter remembered. “My mum used to play the second side ofAbbey Road on Sunday mornings. ‘Here Comes the Sun.’” He hummed the tune softly for a moment. “Goddess, it’s been ages since I thought about that.” He shook his head as though trying to shake off the pain of memory.
“At least you know they’re alive now,” I said, trying to sound positive. The dark wave had demolished Hunter’s parents’ coven when he was only eight, and his mother and father had been in hiding ever since. For years he hadn’t even known for sure whether they were dead or alive. Right before Yule, Hunter’s father had actually contacted him through his lueg. But the dark wave had overwhelmed the vision, cutting it off before Hunter heard what his father was trying to tell him. Since then we hadn’t dared try to contact them again, for fear that it would lead the darkness to them.
“I know they were alive three weeks ago,” Hunter corrected, his voice tight. “Or at least Dad was. But anything could have happened since then, and I wouldn’t know. That’s what kills me—not knowing.”
Aching for him, I put my arms around his waist. For the most part Hunter kept his grief for his family hidden well below the surface, but every so often it would well up and I’d see how it always was with him. How part of him would never rest until he knew for certain what had happened to his parents.
I felt a gentle glow of white light in the center of my chest. One of Alyce’s healing spells was opening to me. “Will you let me try something?” I asked.
Hunter nodded. I unzipped his jacket halfway. I took off my glove, undid one button of his shirt, and slid my already cold hand against his smooth, warm skin. He flinched, then I felt him opening himself to the white light that was flowing through me.
I began a whispered chant. “‘The heart that loves must one day grieve. Love and grief are the Goddess’s twined gifts. Let the pain in, let it open your heart to compassion. Let me help you bear your grief….’”
I couldn’t continue. Suddenly I knew exactly what it would feel like to have my parents and Mary K. ripped from me. It was beyond excruciating. It was more than could be borne. I cried out in grief though I managed to keep my hand on Hunter’s chest, managed to keep the healing light flowing.
“Shhh,” Hunter said. “You don’t have to do any more.”
“No,” I whispered. “I have to finish the spell. ‘Then may your heart ease and open to greater love. May the love that flows eternally through the universe embrace and comfort you.’”
Gradually I felt the white light diffusing and, with it, Hunter’s pain. My eyes met his. There was something different in them, a new clarity. I felt something that had bound him dissolving. “Thank you,” he said.
“Courtesy of Alyce,” I told him shakily. “I didn’t realize quite how much it hurt. I’m sorry.”
He kissed my forehead and pulled me against him. When I’d stopped trembling, he said, “Would you like to know why we’re sitting here freezing our bums off instead of eating lunch?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that,” he said. “First, I’m sorry for not answering your messages. It took us a while to find our contact, and then when we finally tracked him down, he was absolutely terrified. He led us through a maze of elaborate safety precautions. If I’d answered you and he’d noticed, he might have thought I was betraying him.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I was just worried about you. Did this guy have any information?”
“Yes,” Hunter said, “he did.”
He paused. The sun, which hadn’t been strong that morning, disappeared behind a band of thick, white clouds.
“So?” I prompted after a moment.
Hunter’s green eyes looked troubled. “I found out who the leader of the New York Amyranth cell is. Apparently the members of the coven wear masks that represent their animal counterparts when they need to draw on the power of that animal. Their leader wears the wolf’s mask. My contact didn’t know them all, but he confirmed that there are also coven members who wear the masks of an owl, a viper, a cougar, a jaguar, and a weasel.”
“So my dream—”
“Was of the New York cell of Amyranth,” Hunter finished. “Yes.”
I shuddered. “Hunter, I had the dream again,” I told him. “It was just about an hour ago, while I was in an occult bookstore down in SoHo.”
“Goddess!” Hunter looked alarmed. “Why didn’t you contact me?” Before I could answer, he let out an exclamation of annoyance. “Stupid question. I wasn’t answering your messages. Morgan, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I mean, it was scary, but this time I knew what it was. I’m not sure why I had it again, though.”
“Perhaps because we’re in New York,” he said. “Or perhaps…” He trailed off, looking still more troubled. Then he reached out and took my hand. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you. Something I learned today. It will bring up painful thoughts for you.”
Icy fingers of dread walked up my spine as I sensed the weight of whatever news Hunter was carrying. I gave him a weak smile. “Go for it.”
“The name of this wolf-masked leader is Ciaran,” he said.
“Ciaran?” I felt sick. “It—it can’t be the same Ciaran. I mean, surely there’s more than one Ciaran in the world.”
“I’m sure there is,” Hunter agreed. “But this Ciaran is a powerful Woodbane witch in his early forties who comes from northern Scotland. I’m sorry, Morgan, but there really isn’t any doubt. He’s the one who killed Maeve and Angus.”