I felt like he’d knocked the wind out of me. When I found my voice, it sounded high and tinny. “Because I gave you my word that I wouldn’t. Come on, Robbie, we’ve been friends since second grade. You know I’m not like that. This was a special circumstance.”
He looked at me like I was a stranger, a stranger who frightened him. “The Morgan I know wouldn’t screw around with some poor old lady. You played her like she was a puppet. And I feel like a jerk for having been part of that whole charade. I feel dirty.”
I tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach. This was serious. “Robbie, I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no right to make you part of that. But this watch belonged to Maeve. I had to get it. Did you really think I could leave it there? It was my mother’s. That makes it my birthright.”
“Like your power?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“Yes. Exactly like my power.” Every so often words come out of your mouth with a cool, resonant certainty and you know you’ve hit a bone-deep truth. There’s no taking it back or denying it. That’s how it felt then, and Robbie and I both stood there, suspended for a moment in the awful implications of what I’d just said.
Maeve had given up her magick, but there was nothing on this earth that would make me give up mine.
“So this birthright of yours.” I could see him fighting for control, trying to keep his voice steady. “It gives you the right to manipulate some woman you don’t even know?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“No, it’s just what you did. You were flexing your power. Well, I’m starting to think maybe your power isn’t such a great thing.”
“Robbie, that’s not true! I—”
“Forget it,” he said. “I’m going to see if I can get in on another chess game. If I’m going to be totally overwhelmed, at least it’s going to be by something I understand.”
He stalked off down Ninth Avenue, leaving me with Maeve’s watch and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
8. Spy
August 27, 1981
I’ve been back in Scotland almost a week now. And a bleak, colorless landscape it is. Was I ever happy here? Grania met me at the door with bawling babies clinging to her skirts and a list of complaints. It had been pouring for ten days straight, and the thatching on the roof was leaking, making the entire house reek of mildew. Oh, and little Iona was cutting a tooth and couldn’t I make a tincture for the pain? It’s a wonder she didn’t ask me to stop the rains. The thing is, Grania’s not without power of her own. Before the babies came, she was a promising witch. But now she’s the martyr, and it’s all up to me. I wasn’t home half an hour before I left for the pub, and I’ve spent most of my time there ever since. I can’t face my own home. Can’t face life without Maeve.
Last night was the worst yet. The little ones both had a bug. Kyle was feverish. Iona couldn’t keep down anything she ate. With Greer still in Ballynigel, I was called on to lead a circle. I came back to find Grania shrieking like a harpy. How could I have left her with two sick kids? Didn’t I care about my own children? I didn’t have it in me to lie. “No,” I told her. “Nor do I care for you, you fat cow.” She struck me then, and I nearly struck her back. Instead, I told her she was a shrew and a chore just to look at. Made her cry, which of course drove me even farther round the bend. Finally I took her to bed just to get her to stop the waterworks. It was awful. All I wanted was Maeve in my arms.
Today Grania’s playing the victim for all it’s worth, and I find myself wishing I could stop her pathetic whining once and for all. It would cost me the coven, though. She’s still Greer’s daughter, with a certain inherited position here, no matter how undeserved.
I have so much rage in me that everything I see is enclosed in an aura of flaming red. I am furious with Maeve for her self-righteous rejection of me. Furious with myself for marrying Grania, when I should have known Maeve was out there, waiting for me. And furious with Grania for having the wretched luck to be who she is.
She just came in to tell me that she already feels a child stirring within her from last night’s mockery of lovemaking. “It will be a boy,” she said, a sickly hope on her face. “What shall we name him?”
“We shall call him Killian,” I answered. It means strife.
— Neimhidh
I was grateful no one else was in the apartment when I got back. I was still trying to pull myself together after Robbie’s accusations. After the shock had come anger. How could he have thought I’d hurt that old woman? How could he accuse me of such awful things? I’d assumed Robbie was strong enough not to be freaked by things he didn’t understand. Instead, he’d gotten totally hysterical. He hadn’t even listened when I’d tried to explain.
Yet I couldn’t help feeling a twinge—more than a twinge—of guilt. There’d been some truth in what Robbie had said. Plus I’d broken my promise to Hunter to keep a low profile.
I drew out the watch that Ciaran had given to Maeve. The gold case gleamed softly in the light coming through the living room windows. I pulled out the ruby-tipped winding stem and wound it to the right, deasil, feeling the resistance of the spring inside. Would it work after all these years? Yes, there was a soft, even ticking.
Had it been worth my trouble? I wondered, thinking about the argument with Robbie. Yes. I could no more have left the watch in that awful apartment than I could have left Maeve’s Book of Shadows in Selene’s house.
Sitting cross-legged on Bree’s father’s couch, I tried to find a way through the murk. I wasn’t going to lose Robbie, I told myself. Especially now that I’d sort of lost Bree. We both needed to calm down, and we probably both needed to apologize. And Robbie needed to realize that I was still the same Morgan he knew and trusted.
But you’re not, a voice inside me said. You’re a blood witch, and no one but another blood witch will ever understand.
Again I thought about why I’d wanted the watch so badly. Was it simply because it had been loved by Maeve? Or was I fascinated by the fact that it had been given to her by Ciaran, her mùirn beatha dàn, the man who eventually became her murderer? I felt my jaw tensing with anger as I thought of him, and I had to will myself to relax.
Then my senses tingled. Hunter was approaching. I took a few deep breaths to calm my conflicted heart. I wasn’t ready to discuss this with Hunter, both because I was certain he’d side with Robbie and because I knew he wouldn’t approve of my having anything connected to Ciaran.
I tucked the watch away in my pocket and went to the door.
“Hey,” I said as he came in. “How was the rest of your day?”
Hunter pulled me to him. “Spectacularly lousy. How was yours?”
“So-so. You didn’t find that building?”
“Not yet, no. I’m going to keep looking. I just wanted to stop in and tell you I wouldn’t be here for tonight’s circle.” Hunter arched one blond eyebrow. “Anyone else here?”
“Nope. Just you and me.”
“Thank the Goddess for that,” he said. He held me tight, and I felt that familiar shift as our energies aligned in perfect synchronicity. “Mmm,” I said. “This is nice. I think I’ve had enough of the group experience.”
Hunter laughed. “You didn’t expect we’d get on each other’s nerves living in such close quarters? Try growing up in a coven where everyone’s been able to read your emotions from the day you were born. There’s a reason New York is teeming with witches run away from home.”
He took off his jacket, and we went into the kitchen. I got myself a Diet Coke from the fridge.