The front door flew open, and Hunter burst in. “What is it?” he asked breathlessly.
I ran to him. “Someone’s out there,” I said, resisting the urge to bury my face in his chest. “Someone’s watching us.”
“What?” His eyes widened. “Tell me what happened.”
My words tumbled over one another as I told him how Killian and I had both felt the hostile attention, how we’d been unable to pin down where it was coming from or who it was. Killian didn’t say anything, just nodded every now and then. His face was still pale, but I figured that was normal, after what we’d sensed.
Looking grim, Hunter began to prowl through the apartment. I could tell that his senses were fully extended, and I felt something else besides—probably some Seeker spell he was using to get the danger to reveal itself.
“Nothing,” he said, walking back into the living room. “Which doesn’t mean that there wasn’t something very real trying to get in. Only that whatever it was seems to be gone now.” He looked at Killian. “Anything else you noticed that might help us?”
Killian shook his head. “No. Nothing,” he said, sounding almost angry. Then he added abruptly, “Look, I’m knackered. I’m going to sleep.” Ignoring the air mattress, he stretched out on the couch and rolled over, presenting his back to us.
A moment later the door opened again and the rest of our group came into the apartment. Apparently they had gone to some club where a terrible band was playing and everyone else was in their fifties. There was a good deal of loud discussion of just whose bad idea it had been. Throughout it Killian lay on the couch, eyes closed. He seemed to be asleep, though I didn’t see how it was really possible, given the noise level in the room.
After a few moments I retreated to the guest room and crawled into bed. It had been a long day, and in spite of everything on my mind, I fell asleep quickly.
When I woke just before ten the next morning, Hunter was cursing.
Killian was gone.
9. Connections
November 11, 1981
I thought it would get easier. Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? And if not time, what about the healing rituals our clan has used for hundreds of years?
Why is it that I see Maeve’s face when I wake and when I sleep and when I lie in bed with Grania? Maeve, behind every door, around every corner, in every invocation to the Goddess? There is no longer any joy for me in this world. Even my own children cannot hold my interest or attention, and that’s probably a kindness. If I really let myself see them, I see them as the things that made Maeve reject me. If not for them, she and I would be together now. I can’t forget her. And I can’t have her. And the rage does not ebb.
It’s funny. Fat, old Greer, of all people, was the one who saw what was happening. She didn’t mince words. “Your soul is sickening and your heart shriveling,” she told me. “There’s a black, twisted thing inside you. So use it, boy.”
At first I was so out of my mind with pain, I didn’t understand what she meant. It was not hard to figure out, though. Who better to call on dark magick than one whose own soul has sunk into darkness?
— Neimhidh
Hunter was staring out the living room window at a leaden winter sky, his jaw tight with frustration. Raven was still sleeping, and Robbie had gone out to get bagels.
Bree sat cross-legged on the living room floor, doing a yoga stretch. “Look, I know you’re trying to protect Killian, but personally, I’m not sure his being gone is such a loss.”
From the couch Sky said, “I know what you mean.”
Hunter’s eyes focused on me. “I want to go over what happened last night when you and Killian sensed that hostile presence. I know you think you told me everything, but tell me again. Even the littlest details, no matter how unimportant they might seem.”
I sat down on the couch. “We were in the living room, just talking, when we both felt a presence. Killian said something was trying to get into the apartment. I sent that message to you then, and we both searched with our senses. Then I went to the intercom and called the doorman to see if he’d seen anyone. Killian did a scan of the hallway. And then there was a big thump at the window that nearly scared us both to death—”
“You didn’t mention anything about a thump last night,” Hunter said sharply.
“That’s because was it nothing. Just a pigeon. And then right after that you showed up.”
Hunter frowned. “A pigeon?”
“What?” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“Pigeons aren’t nocturnal,” Hunter said. He looked tense. “What exactly did you see?”
I felt a stirring of alarm. “Um, it was just a blur. Feathers. Brown and gray, I think. About this big.” I held up my hands to make a shape the size of a large cantaloupe.
“That’s too big to be a pigeon,” Hunter said instantly. “I suspect it was an owl.”
My mouth went dry. “You mean…”
He nodded. “I mean one of the shape-shifters from Amyranth.”
There was a long silence. I tried to still the flutterings of terror in my stomach.
“At least we can be reasonably sure we were right about Killian being their target,” Hunter said. “Obviously Amyranth followed him here.”
“He knew,” I said, suddenly understanding why Killian was so subdued after the “pigeon” incident. “He didn’t tell us, but I’m sure he knew exactly what it was.”
Hunter blew out a long breath. “Now the question is whether Killian cut out on his own or whether Amyranth somehow managed to spirit him away. But it all comes down to the same thing. Somehow we’ve got to find him before anything happens to him.”
I thought about Ciaran’s watch, wondering if we could somehow use it to figure out where Ciaran was. “Hunter,” I said, feeling nervous. “I need to show you something. Come with me for a minute.”
Bree and Sky both gave me questioning looks as Hunter followed me into the guest room. Wishing I’d been straight with him from the start, I took the watch from my jacket pocket and handed it to him.
One blond eyebrow arched as he unwrapped the green silk covering. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his eyes unreadable.
I told him the whole story then.
Hunter listened silently. Then for an endless stretch he just looked at me. I didn’t need my witch senses to know that I’d disappointed him—by acting so rashly, by having kept the whole thing secret from him, especially once I knew Ciaran was the Amyranth leader.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have told you.”
“Yes. You should have.” He sounded weary. “Nevertheless, the watch might be a valuable aid. Let’s see if it will help us.” He wound the stem a few turns. “Since you’re connected to Maeve and it was hers, you need to be the one to hold it.”
I took the watch from him and held it in my hand. Intuitively we both slipped into a meditative state, focusing on the rhythm of the watch’s ticking.
Hunter chanted a few words in Gaelic. “A spell to make visible the energies of those who once held the watch dear,” he explained.
I felt a warmth along the watch’s golden case and a rush of tenderness wound through with what I’d come to recognize as my mother’s energy.
“Maeve cherished it,” I told Hunter.
He sketched a rune in the air, and I recognized Peorth, the rune for hidden things revealed. “What else?” he asked.
Something flickered along the surface of the shiny, gold case. A bit of green. Maeve’s wide green eyes, then her russet-colored hair. I felt my throat go thick with tears. The last time I’d seen a vision of Maeve, it had been of her trapped in the burning barn. Dying.
Here she stood in an open field, her eyes lit with joy and love. The image changed. This time it showed Maeve in what must have been her bedroom. A small space tucked under the eaves with a narrow bed covered by a brightly colored quilt. Maeve stood in a white nightgown, gazing from her window at the moon, a look of yearning on her face. I was sure she was thinking about Ciaran.