“You’re out of luck,” I said testily. “Back to the subject. Your father is the leader of Amyranth?”
Killian got up and walked over to the window. He leaned his palms against the sill and stared out into the darkness. “My dad is a very powerful witch. I respect his power. I’d be a bloody madman not to. I stay out of his way. He’s got no reason to want me dead.”
He hadn’t answered the question, I noticed with interest. “What about your mother?” I asked.
Killian laughed mirthlessly and turned to face me. “Grania? The bird’s got generations of magick in her blood, but does she appreciate it? Not at all. She gets her real power from being a victim. No matter what happens, she suffers. Nobly, dramatically, and loudly. I tell you, I completely understand why my dad left that house. I couldn’t wait to get out myself.”
“So you came to New York to be with him?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I knew he was here, of course. And there were certain…connections for me in the city because of him. But Dad’s a heartless bastard. We’re not what you would call close.” He polished off his soda and looked at me. “What about you? What’s your story?”
I shrugged, not wanting to lie about myself, but knowing I shouldn’t tell him anything of my real story.
“You’re a blood witch,” he stated.
I nodded. That much I couldn’t hide from him.
“Quite powerful, I can sense that,” he went on. “And for reasons that are unfathomable to me, you’re quite fond of that bore of a Seeker.”
“That’s enough,” I said sharply.
Killian laughed. “Right. Didn’t take me long to find your sore point, did it?”
“Are you always this much fun?” I asked, irritated.
Killian put his hand over his heart and looked to the ceiling. “May the gods strike me dead,” he said with mock solemnity. “Always.”
“If you weren’t running from your father, then who were you running from?” I asked, unable to give it up. “And don’t tell me you weren’t running.”
He looked at me again. All of a sudden the mirth went out of his eyes. “All right,” he said, leaning forward. “It’s like this. I don’t really believe the Seeker is right about me being an Amyranth target,” he went on in a hushed voice. “On the other hand, it is true that Amyranth isn’t exactly pleased with me. See, I’d all but joined the coven. Never went through with the initiation, but I was in deep enough to learn some of their secrets, the minor ones at least. Then I…decided that I didn’t want to join. But Amyranth isn’t the sort of coven you just walk out on. And my dad took the defection a bit personally.”
“It sounds like it took courage to defect,” I said, genuinely starting to like him. “What made you do it?”
Killian gave another of his casual shrugs. “I just wasn’t into their whole agenda.”
“Why not?” Finally, I thought, we were getting somewhere.
But he just winked at me. “Too much homework,” he said with a laugh. “Took up all my quality time. New York is a blast. Don’t you think it’s kind of a waste to spend all your time feeling like one of the witches in a bad production of Macbeth?”
I couldn’t tell anymore if Killian was being honest or just playing with me. “I think—”
I never finished my sentence because suddenly my witch senses were on red alert, shrieking in alarm. Killian felt it, too. He was on his feet in an instant, his gaze sweeping the apartment.
“What the hell is that?” I whispered. The sense of menace was so sharp, it was almost physical.
“Someone’s trying to get into the apartment,” he said.
Instantly I sent a message to Hunter. Then I ran to the video monitor in the hall and pressed the button for the doorman. “Did anyone come past you?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice normal. “Did you send anyone up to this apartment?”
“Bollocks to that,” Killian muttered. He peered through the peephole in the door and did a scan of the hallway. “No one there,” he reported a moment later. His face was pale. “But someone is definitely paying attention to us. Someone unfriendly.”
Something thumped hard against the living room window, and I jumped about a foot in the air. Killian and I both spun around. I got a brief impression of feathers in motion.
“Oh, thank God!” I said, weak with relief. “It was only a pigeon. I thought someone was trying to climb in the window.”
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.