Quite suddenly the open view of the winter sky disappeared. The air became tinged with gray, and billboards and tall brick projects rose to my right. The traffic, already slow, became stop and go; impatient drivers leaned on horns. A van in front of me spewed a cloud of black exhaust. I caught a glimpse of lead-gray river water to my left, with industrial buildings on the far side. A taxi driver yelled unintelligibly at me as he passed on the right.
I felt a surge of raw, boisterous energy. We were in the city.
2. Searching
March 3, 1977
My wedding garments are laid out. The white robe embroidered in gold with the runes to summon power. The belt woven of gold and crimson threads. The groom’s wristbands, beaten gold set with rubies, that I inherit from Grania’s father. Everything is spelled with charms for strength and fertility, with protections against whatever might harm us, with blessings for wealth and long life.
I wonder about love, though. Grania teases me, saying that nothing truly touches my heart, and maybe she’s right. I know I don’t love her, though I’m fond of her.
Yet my mind lingers on last summer’s fling with that American Woodbane, Selene. Now, I know that wasn’t love, but Goddess, it was exciting, the most intense experience I’ve ever had. And that includes all the times I’ve been with Grania. Still, Grania is a pretty thing and very pliant. And she’s strong in her magick. Our children will be powerful, and that’s the most important thing. Power. Woodbane power.
So why do I hesitate as I prepare for our wedding? And why do I keep dreaming of that damned white dress?
— Neimhidh
Bree’s father’s apartment was on Park Avenue and Twenty-second Street. Bree gave directions, and I maneuvered Das Boot off the FDR, across Twenty-third Street, and finally onto Park and into the garage beneath the building.
The garage attendant gave me a strange look as we pulled in. With its two front quarter panels covered with gray body filler, its slate blue hood and shiny new metal bumper, Das Boot was not looking its most sophisticated.
Bree cranked down her window and spoke to the guard. “We’re guests of Mr. Warren in apartment thirty-sixty,” she said. “He’s arranged for a guest pass.”
The guard checked a computer screen and let us in. The garage was filled with BMWs, Jags, Mercedes, and top-of-the-line SUVs.
I patted Das Boot on its piebald fender. “You’re good for this place,” I told it. “They need to see how the other half drives.”
“It’s the perfect city car,” Robbie assured me. “No one would ever try to steal it.”
Loaded down with bags, we walked to the elevator. Bree hit the button for the thirtieth floor, and I felt Hunter clasp my hand. This was so glamorous, like something in a movie.
Raven smiled at Sky. “This is very cool. I love the city.”
Sky smiled back at her. “Think I could persuade you to visit the Cloisters?”
“Hell, yes,” Raven said. “It’s a medieval museum, right? I love that stuff.”
The elevator opened, and we walked down a narrow hallway to the apartment at the very end. Mr. Warren opened the door before we knocked. Like Bree, he was tall, slender, and very good-looking. He was dressed in an elegantly tailored suit and silk tie.
“Come on in,” he said. He pointed to a little video monitor by the door that revealed the thirtieth-floor hallway. “I saw you arrive.” He pecked Bree on the cheek, then gave me a smile. “Hello, Morgan. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Hi, Mr. Warren,” I mumbled. He had always made me a little nervous.
He hit a button, and the scene on the monitor switched to the garage. Another button showed us the building’s lobby and doorman. “I’ve told the security people that you’ll be here through Monday,” he said. “Did you have a good trip?”
Bree stretched. “Perfect. Morgan drove. I slept most of the way. Oh, Dad, you’ve met Robbie, Raven, and Sky. And this is Hunter Niall, Sky’s cousin. I’ve mentioned him to you.”
I wondered what, exactly, Bree had told her father. Did he know that Hunter and Sky were witches, that his own daughter practiced Wicca? Probably not, I decided. Mr. Warren was a pretty hands-off parent. Half the time he was in New York City instead of Widow’s Vale, and even when he was home, Bree didn’t have a curfew, didn’t have to be home for dinner by a certain time, didn’t have to call to say where she was. My parents had been a little leery of letting me come on this trip because of that.
Mr. Warren glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I’ve got to run, kids. Meeting. Bree, I’ve left a couple of extra keys in the kitchen. Show everyone around and help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. You can sleep anywhere except my room. I’ve got a dinner out on Long Island tonight, so I won’t be back until quite late.” He brushed her cheek with a kiss and reached into the hall closet for his coat. “Enjoy the city!”
When he was gone, Bree smiled and said, “Come on, let me give you the grand tour.”
The grand tour took all of two minutes. Mr. Warren’s apartment consisted of a decent-size living room whose windows looked out over Park Avenue, a master bedroom, a small study, an even smaller guest room, a bathroom, and a tiny efficiency kitchen.
Everybody oohed and aahed, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed, and I suspected the others did, too. Bree had told us the apartment had only two bedrooms, but somehow I’d expected something bigger, grander. Privacy was going to be tough.
“Nice,” Robbie said at last. “Great location.”
“One bathroom?” Raven sounded incredulous. “For seven of us?”
Bree shrugged. “It’s Manhattan. Space is at a premium. Actually, this place is huge by Manhattan standards.”
“I like the decor,” Sky said. “It’s simple.”
That was an understatement, I thought. Like the Warrens’ Widow’s Vale house, the apartment was austere. The walls were white, the upholstery, muted neutrals. The furniture was light and spare, with an L-shaped couch, a coffee table, and a flat-screen TV the only furniture in the living room. One painting hung on the north wall, an abstract block of brown fading into tan against a white canvas. There were no knickknacks, no photographs or vases. The room didn’t feel very lived in.
We dropped our bags in a pile next to the couch. Hunter stood by the windows. In faded jeans that hung loose on his hips and an oversize wheat-colored sweater, he looked vaguely bohemian and wholly beautiful. The light made his eyes turn a deep jade. In the time that I’d known him, I’d spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about Hunter’s eyes. Sometimes they were the color of spring grass, sometimes the color of the sea.
“What’s the plan, then?” Sky asked Hunter.
“It’s just after ten,” Hunter said. He hadn’t bothered to check a clock. His witch senses included an uncanny sense of time. “I need to call on some people,” he went on. Briefly he explained his mission to the others.
“Oh, right,” Raven said sarcastically. “No problem.”
“Hey, I lost a needle in a haystack last week,” Bree chimed in. “Think you could find that for me? You know, when you’ve got a second.”
“Do you want help?” Sky asked Hunter quietly, and I had to suppress an irrational surge of jealousy. She’s his cousin, I reminded myself. They look out for each other.
Hunter glanced at me with a very slight smile, and I knew he’d noticed my reaction. “No,” he told Sky. “Not for this part of it, anyway. It will be easier for me to get people to talk if I’m on my own. We’ll meet back here before dinner. Say, six o’clock?”