"Let's see," Ian murmured, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. "I've got a shopping list." He read the paper, then pulled a handful of little plastic bags from his jeans pocket. "Dog's mercury, for one," he said. "And it's going to be bloody hard to find it this time of year." He looked over at Moira and frowned slightly. "Are you sure you're on for this? I know it's boring. It's just, I really should do it, and I wanted to spend time with you."
"It's all right," Moira said. "I can help you look." He grinned at her, and her heart did a little flip. She loved his smile, the light in his eyes.
"No," he said. "You sit down there. I have to start collecting some of this stuff, but you can keep me company. Tell me what you've been doing."
"Studying for classes. I submitted my ladybug spell to my spellcraft teacher."
"Really?" Ian laughed. "How'd it go over?" "She thought the construction was elegant and clean but that the spell was frivolous and self-centered," Moira admitted. The comments had stung a bit, but she'd half expected them. "She said to read back in my parents' Books of Shadows, so I dug my mum's up and started reading them."
Ian stilled, crouched on the ground, and looked up at her. "Really? You hadn't read them before now? What were they like?"
"I'd read some, but not early ones," Moira said carefully. Why was he so interested in her parents' Books of Shadows? Maybe he's just trying to be nice, she chided herself. "I haven't got far in these," she said, sitting down on a thick fallen log. "But I'm reading about how my mum didn't even know she was a blood witch till she was sixteen years old. She'd been adopted, and no one had told her."
Ian shook his head. "I can't imagine not growing up with Wicca. That would be too strange. How did she find out?"
Moira hesitated. How much could she trust Ian? What if he was like Mum thought? No, she had to stop-this was Ian. "A blood witch moved to town and realized it and told her. It caused big problems, because my grandparents are Catholic and they didn't want anything to do with Wicca."
"These are your mum's adopted parents?"
"Yeah. Even now-I know they love her, and they love me and loved my dad, but our being Wiccan and practicing the craft still upsets them. They're worried about our souls."
Ian clawed at some dirt at the base of a tree. Gently he unearthed a small plant that already looked dormant for autumn. He sealed it inside a plastic bag and set it on the ground. "Well, they're trying to show they love you," he said, looking off into the distance. "Sometimes people can do amazingly hurtful things, trying to show they love you." It sounded as if he were talking more to himself than her, but then he shook his head and gave her a little smile.
"Anyway, it sounds like your mum's Books of Shadows are wicked interesting. You should keep reading them."
"Yeah, I'm going to." She wished she could just trust what he said, but she still couldn't help wondering-did he have another reason to want her to read the Books of Shadows? Was his mum using him to get to her like Selene had done with Cal and her mum?
The sun had almost set, and now Moira realized it was almost dark. "Are you finding what you need?" she asked, doing her best to push away her doubts.
"I can't find a couple of things, but at least I got some of the most important ones," he said, collecting his bags. "I've done my good-son deed for the day. It feels like it's getting colder. Are you chilly?"
"I'm all right," Moira said, but her hands were rubbing her arms. Ian came to sit next to her and put his arm around her. They were alone in a deserted wood, and his warmth felt so good next to her. When he held her like this and looked into her eyes, she couldn't believe that he could ever deceive her. It was as if she could see his whole soul in his eyes and saw only good. Not angelic good, but regular good.
"I've got an idea," he said. "Let's go down and look in the water-scry."
"Scry? What for?"
"Just for fun." Ian shrugged. "For practice."
Moira bit her lip. She could almost hear her mother, warning her that Ian only wanted her to scry with him so he could test just how strong her powers were. Goddess, she wished she could stop questioning every little thing Ian said and did and just trust him. "Okay," she said. "Let's go."
Holding hands, they stepped carefully down the rocky banks to where the brook, barely six feet wide at this point, trickled past. There was a flattish boulder half in the water, and they knelt on it, then lay on their stomachs, their faces close to the water. At this spot a natural sinkhole created a barely shimmering circle of water maybe eighteen inches across. It was as smooth and flat as a mirror. "Do you scry much?" Ian asked, looking down at his reflection.
"No-I'm not that good at it. I practice it, of course."
"In water?"
"Yeah-it's the easiest. My mum uses fire."
Ian looked up, interested. "Really? Fire's very difficult- harder than stone or crystal. But it's reliable. Is she good at it?"
"Very good." Moira stopped, uncomfortable talking about her mother with Ian. She leaned closer to the water. On a bright day she'd have been able to see snips and bits of sky through the treetops overhead. Today, at this hour, she could see only darkness around the reflection of her face.
"Let's try," Ian said softly. He edged closer to her so that they were lying next to each other, their chins on their hands, heads hanging over the water.
When her mother or anyone else from Belwicket scried, they used a short, simple rhyme in English, tailoring the words to fit the medium or the occasion. Moira was trying to recall one when Ian started chanting very softly in Gaelic. She met his eyes in the water, their two reflections overlapping slightly at this angle. Gaelic wasn't Moira's strong point, though she'd studied it and knew enough to have simple conversations. And of course many of the more traditional chants and songs were in old Gaelic. In Ians chant she recognized the modern words an t'suil, "the eye," and tha sinn, "we are." There were many more that she couldn't get.
Her gaze focused on her reflection in the water, but her ears strained to understand Ians chant. So far she hadn't heard any of the basic words or phrases that she knew could be used as frames to surround a spell and turn its intention dark. Was she being paranoid? Was she just trying to be safe? Had her mother ruined her ability to just be with Ian, relaxed and happy? Silently Moira groaned to herself, but as she did, their reflections in the water began changing. Automatically Moira slowed her breathing and focused her entire energy on seeing what the water wanted her to see. Water was notoriously unreliable-not that it was never right, but it was so fickle in whether it would show the truth or not.
As they watched, their bodies pressed close, the chill of the boulder seeping through Moira's clothes, their two reflected faces seemed to split apart, like atoms dividing. Their images had overlapped, but now they separated. Then Ians reflection seemed to split apart again, dividing into two other images. From Moira's angle she thought one of the images was a man, with dark hair and blue eyes. He was older and looked sad but vaguely familiar. But the other half of the image made her breath catch in her throat-it was a shadow, the shadow of a person, with blurred features. Its mouth opened and it laughed, with water showing through where the mouth was. It was just a shadow, not in the shape of a monster, yet the sight filled Moira with dread. She felt clammy and cold, and a chilly trickle of sweat eased down the nape of her neck. It was just a shadow-why did it seem so terrible?
Gulping, Moira looked away, down at her own reflection. It too had separated into two images. One image was a fire-in the shape of a face. The fire was smoldering, red-hot coals but seemed to offer warmth and comfort rather than destruction. Tiny flames licked at the edges, like strands of hair being blown in the wind. The other image was a person, just as Ians had been. At first Moira thought it was her, but then she realized the person was a man. She frowned, trying to see closer.
Splash! Moira jumped back as a small stone dropped into the water, destroying the reflections. Startled, she looked up at Ian and wiped a few drops of water off her face. "What did you do? There was something something else there."
Ian got to his knees, looking unhappy. "I thought I'd seen enough."
Moira also scrambled up, her limbs feeling stiff and chilled through. "Are you all right?" She took his arm and looked into his face, but his expression was blank and he wouldn't meet her gaze.
"Yeah. It was just cold there on the rock." Edging past her gently, Ian picked up his collected bags, then brushed off his clothes.
He's lying. Did he see what I saw?
"Come on, then," Ian said, trying to sound natural. He forced a smile and held out his hand to help her down from the rock. She took it, jumping down, and followed Ian as he picked their way back out of the woods. The closer they got to the edge, the cooler and fresher it seemed, and Moira could smell rain and hear it pelting the tops of the trees.
"Brilliant," Ian said, looking out at the rain and the darkness. He turned to her. "I'm sorry, Moira. We're going to get soaked."
Moira? Where are you? Moira heard her mother's voice inside her head.
She sent back, I'm here, with Ian, at the brook. I'm on my way home.
"It's all right," she said to Ian. "I've gotten soaked before. But are you all right? Why did you break up the reflection?" He paused, not looking at her, absentmindedly flapping the bags against his leg. "I don't know," he said finally. "It just-I wanted to get out of there."
Moira waited, holding his arm and looking at his face, his skin flecked with raindrops. "You can tell me," she said gently. "You can trust me."
His startled gaze met hers, his dark blue eyes seeming to search her face. A sad-looking smile crossed his face, followed by a look of despair that lasted only an instant. Moira wasn't sure if she'd really seen it. Stepping closer, Ian put a hand under Moira's chin. His skin was damp and cool. "Thank you," he said quietly, and then he kissed her, there at the edge of the woods in the rain.
Moira closed her eyes and stepped closer, slanting her head to deepen the kiss. It was so good and felt so right. Her worries and suspicions fell away as they put their arms around each other and held on tightly. But she knew there was something beneath Ians skin, something he was worried about or afraid of. Her instincts still told her that he himself wasn't bad, or evil, as her mother would say. I can help him, she thought dizzily as they broke away from their kiss and stared at each other. Whatever it is that's upsetting him, it'll be all right.
6. Morgan
Morgan finished writing the recipe for the liver strengthener in her best handwriting. Unfortunately, her handwriting hadn't really improved over the years.
Right after Moira had left to meet Ian, Fillipa Gregg had dropped by for a quick consultation. Morgan had been glad for the distraction and, after doing some hands-on healing work, had concocted the liver cleanser for her. Tonight she needed to write up a strengthening spell and prepare a vial of flower essences for Fillipa to put in her tea for a month.
The sun was going down, but Morgan didn't need to think about dinner for an hour. It was taking all her self-control not to scry for Moira to make sure she was all right. Elise's Brook! In the middle of nowhere with Ian Delaney. Two weeks ago Morgan's life had been sad, unbalanced, but not threatening. Now danger threatened; it was almost as if she and the coven were under siege. Morgan knew she had to keep her guard up, watch her back, the way she had back in Widow's Vale so many years ago. She was keeping the animals inside more and locking all the doors and windows. Not that physical barriers would do any good if serious magick was being worked against her.
Do something. Idle hands are the devil's workshop.
Morgan smiled as she remembered her adoptive mother's words. Of course, Wiccans didn't believe in the devil, or Satan, in any form. But it wouldn't hurt to keep busy. Keeping busy helped her think. And maybe she could gather some ingredients for more, stronger ward-evil spells.
On one wall of Morgan's workroom were floor-to-ceiling shelves. All of her magickal supplies were there, from an assortment of crystals and gems to oil essences, dried flowers, powdered barks, spelled candles and runes, and incense. Maeve's four silver cups were there, polished and shiny from use. The Riordan athame rested in the velvet-lined box that Morgan had bought for it years ago. Maeve's green silk robe was folded carefully and wrapped in tissue paper.
It had been hard talking to Moira this afternoon about Cal. Maybe not as hard as she'd feared, but still difficult to talk about. And as bad as her past with Cal was, it was going to be much, much harder to tell Moira about Ciaran or Hunter. Colm had known about Ciaran and some of her history with Hunter. Telling Moira about her past-her story-was much more daunting, more painful. Morgan had thought it would get easier with time. That at some point she would know when Moira was ready to hear about her past. But waiting hadn't made facing the truth any easier. Morgan remembered what it had felt like, learning that she was the illegitimate daughter of Ciaran MacEwan. It had shaken her to the core, made her question herself like nothing else ever had. If she was the daughter of an incredibly evil witch, did that make her own darkness inevitable? She had known even then that it was going to be a constant struggle to stay on the side of goodness.
It had been, but not only because she was Ciaran's daughter. Every single person, every day, had to choose goodness over and over again. Every person, every day, could take one of two paths. It was up to that person to choose well. Choosing to work with bright magick wasn't a choice one made at the beginning of her career and then just forgot about. The temptation was constant. It was a choice that must be made continuously, despite need or anger or desire. There had been times when Morgan had known she could truly help someone, truly make a difference in someone's life, but it would have meant working the wrong kind of magick. And there had been times when Morgan could see how her own power would be increased substantially if she worked a certain spell or created certain rituals. If she were that much stronger, she could do that much more good. She always used her powers for good. She could protect her family that much more. She herself could be that much safer. But to get that power, she would have to pay the price of working dark magick, even if it were only for a short amount of time. And that price was too high. The memory of Daniel Niall, collapsed and broken after working with a bith dearc-a portal to the dead-flashed through Morgan's mind.