If only things were that easy, Morgan thought dully.
9. Moira
Once outside, Moira stared around blankly, realizing there wasn't really anywhere to go. She had no car, and Vita and Tess both lived a good distance away.
The front door opened, and Gran came out. She walked over to Moira, limping slightly, and Moira realized that her grandmother was getting older. In fact, she'd seemed a lot older since Dad had died.
"Come sit here with me," Katrina said, patting the small iron bench that stood next to the front gate. Moira paused, then sat. Everything was wet out here from the rain, but neither of them said anything about their pants getting soaked.
"Did Dad know?" Moira asked. "About about Mum's family?"
Gran smiled at her kindly. "Yes, your dad knew," she said. "He loved Morgan for who she is, not for who her people were. Tell me what would you think of someone who married a man just because his family was rich and powerful and she was poor? She didn't love him, she just loved who his people were, what he had." "I'd think she was awful," Moira said, frowning.
"What about the opposite, to not marry someone just because their people weren't who you wanted them to be? To think that someone's family is beneath them, not good enough?"
Moira sighed. "That's not good either, I guess."
"Morgan is Morgan," her gran said. "We searched her out years ago because she was Maeve's daughter, a Riordan, and we hoped she'd have the Riordan powers. But if she hadn't been a good person, we never would have invited her to help us rebuild Belwicket, no matter how powerful she was."
"But she's been lying to me all these years," Moira said, her feelings still raw and hurt. "Or at least not bothering to tell me the truth."
"You don't have to know every detail of your mother's past," Gran said reasonably. "No child does. It's your mother's job to love you and try to do the best she can to bring you up well. She isn't obligated to tell you every secret and make sure it's fine with you. All she can do is her best. If she makes mistakes, well, everyone does."
"But not everyone has Ciaran MacEwan for a father," Moira cried. "He's my grandfather! How am I supposed to live with that? What will people think about me when they find out?" A terrible thought occurred to her. "Oh, Goddess-tell me no one else knows about this. Does anyone in the village know?"
"Some of the coven. I'm sure others as well," Katrina said gently.
Moira moaned and put her face in her hands. "I'm Ciaran's granddaughter. I have his blood. What does that mean?" "It means you face choices every day, like everyone else," Katrina said. "You will have to choose goodness over and over again your whole life. And you'd have to do that even if all your relatives were saints who had led blameless lives."
"When you first met Mum, did you know who she was?"
"Yes, of course. I sought her out, remember? When I found out a child of Maeve's existed, I learned all I could about her. I knew about Ciaran and everything else. When I met Morgan, I knew she was for Belwicket."
"You didn't mind her marrying Dad?"
"Heavens, no." Katrina paused for a moment, thinking. "I was thankful when she agreed to marry Colm, grateful that she would stay among us and help bring Belwicket back up to speed. I was grateful I was able to help her."
"Help her?" Moira looked at her gran. "How did you help her?"
"Your mum went through a bad time," Gran said, weighing her words carefully. "A friend of hers had died in an accident, and she was very, very upset. She'd already done so much to invigorate Belwicket. I knew that with her strength and positive energy, our coven could be strong once again. We could triumph over those who'd tried to destroy us. We needed Morgan, and she helped us." Gran paused and looked down. "So when I could help her, I was happy to smooth her troubles away," she said softly. "To help her adjust to her new life."
Something feels off. Gran's uncomfortable. Moira'd had no idea that her mum had ever gone through a "bad time" and that she'd had troubles. "What kind of troubles?" she asked, intrigued. "How could you smooth them away?"
Katrina frowned, as though she regretted saying anything. "Sadness. Troubles from her life before. We all loved her so much and wanted her to be able to heal. Our love did a lot to smooth the way for her here." She stood up, slowly straightening. "The important thing is not to judge your mother, love. Try not to judge anyone. You can never know what causes another person to act, can never tell how true their motivations are. Now, I'm going in to help your mum get dinner together. Looks like Killian will be staying for it. You come in when you're ready, but don't stay out too long-your mother is quite worried about you. All right?"
"All right." Moira sat on the wet bench for a minute after her grandmother had gone inside. She couldn't shake the feeling that Gran had been keeping something back, something major. Had Mum had a nervous breakdown? Had she been in trouble with the police? Moira couldn't believe that. Had it had something to do with Ciaran? Who was the friend who'd died? She had so many questions and no answers.
Moira sighed, smelling the dampness from her storm still on the grass, her mother's herbs, the stones. She'd felt so happy with Ian today. He made her feel as though she could do anything. He thought she was amazing. If only she could see him now-feel his arms around her, hear his soothing voice. It would be so comforting, so wonderful. It would help soothe this awful pain she had inside.
She knew where he lived-across the headland, around the curve of the coast, maybe three miles away. Moira glanced at the living room window. Killian was sitting at the table. Her mum was getting out plates. Gran was slicing bread. When they realized she was missing, Mum would scry to find her. But she might still have enough time to see him. Just for two minutes. Two minutes with him would feel so perfect. After another quick glance through the window, Moira got her bike from around the back and silently wheeled it through the garden gate.
Moira had never been to Ians house before, but she knew which one it was. He lived in the next village over, Hewick, and once Mum had taken some herbs to a friend who lived not far from Ian. She'd pointed out Lilith Delaney's cottage.
It was dark, going across the headland. There was no road here, only a rough, rutted trail that farmers used to move their sheep. The headlamp on her bicycle made a pale beam that bobbed every time she hit a pebble. Of course, Moira had magesight. Not as much as she would have after she was initiated, but she could see enough so that she could just manage to avoid killing herself by hitting big rocks or running off the road into a ditch.
Though Ians house wasn't far, it took Moira much longer to get there than she had expected. Once she had pulled up outside the cottage's fence, she had a wave of second thoughts. This was stupid, to show up uninvited. Mum couldn't stand Lilith Delaney-Lilith couldn't stand her mum, either. And there was still the question of the black smoke from Saturday night. What if her mother was right about Lilith having been behind that? Even if Moira was right about Ian, that didn't mean his mum was good as well. And no one knew she was here. She thought for a second about sending her mum a witch message, then thought better of it. She'd just ride home.
Quickly Moira swung her leg back over the seat of her bicycle and was about to set off when the door of the cottage opened. A rectangle of light splashed onto the lawn, and then Ians voice called, "Moira?" Moira winced. The first thing she would do after she had been initiated would be to learn a complete disappearing spell. What was the point of being a witch if you couldn't get yourself out of stupid, possibly even scary situations like this?
"Hi," she said lamely, getting back off her bike. "I was just out, and-"
"You're upset," Ian said. "What happened after I left? Can you come in and tell me about it?"
Moira paused, torn. Something was pulling her toward Ian-she'd come here even knowing deep down that it could be dangerous. Witches are supposed to trust their instincts, right? Anyway, if Ian or his mom were going to hurt her, they could do it now whether she came into the house or not. With a sigh Moira opened their garden gate and met Ian on the walk. "It was pretty horrible," she admitted. "I needed to get out of there for a while."
Ian smiled at her. "I'm glad you're here. I'm so glad you thought I could help." He put his arms around her and held her tightly, stroking her hair and resting his head against hers.
Moira's heart melted. Her hair and jacket were frosted with mist, but now that he was holding her, warming her, giving her all the support and comfort she had desperately needed, she barely felt the chill. It had been right for her to come here.
He released her and looked into her eyes to see how she was doing. She managed a tremulous smile, and they started toward the house. As soon as Moira crossed the threshold, she smelled slightly bitter and burned herbs. Several things caught her eye at once: the glass-fronted bookcase filled with ancient-looking leather-bound books, used candles, crumpled silk shawls, and incense bowls; a ragged, red velvet couch, pushed beneath the set of windows, their panes clouded and in need of washing; and then, to her left, an open archway leading into what had once been the dining room.
Most witches Moira knew kept their houses soothing and restful, with things put away and kept clean. This much disorder was unusual, and Moira felt the back of her neck prickle. Through the archway she finally noticed that Lilith was working at the table in there, looking into a large chunk of crystal propped up against an old book. She's scrying. Automatically Moira looked at the crystal. In its mottled, flawed surface Moira saw an image of a man. It was quite clear: he was middle-aged, with long, light hair and a scraggly beard. He was wearing rags, like a homeless person, and his skin was sunburned and deeply etched with wrinkles.
In the next second Lilith looked up, saw Moira, and passed her hand over the crystal. The image winked out. Moira remembered her mum talking about Lilith using dark magick and wondered what she'd been doing. It had looked like ordinary scrying, but she couldn't be sure.
Then, aware that she was meeting Ians mother for the first time, Moira managed a shy smile. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
Ians mother came over, wiping her hands on an age-worn housekeeping apron.
"Mum, this is Moira," said Ian, coming over to stand beside her. "I told you about her. From school."
"Oh, yes," said his mother. "It's Moira Byrne, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Moira. So Ian had told his mum about her. That was either a really good sign-meaning he liked her- or a bad sign, if her mother was right that this was all part of some kind of plan. "Welcome," said Lilith. "I'm so glad to meet you. Ians mentioned you to me, so you must be special." She smiled, and Moira smiled back, feeling an odd sensation and not recognizing what it was. It felt as if she were in the woods and had suddenly come across an animal or an insect she didn't know: a slight twinge of fear, but also curiosity.
"What brings you out at night like this?" Lilith asked. She moved through the living room and went into the kitchen, which was through another set of doors. Their house was a good bit bigger than Moira's, but not as neat or cozy. Just big, neglected, and cluttered. Moira wondered what Ian thought about it.
"Oh, just wanted some fresh air," Moira said as Lilith put the kettle on the stove. She was surprised by how uncomfortable she was. This kitchen was a disaster, and Moira blinked at Lilith's obvious flouting of witchy habits. Her mum's kitchen was tiny but usually scrubbed clean, things put away, fresh fruit and vegetables in bowls. This kitchen was the opposite. It could have been such a nice room, large, with big windows. But there were unwashed dishes stacked everywhere, cooking pots with remains of meals from who knew how long ago, bunches of wilted herbs or vegetables lying around. Moira half expected to see a mouse sitting boldly on a counter, eating a piece of dried cheese.
Ian, too, seemed to be becoming less comfortable. "Mum, I'll do that," he said, taking some tea mugs from the cupboard. "We don't want to interrupt you."
Lilith stopped and gave her son an appraising glance. Moira couldn't tell if she was angry or hurt, but she again wished she hadn't come here uninvited. Ian looked back at his mother steadily, and finally, with a somewhat brittle smile, she nodded good-bye to Moira and walked out of the kitchen. Ian stood silently for a moment; then the kettle hissed and he turned off the gas beneath it.
"I'm sorry, Ian," Moira said in a near whisper. "I didn't mean to barge in like this. I was so upset and just wanted to see you. I didn't mean to cause any trouble." At that moment Moira got a sudden, odd feeling, as if someone had just taken her picture. She looked around, but she and Ian were alone. Then she realized her mum was scrying for her and knew she was at Ians. Trouble was coming. Well, as long as she was already caught, there was no use in rushing home now.
Ian got out a couple of tea bags and plopped one in each mug. "I'm glad you came to see me. You haven't caused any trouble," he said in a normal tone. "That's just my mom. There's just the two of us, and we don't see eye to eye about a lot of stuff." He filled the mugs with hot water and handed one to Moira. "Like this kitchen, for example. All I want to do is turn seventeen so I can get my own flat and have a decent place. All this mess makes me insane. Every once in a while I lose it and clean everything up, and then we have a big row. Mum doesn't see what the big deal is. I don't care who cleans up as long as one of us does. But she won't, and she hates it when I do, so I'm stuck."
"What about your dad?"
Ians expression darkened. "They broke up a long time ago."
"Do you ever see him?"
Ian shook his head slowly. "Nah. Not in a couple of years. We moved here, and he didn't seem too interested in keeping in touch. I think he has a new family now."
Moira blinked. Odd-that sounded a lot like what she'd read about Cal in her mum's Book of Shadows. But still, plenty of people had divorced parents and didn't see their dads much. It didn't mean anything.