Then Colm had asked her to marry him. Morgan had hardly been able to think, but she cared for Colm and in desperation saw it as a fresh start. Two months later she was expecting a baby and was just starting to come out of the fog.
It had almost been a shock when it had finally sunk in that she married Colm, but the awful thing had been how grateful she'd felt for his comfort. She was terrified of being alone, afraid of what might happen while she was asleep, and with Colm she'd thought she would never be alone again. She'd struggled for years with the twin feelings of searing guilt and humbling gratitude, but as time passed and Moira grew, Morgan began to accept that this had been her life's destiny all along. She'd never been madly in love with Colm, and she felt that in some way he'd known it. But she'd always cared for him as a friend, and over the years her caring had deepened into a true and sincere love. She'd tried hard to be a good wife, and she hoped she'd made Colm happy. She hoped that before he'd died, he'd known that he had made her happy, too, in a calm, joyful way.
She'd also found fulfillment in the rest of her life. Gifted teachers had worked with her to increase her natural healing abilities, and as Moira had gotten older and needed less attention, Morgan had begun traveling all over the world teaching others and performing healing rites. When she was home, life was peaceful and contented. Time was marked by sabbats and celebrations, the turning of the seasons, the waxing and waning of the moon. It wasn't the flash fire of passion that she'd felt with Hunter, the desperate, bone-deep joining of soul and body that they'd shared, but instead it was like the gentle crackle of a fireplace, a place to soothe and comfort. Which was fine, good, better than she could have hoped.
And until this moment she'd never thought of her life in any other way. She loved her husband, adored her daughter, enjoyed her work. She felt embraced by her community and had made several good friends. In fact, the last sixteen years, at least until Colm's death, had been a kind of victory for Morgan. In the first year of discovering her heritage she'd undergone more pain-both physical and emotional-felt more freezing fear, had higher highs and lower lows than she could have possibly imagined a human being experiencing. She'd had her heart broken ruthlessly, had made murderous enemies, had been forced to make soul-destroying choices, choosing the greater good over the individual's life-even when that individual was her own father. And all before she was eighteen.
So to have had sixteen years of study and practice, of having no one try to kill her and not being forced to kill anyone else, well, that had seemed like a victory, a triumph of good over evil.
Until today, when she'd found a hex pouch in her garden and seen a vision in her window. Now she couldn't shake the feeling that not only was she at risk, but so was her daughter.
Morgan sighed. Was she overreacting because of her past? Getting up, Morgan made sure Bixby was in and that the front door was locked-an old habit from living in America. In Wicklow many people rarely bothered to lock their doors. Then she turned off the downstairs lights and cast her senses strongly all around her house. Nothing out of the ordinary. Later, writing in her Book of Shadows in bed, she heard Moira in the bathroom. Long after the house was quiet, after Morgan sensed that Moira was sleeping and that Bixby and Finnegan had passed into cat and dog versions of dreaming, Morgan lay dry-eyed in the night, staring up at the ceiling.
3. Moira
"Tell us all," Tess commanded the instant Moira walked up. Vita was eating a bag of crisps, but she nodded eagerly.
Moira grinned. Finally she had a lad of her own for them to ask about! After the last six months it was so great to have this huge, fun thing to be happy about. "Well," she said dramatically as the three of them started to walk down High Street. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything," Vita said. "What was said. What was done. Who kissed who."
Feeling her face flush, Moira laughed self-consciously. Tess had called that morning to arrange to meet early, before spellcraft class, so Moira could give them a rundown of her time with Ian. Today was unusually sunny and warm, with only fat, puffy clouds in the sky. It was hard to believe it would be Samhain in a few weeks.
"Well, we were there until almost six-thirty," Moira said. "I got home brutally late and Mum had forty fits."
"Enough about Mum," said Tess. "More about Ian. Six-thirty? All at Margath's Faire?" They turned down Merchant Street, staying on the sunny side.
"Yeah," said Moira. "We just sat there and talked and talked. I looked up and almost two hours had gone by."
"Holding hands?" Vita pressed.
"After a while," Moira said, feeling pleased and embarrassed at the same time. "He took my hand and told me I was amazing."
Tess and Vita gave each other wide-eyed looks.
"Amazing," Tess said approvingly. "Very good word. One point for Ian. What else?"
Wrinkling her nose, Moira thought back. She remembered a lot of staring into each other's eyes. "Urn, we talked about music-he's learning the bodhran. Initiation classes-he was initiated last year but is still studying herbology. Books. Movies-he said maybe we could go see a film next week."
"Yes!" said Vita. "Well done."
They turned into a narrow side street called Printer's Alley. Only a bare strip of sunlight lit the very center of the slanted cobbled road. Buildings on either side rose three stories in the air, their gray stucco chipped in places and exposing stones and bricks. A few tiny shops, barely more than closets with open doors, dotted the street like colorful flowers growing out of concrete.
"It was just really brilliant," Moira said. "He's so great- so funny. We looked around the cafe and made up life stories about everyone who sat there. I thought I was going to fall out of my chair." She didn't mention the magick they had done. It seemed private, a secret between her and Ian.
Vita laughed. "Sounds like a good time was had by all. Do you think he could be your-" She paused, exchanging a glance with Tess. "Your muirn beatha dan?"
Moira's cheeks flushed. The truth was, she'd been wondering the same thing for a while now and especially after yesterday. Ever since she'd first learned what a muirn beatha dan was, she'd been dreaming of what it would feel like to meet hers. A true soul mate-it was just incredible. And what if Ian really was her MBD? It would be so amazing if she'd already found him. "I don't know," she admitted. "But maybe."
"So did you talk about your covens at all?" Tess asked. "What's his take on Belwicket?"
"We only talked about it a little bit," said Moira. "Like about being initiated. And how he was a high priestess's son, and what that meant, and how my mum would probably be high priestess someday. It's something we have in common, trying to live up to powerful parents."
"I don't know, Moira," said Vita. "Your powers are wicked. The ladybug thing"
Moira laughed, enjoying the remembered triumph. "Anyway," she said, "enough about me. Are you going to circle tonight, then?"
"Sure," said Vita. They were almost at the home of their spellcraft teacher, and unconsciously the three girls slowed down, reluctant to spend a rare sunny day inside studying.
Tess heaved a long-suffering breath. "Yeah, kicking and screaming," she said. "It's bad enough I have to spend part of my Saturday day at initiation class when I don't care about being initiated, but to give up Saturday night, too It's just brutal."
"You still don't want to get initiated?" Vita asked her, brushing her feathery blond hair out of her face. "Ten years from now you'll be the only adult who still can't work the harder spells."
"I don't care." Tess scuffed her black suede boots against the uneven cobbles of the street. "It just isn't for me. It's so old-fashioned. The other day I had a splitting headache, and Mum was like, let me brew some herbs. I just wanted to go to the chemist's and get some proper drugs." She frowned and played with the magenta tips of her dark hair.
Moira gave her a sympathetic look, then realized they were at their teacher's stoop, a single concrete block in front of a red-painted door.
Tess sighed in resignation, and then the door opened and Keady Dove smiled out at them. "Hello, ladies," she said. "Come in. What a beautiful day, nae? I won't keep you too long."
Inside the small house the three girls went automatically to the back room that overlooked the garden. The sun overhead shone on the neat rows of herbs and flowers; there was a tiny patch for vegetables in the southern corner. Everything was tidy, the roses deadheaded, the cosmos tied up, the parsley trimmed. Moira thought it looked soothing and restful, like a good witch's garden should. She saw Tess looking at it also, an expression of disinterest on her face. Moira was torn-she admired Tess's outspokenness and could sympathize with her not wanting automatically to continue on a path she herself hadn't chosen. Still, to Moira, Wicca seemed as natural and omnipresent as the sea.
"Right," said Keady, rolling up her sleeves. She sat down at the tall table, and the three girls sat on the tall stools across from her. "Let me see what you've done since Monday. You were supposed to craft one spell using a phase of the moon and one that would affect some kind of insect."
Moira handed hers over. She'd gone ahead and written up the ladybug spell, planning to emphasize its excellent spell- craft and skim over the fact that it was frivolous and purposeless. She waited silently while Keady looked at it, keeping her face expressionless when her teacher frowned slightly and looked at her. Keady closed Moira's book and slid it back across the table.
"I remember how proud your dad was when you took first place in junior spellcraft," Keady said, her casual mention of Colm making Moira press her lips together. "Your dad didn't make spells often, but when he did, they were lovely, clean, well-crafted. As yours are. However, his had more use and were less self-centered. Have you looked at his old Books of Shadows?"
Moira nodded, embarrassed. "A bit. He didn't do many spells."
"No," Keady agreed. "How about your mother, then? She's been crafting rites and spells along with your gran for years. Have you looked at her books?"
"A few. Some of the recent ones."
"It would also be interesting to look at the ones she started keeping right at the beginning, even before she was initiated." Keady looked at her pupils. "That's how we learn, from the past, from the witches who went before us. The books of our families are always particularly helpful because different forms and patterns of spells often run in families and clans. Sometimes that's due to tradition, sometimes to little quirks in our heritage that make one type of spell more effective for us. My mum always crafted terrific spells with gems, rocks, and crystals." Keady grinned, her smooth tan face creasing with humor. "However, we ran like hell when she tried to get us to sample her herbal concoctions."
Moira and Vita laughed, and even Tess cracked a smile.
The class turned to business as their teacher critiqued their homework in more detail and assigned them work for next Wednesday. Then she led them to her circle room for practice.
Quickly and accurately, Keady drew an open circle on the smooth wooden floor. Its once-dark boards were irrevocably stained white from years of making chalk circles. Keady actually made her own chalk sticks, and they were part of her rituals. There were natural chalk pits not far from Cobh, and for a fee one could go and hack bits out of a wall. Keady did this, then carefully carved the hard white chalk into shapes, wands, figures of people or animals, short staffs topped with runes or sigils. She kept Margath's Faire stocked with special chalks and made some extra money this way.
"Everyone in," she directed. The three girls walked through the opening of the circle and sat down, one at each of the corners of the compass, with Keady to the east. "We're going to practice transferring energy," Keady said. "Each of us will meditate alone for five minutes, drawing energy to us, using the spell I taught you. At the end of five minutes, after you've opened yourself to receive energy from the universe, we'll join hands. Going deasil, we'll pass energy to each other through our hands. If we do it right," she said with a grin,"you should be able to feel something."
What a waste of time.
Moira jerked her head toward Tess, shocked that her friend would actually say this out loud, in front of their teacher. Tess sat cross-legged, her eyes closed, her hands in a loose, upward pinch on her knees. Her face was blank. Quickly Moira looked at Keady, then at Vita, and weirdly, neither of them seemed to have had any reaction. Oh, wow, I picked up on it Cool. Witches of a certain power could send or receive witch messages-Moira, Tess, and Vita had been practicing for the past year, with varying degrees of success. Moira and her mum could definitely send messages to each other. But to pick up on someone's strong thoughts without their meaning to send them was something else. Moira smiled to herself, pleased at this demonstration that her own powers were slowly increasing.
Moira closed her eyes and straightened her spine, resting her hands lightly on her knees as the others were doing. Right Concentrate. Her trousers were itching her, right in back where the tag was. She wondered if she looked like a scarecrow in them. Vita had soft, feminine curves, with actual hips and boobs. When a dip at school had tried to tell her she was fat, Vita had just laughed. "I think I look good," she had said. "And so does your boyfriend." Moira smiled at the memory. Vita was really comfortable with herself, her body. Unlike Moira, who was so tall and thin. Not slender, not petite, not in shape, just thin. Mum kept telling her she would fill out, but-
Moira's all over the place.
Moira's eyes snapped open at Keady's voice, ready to deny it. But again, everyone's eyes were closed, and her teacher gave no indication that she had spoken. Moira felt a jolt of excitement. Wow-this was amazing. She was definitely getting stronger. Now concentrate, concentrate. Focus. Breathe.
For as far back as Moira could remember, her mother had said those words. In the small room tacked onto the living room, where the family worked their magick, Moira had witnessed her parents, and especially her mother, meditating, focusing, breathing. She had allowed Moira to join her when Moira was three. Moira thought sadly on those days, when she had felt so close to her mum. She'd always felt really close to her until just last year, when suddenly Dad had seemed more understanding. It was when she had begun to prepare for her initiation, she realized. The whole thing seemed to make Mum tense, anxious that Moira do well.