Changeling

18. Imbolic

Diary of Benedict, Cisterian Abbot, December 1771.

Today we held the sad burial and consecration of one of our sons. Brother Sinestus Tor was brought from Baden and laid to rest in the abbey's churchyard. His mother assured me he had received the last sacraments, but the Brothers and I performed extra rites of purity and forgiveness. I cannot think that gentle Sinestus, so bright and full of hope, became an agent of the devil, but there are facts of this matter that trouble me greatly, though I shall take them with me to the grave, God willing. How is it that the boy died at the exact moment of the exact day the witch Nuala Riordan was burned at the stake? They were hundreds of miles apart and had no earthly communication. And what of the mark found on the boy's shoulder? His mother made no mention of it; I wonder, did she see his body or no? But the scars cannot be explained unless he were burned. Burned with a star encircled on his shoulder.

I pray we have done the right thing by allowing him to rest in consecrated ground. May God have mercy on us all.

—B.

"Drink this," said Hunter, folding my stiff fingers around a warm mug. I took a tentative sip, then coughed, gagging on its foulness.

"Agh," I said weakly. "This is awful."

"I know. Drink it anyway. It will help."

I did, taking small sips and grimacing after each one. If this tonic was magickal, why couldn't he have spelled it so it didn't taste like crap?

I was huddled in front of the fireplace at Hunter's house. He had given me some of Sky's clothes to wear since mine were back at the cemetery.

The fire crackled and spit in front of me, but I avoided looking at the flames. I couldn't bear anything else tonight—no revelations, no lessons, no visions, no scrying. Although I had a blanket wrapped around me, I shivered uncontrollable and felt that the fire put out hardly any heat.

I didn't understand anything.

"Is Sky here?" I thought to ask.

Hunter nodded. "Upstairs, sleeping off her drunk. Tomorrow morning she'll probably feel worse than you do now."

"I find that hard to believe." Every muscle and bone and nerve and tendon and cartilage in my body ached as if it had been torn. Even my hair and fingernails hurt. I dreaded having to get up to walk, and driving seemed impossible. Creakily, like an old woman, I raised the mug to my lips and drank again.

"Why were you out there?" My words came out as a croak.

Hunter looked at me somberly. "I was looking for you. I got a message from Ciaran that you were in danger."

Ciaran. I don't know why I was surprised. "How did you know where I was? How did Eoife show up at the last minute?"

"We scried," said Hunter. "Ciaran had blocked himself from us, but you hadn't. Ciaran wanted us to look for you. He wanted to plant me in your path while you were shape-shifting. He was testing you."

I shuddered again at the thought of what I had almost done to Hunter. Then, considering Hunter's words, I frowned. "I did block myself. I was covered with protective spells, spells that wouldn't let anyone find me without my will."

For a moment Hunter looked uncomfortable, and I thought, Oh my god, he's lying to me.

"You have a watch sigil on you," he said, and blew out a breath, as though glad I finally knew.

"Excuse me?" I almost dropped my mug.

"You have a watch sigil on you." He looked embarrassed. "Since Eoife taught you the ward-evil spells. During one of those she put a watch sigil on you."

I stared at him.

"We needed to know where you were, who you were with. You're inexperienced, love, and that makes you a target. Any dark witch who knew that would be dangerous to you. There was nothing about this mission that was safe."

If we'd been having this conversation before Eoife had come to town, I would have been furious. As it was, after all I'd been through, all I knew, all I felt was a vague sense of gratitude. I sighed and murmured, "Take it off now."

"I will," Hunter promised.

I stared into the bottom of my dark mug. "I feel like such a failure. I haven't learned anything about the time of the dark wave, or the spell, or anything. I've sentenced Alyce and Starlocket to death." My eyes stung, and I knew tears would come later.

"No, Morgan," Hunter said, rubbing my knee through the blanket. "You got Killian here, and Ciaran. They know we're here and that we're on high alert. And you have to remembered, you did incredibly well just not to have been killed."

"Oh, God." I groaned and shook my head. "At least I planted the watch sigil on him."

"What? You did?" Hunter looked incredulous. "When?"

"Right as we were turning, shifting. I breathed it into his fur and traced the sigil on his neck. Actually, that was probably useless, too. Once he changes back—"

"It will still be on him," Hunter said, his face breaking into a huge grin. "Oh, Goddess, Morgan! The council is going to be ecstatic to hear it. That's the best news I've had in a long time." He leaned and kissed my cheek and my forehead. "Morgan, I think your mission was a smashing success. You planted the watch sigil on Ciaran, and we're both still alive, unhurt…" Hunter took my free hand and kissed it, looking at me encouragingly. I didn't know how to respond.

The truth was, his joy didn't affect me that much. I had planted a betraying sigil on my biological father. And he had given me such a gift… For a moment I remembered running through the woods on all fours, and I closed my eyes.

And then I remembered… I had learned his true name. Something that could give me complete power over my father, one of the darkest witches the world had ever know. The thought of using it against him made my stomach clench. For now, I thought, I would guard this as my secret. I wouldn't tell the council—wouldn't even tell Hunter. If it became necessary, I could use it. But I didn't want to give anyone else the power to destroy my natural father. I couldn't.

"He wanted you to kill me," he said softly, as though he was reading my mind. He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt his warmth seeping through the blanket. "If you had killed, it would have been one less Seeker—and you'd have lost your mùirn beatha dàn. It would have bound you to him in a way that love alone never could."

I shuddered at the thought of losing Hunter. "I was starting to care for him," I admitted.

"I know," said Hunter. "How could you not? He's your birth father. And I believe that his feelings for you were sincere also. Despite everything, I believe that's true."

Then I began to cry again, tears leaking silently out of my eyes and running hotly down my cheeks. I didn't have the energy to sob, and it would have hurt too much, anyway.

"I have you," Hunter said, holding me close. "I have you. You're safe. It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."

"There's no way anything will ever be all right again," I said shakily, and he began kissing the tears away from my cheeks.

"That's not true," he said.

I looked into his green eyes, the eyes that had stared me down when I was a wolf. And I knew then: I knew in my heart that I was good.

"I love you so much," I said.

He gave me a half smile and leaned closer, blotting out my vision of the fire. He's going to kiss me, I thought, but by then his lips were already against mine. Tentatively at first, then with increasing pressure as I responded. Gradually I felt light growing all around us, bathing us in a silvery white glow. I reached one arm up to curl it around his neck, and then we had our arms around each other. We kissed deeply an more deeply, trying to fuse together after being apart too long. Then suddenly it was just like the day at Bree's house with Killian: flowers, all different kinds and colors and sizes, showering down upon us, petal soft. I broke away for a moment, gazing around me, and started to laugh. Hunter followed my gaze, looking up at the shower of petals, and his face transformed into a huge smile. He kissed me again, and his body pressed against mine, comforting me to my very soul. I held him to me as tightly as I could, all my muscles screaming in pain as I moved. I didn't care. I was back in Hunter's arms and he was in mine, and everything was going to be all right.

My parents came home the next day, while I was home "sick." I felt their car come up the driveway and quickly ran my hands over my ears, checking to make sure they were still round and naked instead of pointy and furry. Moving gingerly downstairs, I met them at the front door.

"Hi, honey!" My mom said, giving me a big hug. I tried not to moan in pain; every cell in my body still hurt. She glanced at her watch and looked at my face more closely.

"Morgan!" Dad said, struggling through the door with two suitcases. "Are you sick?"

"You look awful," Mom said, putting her hand to my cheek. "Do you have a fever?"

"I think so," I said. "I thought I'd better stay home today. It's the only day I've missed."

"Poor thing," Mom said, and I felt a maternal mantle of comfort settle around me. "You go get back into bed. I'll bring you some Tylenol and a ginger ale."

I almost wept with happiness. "I'm glad you're home," I choked out, then headed back upstairs to my waiting bed. Ciaran was gone, Killian hadn't been heard from since our father disappeared, Hunter and I were back together (I thought), and my parents were home. It was a whole new day.

"Today is the feast of lights," said Eoife at our circle two days later. She raised a white candle high. "Today is for new beginnings, for purification, for renewal of spirit, body, hearth, and home. We give blessed thanks to the Goddess for the past year and dedicate ourselves anew to our studies and devotions."

Next to her Alyce Fernbrake ignited her candle from Eoife's, and the two women smiled at each other before Alyce turned and bent to light Suzanna Mearis's candle. Suzanna was now in a wheelchair. Around the circle went the flame, from candle to candle, witch to witch.

"Blessed thanks," we said when the last candle was lit. Then, moving deasil around Hunter and Sky's large circle room, we each sprinkled a small handful of salt on the floor around us. It crunched under our feet. I looked around at the many softly lit faces. It was Saturday night, Imbolic, February 2. For this joyful celebration, one of the four major Wiccan Sabbats, Kithic had joined forces with Starlocket, and there were twenty-six of us purifying ourselves, this room, this year.

After Alyce had led us in prayer to Brigid—she pronounced it Breed—the Goddess of fire, we sat in a large circle. I gazed across at Hunter, thinking about how beautiful he looked in candlelight. He'd pretty much convinced me that after passing the test of choosing good over evil, I was probably safe for him to date. Now every time I looked at him, my heart went al fluttery and I wanted to hold him.

"Blessed be," Hunter said, and we repeated it. "This joyful occasion," he went in, "signifies the beginning of winter's end. The days are becoming longer, the sunlight brighter—it's a time of rebirth."

"Yes," said Eoife. "Many witches choose this time to spring clean their homes, performing purifying rituals and literally making a clean sweep of everything."

"It's also a time for spiritual rebirth," said Alyce, her wise face and blue-violet eyes serene. "I use this holiday to forgive anyone who wronged me in the past and to seek forgiveness from anyone I've wronged. To begin the new Wheel or the Year with a clean slate."

Alisa spoke. "I read there's a ritual where you write down things you wish to be free of in the coming year—flaws, problems, worries—and then you burn the paper."

"We will do that in a little while," Hunter said. "Right now let's stand again and call on the god and the goddess."

We all joined hands.

"May the circles of Starlocket and Kithic always be strong," Hunter said.

"Blessed be," I whispered. The other members murmured their response.

As we began to move widdershins in our circle, Hunter began to chant in a low voice. The chant was unfamiliar to me, but I understood it somehow: it was about new beginnings, casting the darkness behind you and living in light. Gradually Alyce and Sky joined in, and then the words came to me and I began to chant, too. Energy flowed through my body as we spun around the room. A joy began to fill me that cannot be put into words. We were all alive, safe. I caught Hunter's eye, and he smiled at me. He was mine again. My body filled with warmth and energy, and I smiled back.

On the other side of the circle Alyce's face was turned up in a mask of pure joy. I felt a rush of comfort. Alyce was still with me, and Starlocket intact. I had helped make it that way. In the time to come, the council would track Ciaran, and if he should ever come for me again, I was ready for him. For the first time in weeks I felt utterly safe and happy.

I stared into the candle flamed and felt my power rise.

Later that night, on my front porch, I fished my keyed out of my jeans. My shoe tapped something, and I looked down. As soon as I saw the small, lumpy bundle of purple silk, my heart dropped. I whipped my head around, looking for Ciaran. I knew this was from him as surely as I knew I was a witch. I cast my senses out strongly and felt nothing except Dagda on the other side of the front door. Slowly I knelt and picked it up. It was almost alive with tingling traces of magick. I untied the knot, and the bundle fell open. My mouth opened wordlessly as I stared down at the golden watch. It was the watch I had found in Maeve's old apartment in New York. Ciaran had taken it from me as he had tried to steal my powers. It was the watch that had first made him aware that I must be his daughter.

"Oh, Goddess," I muttered. A fluttering white note caught my eye, and I picked it up. You should have this, it said.

I stroked the watch, feeling the warmth of the gold, the fineness of the wrought chain. This was truly a family heirloom, something to be kept and handed down for generations.

Unfortunately, it was also from Ciaran, which meant I shouldn't even be holding it. When Cal and I had first gotten together, he'd given me a silver pentacle necklace that I had worn constantly. It had been spelled, of course, and he'd used it to help control me. Goddess only knew what Ciaran had done to this watch: I knew he had given it to me sincerely, out of love, and I knew also that he'd had some ulterior purpose in doing so, that it would somehow be to his advantage. That was Ciaran: light and dark. Like me, like the world, like everything.

I tied it back into its purple silk. I desperately wanted to go inside and sleep, but instead I found myself sliding behind the wheel of Das Boot. I drove well out of town, at least ten miles, to an old farm I had come to once with Maeve's tools. I walked through the tree buffer that separated the meadow from the highway and stepped into the clearing where Sky Eventide had found me, working magick on my own.

The ground was frozen, of course, but I'd come prepared and said a tiny spell that made digging easy. I dug a whole almost two feet deep and then with bittersweet feelings placed the purple silk bundle at the bottom of it. I filled in the hole. Then I knelt and said all the purifying spells I knew, all the ward-evil ones from Hunter and Eoife and Alyce. I stood up and made my way back to the car, feeling like I would be lucky to make it home without falling asleep at the wheel.

With time the earth's healing purity would work its own magick on the watch, purifying it and removing all traces of spells and evil. It would take a very long time. But one day I knew, I would reclaim it.