The Calling (13 page)

I don't know how long I sat there on the steps of the museum, trying to wrap my mind around what Hunter had just told me. I was numb, unable to process it. It was too dark, too monstrous. I couldn't let it in.

Ciaran, my true father?

No. No, no, no. It simply couldn't be.

“Listen, love,” Hunter said. “I want to tell you about him.”

“Please. Don't.” I couldn't say anything else. His jacket hung open on my shoulders. I wasn't even feeling the cold anymore. “No, you need to hear this. It was Ciaran who freed me.

He told me you were his daughter and that I had to save you.”

“Why? So he can drain me again?” I said.

Hunter sighed. “You're not listening. Ciaran gave me the spell for calling up the sigils in the table. And he added his power to mine. Don't you know I couldn't have held off all those witches on my own? Neither one of us would have gotten out of there alive without his help. Morgan, whatever he is, whatever he's done, he couldn't kill you. Not his own child.”

“It doesn't matter,” I replied dully. “He's still evil. A murderer. And I'm his daughter.” Robbie had been right about me. I was fundamentally tainted. It was my birthright.

“Morgan—”

I put my finger to Hunter's lips. “Stop. Please. If there's one thing I've learned from all this, it's that you can't change what's fated to be.”

Hunter rubbed his temple. “We need to talk about this, but tonight's obviously not the right time.”

“We should get out of the city,” I said with a shudder. “Before Amyranth regroups. Let's go get everyone. I'll drive back to Widow's Vale tonight.”

Hunter gave a hollow laugh. “I'm not even sure you're capable of climbing into a cab, much less driving upstate. No, we'll spend the night in the city. I expect we'll be safe enough. But first thing tomorrow morning we'll get the hell out.”

He hailed a cab and helped me into it.

It was late when we got back to the apartment. We rode up in the elevator in silence. It was only when we got out on Bree's floor that I realized I was still wearing that awful brown robe. “How am I going to explain this?” I asked.

Hunter brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “It's after eleven. Maybe they'll all be asleep.”

They were. Sky and Raven were in the living room, nestled together on the pullout couch. Raven looked content, peaceful, almost innocent.

I found a note from Bree on the kitchen counter.

In tiny print at the bottom she'd added another note:
M—You were right about me. How about that?

Hunter was standing at the closed door of the guest room. “Morgan, look,” he said softly. On the doorknob Bree had hung a small wreath wound through with white blossoms. Their sweet, heady scent filled the hallway. “Jasmine,” Hunter said with a smile. “Wonder where she found it at this time of year?” He took my hand. “Shall we go in?”

I tried to force a smile, but I couldn't.

“Hunter,” I began, my voice breaking, “I don't know how to say this, but—I just hurt a lot right now. I need to sleep on my own tonight.”

I saw the flash of pain in Hunter's eyes and felt a remote sense of guilt, of regret. Here, at last, was our chance to spend a whole night together. After surviving the disaster at Ciaran's, sleeping together was exactly what should have followed, a natural way to ground ourselves in life again after having come so close to death. An affirmation of our love, a time for comfort. But I couldn't accept it. Not now.

“If that's what you need…” Hunter's voice trailed off.

“It is.” I reached up and touched his cheek. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Anytime,” he said.

I walked into the guest room and caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. For the space of several heartbeats I forced myself to study my own face. My cheeks were tear-streaked, my nose slightly swollen. My eyes were puffy and red. And exactly the same shape and color as Ciaran's.

I felt a sick appreciation for the irony of it. After all these years I finally knew who I resembled.

I couldn't look anymore. I needed a shower desperately, but I was too tired. The shower would wait until morning. I stripped off the brown robe. In the morning I'd stuff it down the garbage chute.

I went into the guest room and climbed into bed. I closed my eyes and willed sleep, but an endless tape kept running through my head: Ciaran is my father. Ciaran is my father. Ciaran is my father.

I couldn't doubt it. Not after the connection I'd felt with him. Not after I'd looked in the mirror and seen his eyes staring out from my face.

My father was a murderer, the leader of a Woodbane coven whose purpose was to destroy other covens. He'd killed Maeve and Angus. He was pure evil.

It occurred to me that Killian was my half brother.

All sorts of things began to fall into place. Things that hadn't quite made sense before. The sense of connection I'd felt with Ciaran—and with Killian. My unusual powers. Not only was I heir to Belwicket's legacy of magick, but to Ciaran's as well. And my own tendency to abuse power definitely came from Ciaran.

Through the wall I heard Hunter curse the couch in the study. Bree had told me that it was lumpy and uncomfortable.

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I loved Hunter in a way I'd never loved anyone. But I couldn't be with him. Not now, knowing what I really was.

An heir to darkness.

We were back in Widow's Vale by noon on Monday. After I dropped everyone off, I finally drove back to my own house. My parents' cars were both gone, and I didn't see any lights on inside. I cast my senses. No one home except Dagda.

I knew I should go in and unpack, hug my kitten, but somehow I wasn't ready. Instead I pulled out of the driveway again and drove to the road that runs along the Hudson River.

I turned in at the marina parking lot. The town has a dock there where small boats tie up in the summer. In the winter it's deserted, just a crescent of stony beach and a rough wooden dock jutting out into the water.

It was terribly cold, but I didn't care. I needed the solitude. The river, an expanse of silver-gray beneath white winter skies, was calm and seemed infinitely peaceful. I walked to the end of the dock. Despite the snows we'd had, the water level was a good six feet below the dock, so I sat on the end and dangled my feet.

This river flows to New York City, I thought. This river connects the two places, rising and falling with the tides of the Atlantic. I'd been feeling relatively safe since returning to Widow's Vale, but the silver-gray waters reminded me that New York and Widow's Vale were linked, part of a whole. What I'd left in the city would always be part of my life.

Like Ciaran. My natural father. I was still struggling with the implications of that revelation. How was I going to use my magick, knowing that half my power came from Ciaran? Just the thought of magick gave me a sick, hollow feeling.

As for love…I'd barely been able to stand the car ride back home. It felt like torture to sit next to Hunter, knowing what had to come next.

I had to break up with him. I just hadn't been able to summon the strength that morning.

It all came down to Ciaran. My biological father wasn't good, kind Angus. My father was a man who'd murdered his own
mùirn beatha dàn
. A man who'd sucked the power and the life from who knew how many innocent people. And if he was capable of those crimes, then what crimes was I, his daughter, his own flesh and blood, capable of committing?

I'd already made so many mistakes that cost me and others dearly. I'd had terrible judgment. I'd trusted Cal, Selene, David, and Ciaran. I'd hurt Bree, nearly killed Hunter—twice now—and watched Cal die for me. I'd almost driven Robbie away. I'd caused my parents pain. I'd put Mary K.'s life in terrible danger. Two and a half months of magick and I was a walking minefield.

And all because of what I was. Like father, like daughter. I was poison. Everyone I touched was tainted by me.

I felt a surge of despair as my senses began to tingle. Hunter was nearby. I heard the sound of his beat-up old Honda driving down the winding path to the water. I guessed I couldn't put it off after all.

Moments later Hunter got out of his car. He was wearing a long, straight navy wool coat that made him look formal and grown up. His hair framed his face in a halo of gold. I'd forgotten how sometimes it seemed like he was made of sunlight.

Whereas I was the heir to darkness.

He walked up to me cautiously. “Am I intruding?”

“Sort of,” I said honestly. “I came here because I needed time alone.”

“Want me to leave?”

I shook my head. I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to run into his arms, hold him, and never let him go.

We stared at each other while I tried to find the words to say the impossible.

“I wanted you to know,” he said. “I just got word on Killian. Apparently he thought the owl was sent to spy on him, as we all did. He took off, fearing that Amyranth really was after him. He's still lying low, but I just got word that he's okay.”

“Oh,” I said dully. “That's good.”

Hunter's green eyes studied me. “Killian may be okay,” he said slowly. “You, on the other hand, clearly are not.”

“You noticed,” I said, trying to sound a whole lot cooler than I felt.

“Of course I noticed,” he said, looking at me as intensely as ever. “What do you take me for?”

I felt frozen, unable to speak.

He ran a hand through his hair and said in a gentler tone, “Morgan, tell me what I can do. How can I help?”

“I—” My voice died in my throat. I couldn't say it. It hurt too much. “You can't,” I got out at last. “No one can.”

I thought of what it felt like to lie in Hunter's arms, to laugh with him, to join my power with his. How could I give up any of that? There would never be anyone who felt that right, never anyone I would love that much, ever again. He was my soul mate.

“All right.” He shoved his hands into his coat pockets as if to keep himself from touching me. “Maybe you're not ready to talk right now. Can we get together tomorrow night?”

“No!” I said more forcefully than I'd meant to.

“Why not?”

I thought again of how I'd hurt everyone who came near me. How as Ciaran's daughter, I couldn't possibly do anything else.

“I guess I need to get used to it,” I said finally.

“Used to what?”

“To what it's going to be like without you.” My voice sounded hollow and alien, like it was coming out of someone else's body.

“What?” He let out a sharp, startled bark of laughter. “What are you saying?”

I couldn't look at him. “I have to be on my own. I'm poison, Hunter. I can't help it.”

Hunter blew out his breath, a cloud of steam in the icy air. “Don't be ridiculous. Heritage does not equal destiny.”

“For me it does. I can't be with you anymore. We have to break up.”

There. It was out. I shut my eyes tight against the pain. It was worse than anything I'd experienced at the hands of Amyranth. I felt like I'd just cut out my own heart.

“We have to do what?” Hunter's voice was carefully controlled, as if he were trying to convince himself he'd misheard me.

“I'm breaking up with you,” I said more strongly. I opened my eyes, but I still couldn't look at him. I stared at the wooden slats of the dock below my feet and wondered what it would be like to drop through them, sink into the frigid water below. Don't cry, Morgan. You will not cry. I took a deep breath and said the only thing I could think of that would make him go away. “I don't love you anymore.”

“Really?” His voice was like ice. “When did that happen?”

“Things—things have changed,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I'm sorry. I just don't love you anymore.”

Hunter just looked at me. We both knew I was lying.

“Listen.” His voice was ragged. “I came here to tell you something else. I never really believed in all this
mùirn beatha dàn
stuff. I thought it was just romantic nonsense. But Morgan, you are my
mùirn beatha dàn
. I realized that when I thought I was going to lose you to Amyranth. I love you—absolutely, totally, forever. Know that.”

Oh, God. It hurt so much, the words I'd been waiting for, words that should have made me so happy. And all I could think was: Don't tell me that now. Please. You can't love me.

“Look at me, dammit.” Hunter was inches away from me now. “Look at me and tell me you want to break up.”

I raised my eyes to his and saw pain and grief and confusion—and love. No one would ever look at me with that much love again. I blinked back tears. “I want to break up.”

“Oh, Morgan,” he said. Then he took that final step toward me, and somehow our arms were around each other. He held me while I cried, and I could feel both our hearts breaking.

“I love you,” he said again, which only made me cry harder.

I don't know how long we stood together like that. When we finally stepped apart, the front of his wool coat was spongy with my tears.

“I have to go now,” I told him. “Don't call me.” Before either of us could say more, I turned and ran toward Das Boot. The wind rose, howling down the river, echoing our pain. But Hunter's voice managed to carry over it.

“We make our own choices,” he called after me.