The Calling (6 page)

“No.” He seemed surprised by the idea. “I teach myth and folklore at Columbia. This is just one of my more pleasant sources for reference materials.” He had a faint accent, which I hadn't noticed before. Irish or Scottish, maybe—I wasn't sure. He marked his place in the book and closed it. “Was that your first time at the club, last night?” he asked.

“Yes.” Sometimes I am such a brilliant conversationalist, it's really overwhelming. Why was I so tongue-tied around this man? I asked myself. It certainly wasn't a crush thing. He had to be nearly as old as my dad. And yet I felt an affinity with him, a familiarity, an attraction.

He regarded me with curiosity. “What did you think of it?”

I thought about the beautiful illusion Killian had created for Raven.

“It was a little intense, but also cool,” I said. “I'd never seen witches use their magick just for pleasure.”

“Personally, that's what I've always liked best about magick—using it to create beauty and pleasure in the midst of the trials life forces us to undergo.”

He made a sign over the potted tree, and I watched its leaves fade, shrivel, and fall off. From the soil a green shoot grew. It was as if I were watching a movie on fast-forward. No natural plant could grow so quickly, but in the space of a minute or so a lilac bush grew against the trunk of the dead tree, and pale lilac blossoms opened, filling the air with sweet fragrance.

It was incredibly beautiful. It was also a little unnerving. It broke all the laws of nature. What would happen to the lilac? It was an outdoor plant that needed a winter's frost. It couldn't survive in a pot in a store. And I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the healthy tree that had died for a witch's pleasure.

And what would Hunter think of this? I wondered. He'd probably consider it an irresponsible, not to mention indiscreet, use of magick. Something the council would frown on.

“The world can always use more beauty, you know,” the man said, as if he'd read my doubts. “Adding beauty to the world is never irresponsible.”

I didn't know how to answer. I suddenly felt very, very young and ignorant.

He seemed to sense my discomfort. “So, you came here looking for a book?”

“Yes.” I was enormously relieved to remember I had a concrete reason for being there. “I'm looking for a book on scrying by Devin Dhualach.”

“A good name, that,” the man said. “Devin means bard, you know, so hopefully he can write. And Dhualach is an old Irish name that comes down to us from the Druids. If he's true to his ancestors, he may indeed have something useful to say about scrying.”

“I—I'll just look at these shelves under divination,” I said, suddenly shy and nervous.

“Good idea.” The man smiled and went back to his book.

I found the Dhualach and sat down cross-legged on the floor to look through it. There were chapters on scrying with water, fire, mirrors, and
luegs
, scrying stones or crystals. There was even a macabre chapter on throwing bones, snake vertebrae being very highly recommended. There was nothing, though—at least nothing I could see on a quick skim—that dealt with how to control the visions, how to fine-tune them so I could see exactly what I needed to see.

The man from the courtyard glanced up from his book. “Not finding quite what you're looking for?” he asked.

I hesitated, aware that I had to be careful. Yet it didn't feel like he was prying. It was more that he recognized me as another blood witch and sensed my power. It wasn't the first time that had happened. David Redstone had recognized what I was the first time he saw me, even before I knew myself.

I noticed that he was looking at me oddly, as if he'd suddenly remembered something but wasn't sure whether or not he should mention it. Then he said, “You scry with fire.” It was an acknowledgment rather than a question.

I nodded, and my nervousness dropped away. It was as if I'd just walked through a door into a room where we were acknowledged peers. Witch to witch. Strength to strength. Power conduit to power conduit.

“The fire shows me things, but I feel like they're often random. I don't know how to make it show me what
I'm
looking for,” I admitted.

“Fire has a will of her own,” he said. “Fire is ravenous, fighting control, always seeking her own pleasure. To tame her is a lifetime's work, a matter of coaxing her to reveal what you want to know. I could show you, but”—he looked at the shelves around us and smiled—“a bookstore is hardly the place to play with fire.”

“That's all right,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.

The lines around his eyes crinkled. “Perhaps I can explain it through another medium. The principle's the same.”

He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a piece of clear, polished crystal, cut in the shape of a crescent moon. It wasn't big, maybe three inches across, but its surface was faceted and etched with runes and magickal symbols.

He held the crystal out to me, and I took it in my right hand. The crystal was surprisingly light, as if it belonged to a slightly altered gravity.

“I assume you know that you must ask the medium to give you a vision and that you must be specific. If what you want is to see your kitten tomorrow, specify tomorrow.” I wondered how he knew I had a kitten. Then again, it wasn't uncommon for witches to have cats. “In your mind's eye picture that animal or person and send the image into the stone, asking it to accept it.” His voice was soft, almost hypnotic. “The key is you must then use your power to feel the energy in the crystal—or the fire—and send its light into the future, searching for what you seek. That's really all there is to it.”

“You make it sound simple,” I said.

“Most things are, once they're familiar. Why don't you practice with the crystal first?” At the doubt in my eyes he said, “Hold on to the crystal if you like. I need to go downstairs and check a few books for my syllabus. Just leave the crystal by the chair when you're done with it.”

I sat there debating as he went down the stairs. I didn't want to try anything complicated in the store, but maybe I could do something simple. I'd been worried about Mary K. ever since that awful night Selene kidnapped her, using her as the bait to get me. She didn't seem to remember anything about being at Selene's house—in fact, she seemed to have believed the cover story we gave my parents, which was that she had gone to the movies by herself because she was depressed. But lately she'd been having nightmares.

I'd finally learned not to underestimate anything Selene did. Rational or not, there was a part of me that worried that though Selene was dead, her magick somehow still had a hold on my sister.

Holding the crystal, I silently asked the stone to give me the vision I sought. I pictured my sister at home, sitting at the table, and asked the crystal to accept that image. I nearly dropped the stone as Mary K.'s image appeared inside it, tiny and perfect and three-dimensional. I watched her sitting at the table, then I asked the crystal to show her to me one week from now.

A stone's energy pattern is as distinct as any person's or animal's. The energy in this particular crystal was cool, glowing green-white, surging and swelling like a tide. For several breaths I let my energy ride its swells. Then I sent it surging into the future.

The image in the crescent changed. I saw Mary K. and her friend Jaycee walking out of the Widow's Vale Cineplex. The vision was so perfect and detailed, I could even see the missing X in the marquee.

Then I felt something odd, almost like a cold draft on the back of my neck. I wheeled around in alarm. Was someone watching me? Even in a place frequented by other witches, I knew it wasn't a good idea for me to work magick in public. But I could see no one else on the balcony, and when I extended my senses, I couldn't feel anyone nearby.

Focusing on the crystal again, I realized I was starting to feel tired, which was pretty common whenever I moved into a new level of magick. Knowing I wouldn't be able to maintain the spell much longer, I thanked the stone for its help and withdrew my power from it. The glowing green-white light inside it faded, and the vision of Mary K. winked out.

I'd done it. I'd called up a vision and seen exactly what I'd asked to see. This was the way magick was supposed to work.

I stood up. Then, feeling light-headed, I sat down in the chair. I was vaguely aware that Bree must be wondering where I was. I told myself I'd just sit long enough for my pulse to return to normal. But a wave of exhaustion totaled me. My limbs felt heavy. My head began to nod. I couldn't keep my eyes from drifting closed.

Everything shadowed. The owl hovering over the stone table. Razor-sharp talons and golden eyes. The jackal's high-pitched laughter. Venom dripping from the viper's fangs. The jaguar, claws unsheathed. Hunger that could never be sated. The weasel, crawling so close, its claws scrape the table. Candles burning low, casting shadows on the walls. Golden eyes, green eyes, glittering, intent. All of them fixed on the wolf cub. All of them waiting. The cub's terror, sharp and pungent. The red ruby set in the hilt of the athame, glowing with power. The eagle's scream. And the silver wolf. The one they all wait for. It leaps to the table and opens its great jaws. The cub howls.

“Are you all right?” I felt someone gently shaking my shoulder.

My eyes flew open. The man from the courtyard was standing over me, his eyes shadowed with concern.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I—I must have fallen asleep,” I said, feeling shaken and embarrassed. I was soaked with sweat. “I had a dream.”

“What sort of dream?”

“Just a bad one.” Even though I felt sick and disoriented, I knew I couldn't risk saying more. Especially if the council was right about what the dream meant.

“Dreams are funny,” the man said thoughtfully. “They have their own internal logic. They mix past and present and future and then some things that I believe belong to our collective unconscious. Things that may have nothing to do with you specifically.”

“Maybe this wasn't specific to me,” I agreed. After all, no one had ever explained why I was the one who had this dream, but the fact that I'd had it twice now unnerved me.

I drew in several deep breaths, then got to my feet. So far, so good; walking seemed possible. I glanced at my watch. It was after one. “I'd better find my friend,” I said. “Thanks for all your help.”

“You're sure you're all right?”

“Yes.”

As I started to walk away, he touched me lightly on my arm. “I'm sorry. I haven't even had the manners to ask. What's your name?”

“Morgan,” I answered without thinking.

He held out his hand to me. “Well, Morgan, may your magick always bring you joy.”

I found Bree on the first floor, holding a tarot deck in a bag. “I was going to send out a search party for you,” she said. “We're supposed to meet everyone for lunch in forty-five minutes, remember?”

I bought the book on scrying, and we left the store and headed for the subway station on Spring Street. It was only later, as we emerged from the subway on the Upper West Side, that I thought about the fact that I'd given the man my name. Had I committed some sort of breach of security?

No, I decided. After all, I'd only given him my first name. But I wished I'd thought to ask what his name was.

Murray's was a crowded deli on Columbus Avenue, sandwiched between a shop selling computer accessories and a flower stand. The spicy smells of corned beef, pastrami, and sauerkraut suddenly made me realize that I was starving.

Bree and I made our way over to the small, square table where Raven and Robbie sat. Seconds after we pulled up chairs a waitress dropped four huge menus on the table.

“No Sky or Hunter,” Raven announced.

“They never showed up at the apartment?” I asked her, starting to worry all over again. I knew Hunter and Sky could take care of themselves, but having the dream a second time had left me with a feeling of dread. Was he just late now, or was he not going to show at all?

“No,” Raven answered, “but I recorded a message for them on Bree's dad's answering machine, telling them to get their witchy butts up here.”

Bree looked both amused and horrified. “Great. I'm just imagining one of my father's clients calling and getting that message.”

The waitress returned. “What'll you have?” she asked.

“Uh—we're waiting for friends,” Robbie said. “Could you come back in ten minutes?”

She gestured at the line that had formed near the door. “I got people waiting for tables,” she told us. “Either you're ready to order or you should let someone else sit down.”

“Let's just order,” Bree decided.

So we ordered corned beef and pastrami sandwiches and sodas. Raven got a Reuben. The food came immediately, and I'd eaten half my sandwich when I felt Hunter and Sky nearby. I turned around to see them walking through the door.

Hunter was wearing his leather jacket and a bottle-green scarf. His cheeks were red from the cold. “Sorry we're late,” he said as they reached the table.

Raven rolled her eyes. “Nice of you to show up.”

Robbie, ever the gentleman, managed to round up two more chairs and bring them over to the table. Sky sat down next to Raven.

“Are you hungry?” I offered Hunter the uneaten half of my sandwich.

“No. Thanks,” he said, sounding distracted. He didn't take the chair Robbie had brought for him. Instead, he knelt by my side. “There's something I need to talk to you about,” he said in a low voice. “How about if you wrap up your sandwich and we take a walk?”

“I'm full,” I said. I was glad of the chance to talk—I wanted to tell him about having the dream again.

I left money for the check and made arrangements to meet the others back at Murray's in half an hour. Then Hunter and I set off. By unspoken agreement we headed toward Central Park, stopping only to buy two takeout coffees, defense against the cold.

We walked down a side street lined with gracious brownstones, past the Dakota, where John Lennon had lived, and finally stopped to sit on a low wall overlooking Strawberry Fields, Lennon's memorial. Because it was so cold, there weren't many visitors to the teardrop-shaped garden that day. But on the circular mosaic imprinted with the word
Imagine
someone had left a bouquet of white and yellow daisies.

“Did you know that Strawberry Field was actually the name of an orphanage next door to John Lennon's boyhood home?” Hunter asked. “His aunt, who raised him, used to threaten to send him there whenever he misbehaved.”

“I'll have to remember that tidbit for my dad,” I said. “He's still a big fan.”

“My parents had all the Beatles' albums,” Hunter remembered. “My mum used to play the second side of
Abbey Road
on Sunday mornings. ‘Here Comes the Sun.'” He hummed the tune softly for a moment. “Goddess, it's been ages since I thought about that.” He shook his head as though trying to shake off the pain of memory.

“At least you know they're alive now,” I said, trying to sound positive. The dark wave had demolished Hunter's parents' coven when he was only eight, and his mother and father had been in hiding ever since. For years he hadn't even known for sure whether they were dead or alive. Right before Yule, Hunter's father had actually contacted him through his
lueg
. But the dark wave had overwhelmed the vision, cutting it off before Hunter heard what his father was trying to tell him. Since then we hadn't dared try to contact them again, for fear that it would lead the darkness to them.

“I know they were alive three weeks ago,” Hunter corrected, his voice tight. “Or at least Dad was. But anything could have happened since then, and I wouldn't know. That's what kills me—not knowing.”

Aching for him, I put my arms around his waist. For the most part Hunter kept his grief for his family hidden well below the surface, but every so often it would well up and I'd see how it always was with him. How part of him would never rest until he knew for certain what had happened to his parents.

I felt a gentle glow of white light in the center of my chest. One of Alyce's healing spells was opening to me. “Will you let me try something?” I asked.

Hunter nodded. I unzipped his jacket halfway. I took off my glove, undid one button of his shirt, and slid my already cold hand against his smooth, warm skin. He flinched, then I felt him opening himself to the white light that was flowing through me.

I began a whispered chant. “‘The heart that loves must one day grieve. Love and grief are the Goddess's twined gifts. Let the pain in, let it open your heart to compassion. Let me help you bear your grief….'”

I couldn't continue. Suddenly I knew exactly what it would feel like to have my parents and Mary K. ripped from me. It was beyond excruciating. It was more than could be borne. I cried out in grief though I managed to keep my hand on Hunter's chest, managed to keep the healing light flowing.

“Shhh,” Hunter said. “You don't have to do any more.”

“No,” I whispered. “I have to finish the spell. ‘Then may your heart ease and open to greater love. May the love that flows eternally through the universe embrace and comfort you.'”

Gradually I felt the white light diffusing and, with it, Hunter's pain. My eyes met his. There was something different in them, a new clarity. I felt something that had bound him dissolving. “Thank you,” he said.

“Courtesy of Alyce,” I told him shakily. “I didn't realize quite how much it hurt. I'm sorry.”

He kissed my forehead and pulled me against him. When I'd stopped trembling, he said, “Would you like to know why we're sitting here freezing our bums off instead of eating lunch?”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that,” he said. “First, I'm sorry for not answering your messages. It took us a while to find our contact, and then when we finally tracked him down, he was absolutely terrified. He led us through a maze of elaborate safety precautions. If I'd answered you and he'd noticed, he might have thought I was betraying him.”

“It's all right,” I said. “I was just worried about you. Did this guy have any information?”

“Yes,” Hunter said, “he did.”

He paused. The sun, which hadn't been strong that morning, disappeared behind a band of thick, white clouds.

“So?” I prompted after a moment.

Hunter's green eyes looked troubled. “I found out who the leader of the New York Amyranth cell is. Apparently the members of the coven wear masks that represent their animal counterparts when they need to draw on the power of that animal. Their leader wears the wolf's mask. My contact didn't know them all, but he confirmed that there are also coven members who wear the masks of an owl, a viper, a cougar, a jaguar, and a weasel.”

“So my dream—”

“Was of the New York cell of Amyranth,” Hunter finished. “Yes.”

I shuddered. “Hunter, I had the dream again,” I told him. “It was just about an hour ago, while I was in an occult bookstore down in SoHo.”

“Goddess!” Hunter looked alarmed. “Why didn't you contact me?” Before I could answer, he let out an exclamation of annoyance. “Stupid question. I wasn't answering your messages. Morgan, I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” I said. “I mean, it was scary, but this time I knew what it was. I'm not sure why I had it again, though.”

“Perhaps because we're in New York,” he said. “Or perhaps…” He trailed off, looking still more troubled. Then he reached out and took my hand. “There's something I've got to tell you. Something I learned today. It will bring up painful thoughts for you.”

Icy fingers of dread walked up my spine as I sensed the weight of whatever news Hunter was carrying. I gave him a weak smile. “Go for it.”

“The name of this wolf-masked leader is Ciaran,” he said.

“Ciaran?” I felt sick. “It—it can't be the same Ciaran. I mean, surely there's more than one Ciaran in the world.”

“I'm sure there is,” Hunter agreed. “But this Ciaran is a powerful Woodbane witch in his early forties who comes from northern Scotland. I'm sorry, Morgan, but there really isn't any doubt. He's the one who killed Maeve and Angus.”

I realized I'd never had any idea of what happened to Ciaran after he set the fire that killed my parents. “I guess I assumed he was back in Scotland,” I said lamely. “But he's here in New York City?”

Hunter nodded, his eyes on my face. I sat there, trying to process this new information. Ciaran—alive. Here. Within my reach.

Within my reach? What the hell did that mean? I asked myself bitterly. What would I do if I ever came face-to-face with him? Turn and run the other way, if I had any brains at all. He'd been more powerful than Maeve and Angus together. He could crush me like an ant.

“We also found out that Ciaran has three children,” Hunter went on. “Two of them, Kyle and Iona, still live in Scotland. But the youngest is here in New York. You're not going to believe this.” He paused. “It's Killian.”

“Killian?” My jaw dropped. “The witch we met last night?”

Hunter nodded grimly. “He was all but sitting in my lap, and I didn't realize he was the one.”

I downed the last gulp of my now cold coffee. “That's too much of a coincidence.”

“There are no coincidences,” Hunter reminded me, stating one of those Wiccan axioms that I found so annoying and cryptic.

I thought of the terrified wolf cub in my dream. “That means Killian is Amyranth's intended victim?”

“That's what it looks like,” Hunter said.

“Oh God. First Ciaran kills my mother and father; now he's gunning for his own son.”

“Ciaran gave himself to the darkness a long time ago,” Hunter said. “It's all of a piece. A man capable of killing the love of his life is capable of killing his own son, too.”

“What else did you find out? Do you know where he lives? What he looks like?”

“None of that. I've just told you everything.” Hunter crumpled his empty coffee cup and launched it at a trash container a good fifteen feet away. The cup went in.

He hopped down off the wall and helped me off. “I've got to try to find Killian and see if I can suss out why Amyranth wants to drain his power. Maybe he has some sort of special ability they need. In any case, he may have valuable information about the coven, and if I play my cards right, he could become a valuable ally for the council.”

“I'm going with you,” I said impulsively.

Hunter was suddenly holding my upper arms and scowling at me. “Morgan, are you crazy? You can't come with me—especially now that we know Ciaran is the leader of Amyranth. The last thing I want is for him to become aware of your existence. I wish to God you'd stayed in Widow's Vale. In fact, I should take you to Port Authority right now. You can catch the next bus back upstate. I can bring your car and your things back in a day or so.”

In a flash we had reverted to our old antagonistic relationship. “Let go of me,” I said, furious. “I don't take orders from you. When I go back to Widow's Vale, I'll be driving my own car, thank you, and I'll go when I'm ready.”