Full Circle

13. Morgan

When I got home from Practical Magick Thursday afternoon, I found Aunt Eileen and Paula in the living room.

"Hi!" I said, giving them hugs. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

"Morgan, is that you?" Mom called, pushing through the kitchen's swinging door into the dining room. "Will you set the table?"

Wanting to visit more with my favorite aunt and her girlfriend, I glanced hopefully at Mary K. across the room.

"No way, Jose," she said firmly. "I already made the salad and pulled all the stringy things off the corn. I've been here since four."

Okay, she had a point. I got up and went to the kitchen to get silverware. A witch's work is never done.

"So I thought the family room was completely finished," said Paula as we were sitting down. "We'd been working on it after work every day for a week. It looked so great. I folded up the last drop cloth-" "Must you tell this story?" Aunt Eileen said plaintively, but I could tell they were just teasing each other.

"Washed the brushes, hammered on the paint can lid," Paula went on, pulling her chair in next to mine. "We stand back, we look, the whole room is a soft, buttery yellow-"

"It was perfectly fine the way it was," Eileen put in.

"But when I went to hook the cable thing back up, I saw that the whole wall behind the entertainment cupboard hadn't been touched!"

"Lots of people wouldn't bother painting behind a huge, heavy piece of furniture," Eileen defended herself.

"The whole wall," Paula said, taking an ear of corn and passing the rest to me.

"I couldn't move that thing by myself," said Eileen, but we were all laughing at this point, and she looked sheepish. Paula winked at her across the table, and they both smiled like honeymooners.

"Why does this story not surprise me?" Mom asked, giving her younger sister a look. We all laughed more-it was fun to see adults still acting like real sisters. Mary K„on my other side, pointed her fork at me, like this was the kind of thing I would do. I gave her a big, fake smile.

"I was wondering if you'd heard from the agency," Mom said. "I remember you contacted them last week."

Aunt Eileen and Paula had been thinking about adopting a child.

Eileen nodded. "They sent us a huge packet of information."

"It was terrifying," Paula said. She speared a piece of chicken on her plate and ate it.

"We still just don't know, is what it comes down to," said my aunt. "The idea of adopting a child in need is really compelling-a friend of mine at work recently adopted a baby girl from China. And one of our neighbors brought back a baby from Romania."

"But each of us had always assumed we'd have a baby of our own someday," Paula said. "There are just so many things to think about, issues to consider. Everything we think about seems to carry so much weight."

"We just have to keep gathering information," Eileen added. "I think the more we learn, the clearer our decision will become."

"Have one of each," said Mary K„talking through a mouthful of chicken. We all turned to look at her. She swallowed and nodded, her shiny russet hair swinging gently around her shoulders. "One of you has a baby, and then you also adopt a baby. Tons of people have two children. Isn't the average in America like 2.1 or something?"

Paula and Eileen stared at my sister as if she were a talking dog.

"We never thought of that," said Eileen, and Mary K. shrugged.

"Two children. It just never occurred to me," said Paula in bemusement. "I've been so wrapped up in trying to figure out how to have one."

"She has a point," said my mom. "If you started having your own baby now and put in the adoption papers, then two or three years from now, when the adoption comes through, they'll be the right age apart."

Just like Mary K and me.

"I've been offered a scholarship to study in Scotland this summer." As soon as the words were spilling out of my mouth, my brain was already screaming for a shutdown. What had possessed me to blurt this out now? Five heads swiveled to look at me, five pairs of eyes opened in surprise. Morgan, shut up, I told myself, aeons too late.

"What?" Mom asked. "You haven't mentioned this. What scholarship?"

"I just heard about it today," I said, threatening myself with all kinds of revenge for being so stupid. "I didn't even know it existed," I added truthfully.

"What is this scholarship?" my dad asked. "Why is it in Scotland? How did you find out about it? Is it for math?"

"Um, Eoife McNabb called me today," I mumbled. I started pushing my peas around on my plate with my fork. "I don't know if you ever met her. But she's a… teacher. And she got me a full scholarship to go to a really exclusive, impossible-to- get-into college. I'm the only American they've ever accepted."

"Congratulations, Morgan!" said Aunt Eileen. "That's marvelous! This is really impressive!"

"Goodness, Morgan," said my mother. "I don't think I've heard you mention Eva McNabb. Is she one of the teachers at school?"

"Not exactly," I said, looking at my plate. "Um, the course is for eight weeks. I have to pay my airfare, but everything else is taken care of. It's a huge honor."

"Is this through the math department?" Dad asked again.

"Not exactly," I repeated in a small voice. There were several moments of silence.

"What is this a scholarship for, Morgan?" asked my mom in a calm, don't-give-me-any-crap voice. Witchcraft? Magick? "Um, healing? Herbal medicine?" I said.

"You have a scholarship to go to Scotland to study herbs?" Mary K. asked in disbelief.

I looked down at my plate. "It's a famous place of learning," I tossed out into the deafening silence at the table. "Only the most learned and powerful… teachers are there. I'm the youngest person they've ever considered, and the only American. It's considered a huge honor-the chance of a lifetime. Tons of people would be ecstatic to be offered this opportunity."

I saw Eileen and Paula glance at each other-gee, they wished they'd stayed home tonight. Mary K. was looking fixedly at her plate. I could tell she wasn't thrilled about this idea. I didn't even want to look at Mom or Dad.

"It would be an education just to go to Europe," I said, starting to use my desperation tactics, none of which I'd thought through yet because I'd been certain I was going to wait until the right moment to bring this up. "I'd be in northern Scotland-surrounded by tons of history. Historical monuments. And then England and Ireland are just train rides away. Just visiting those would practically count for a world history credit. Think of the cities-Edinburgh, London, Dublin. Castles, gardens, moats." Okay, I was really stretching here. "And I would be working, working, working, not getting into trouble or being bored, or-"

When I finally glanced up, I saw my mom and dad looking at each other. I felt a familiar pang of guilt-I was their fish out of water, the egg some cowbird had left in their nest. When they had adopted me, seventeen years ago, nothing could have prepared them for this last year, as I was suddenly revealed as something they distrusted and feared: a witch by blood. There was no way they would let me go, to further my study of Wicca, pushing myself one step closer to being an educated, accomplished witch. They were probably still fruitlessly hoping that something would happen to me and that I would somehow turn back into a Rowlands — go to MIT for math, get a nice engineering job or maybe teach. Get married. Have nonwitch grandchildren. Look back on my witch period the way they looked back on their flower- child years.

It wasn't going to happen.

"We need to discuss it," my mom said, her lips somewhat tight. I almost fell out of my chair. What? It wasn't an outright no!

"Yes," Dad said, swallowing. "There's a lot to think about. We need much more information before we can even make a decision. Is there some kind of brochure or something for this place?"

I was so stunned, I felt like I'd just been hit on the head with a golf ball. "Uh, I don't know," I stammered. "I can ask Eoife. She can give you more information."

Mary K.'s large brown eyes were opened wide.

"I'll do anything you say," I put in, trying not to sound pathetic and desperate.

"Well, your grades have been acceptable lately," Mom said, not looking happy. She stabbed her fork into her salad, and I felt I could have heard the crunching from three blocks away.

"There haven't been any recent… incidents," my dad said, his mouth in a tight line.

I looked down. There was a lot they didn't know about. But it hadn't been my fault. Most of it. When I looked back up, Aunt Eileen and Paula were gazing at me solemnly. It occurred to me that I had no idea what they thought about my involvement with Wicca. I was sure Mom had told Eileen about some of it at least. They were really close, despite the difference in their ages and the different paths their lives had taken.

"We realize that you feel that… Wicca is somehow important to you," Mom said. "While it's true we're not very happy about it, we also know that not everyone can live the same life."

"If you let me do this, I will never ask for anything again," I swore.

Mom looked at me for the first time, a smile quirking her mouth. "You said that when you wanted Rollerblades. And now look at you. Still asking for things."

That broke the tension a little bit. Mom and Dad looked at each other again.

"At any rate, we'll discuss it," said Dad, pouring himself another glass of wine. "We're not promising anything. We're only agreeing to think about it."

"Thank so much," I breathed. "That means so much to me."

"Excuse me," said Mary K. "Who's going to give me rides to the beach this summer?" Her eyebrows raised as she looked at me pointedly.

"Um. Alisa's dad?" I suggested. "The church youth group?"

"Whatever," Mary K. said with a big sigh, but I felt it was her way of letting me know this somehow wouldn't kill her.

I looked back down at my plate, suddenly starving. This was amazing. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I had put a spell on my whole family.

"Oh, my goodness," Mom said, looking up with surprise. "We never said grace tonight." "No, you're right," Dad agreed, thinking back.

"Let say it now," I suggested. I felt an overwhelming gratitude in my life right now and wanted a chance to acknowledge it. I felt that any thanks given to any god all went to the same place, anyway, no matter what religion you were centered in.

We all held hands and bowed our heads. It was a tiny bit like a weekly circle, and I felt comfortable and relaxed. My mind was still whirling with the possibility that my parents might actually consider letting me go to Scotland.

Dad began, "Oh, heavenly father, we your children who are bowed before thee thank thee humbly for the gift of this our food tonight. Your mercy is never ending, your constancy eternal…"

As Dad said the familiar words, a feeling of peace and happiness came over me. I was surrounded by my family, Scotland wasn't out of the question, and I felt safe and as far away from Cal Blaire as I could possibly be.

Dad finished, and we all said, "Amen." And my heart was full of gratitude.

Right after dinner I talked to Bree, who agreed to say that I was sleeping over at her house. She wanted to help with my nightmares, and since my parents knew that Bree and I wouldn't get wild or anything, it was okay with them.

Around eight I said good night to Aunt Eileen, Paula, and the rest of my family, packed a bag, and drove to Red Kill. Alyce's apartment over Practical Magick was like Alyce herself: comforting and appealing. She opened the door at once as soon as she sensed me on the stairs. "Come in," she said. "Hunter isn't here, and Bethany stepped out for a minute. But come in and sit down."

I sank into her chintz sofa, and Whistle, one of her cats, jumped up on my lap, smelling Dagda. By unspoken agreement we talked about light things-the weather, our gardens-I had dug mine just recently and was starting to fill it in with herbs and flowers. It wasn't long before we felt Bethany on the stairs, and then the three of us sat and waited almost half an hour for Hunter. In the meantime I told Alyce and Bethany about my offer to go to Dubhlan Cuan. They were really pleased for me and seemed impressed. They both really hoped I could go and offered to talk to my parents if I'd like.

Hunter finally showed up, looking stressed and a little preoccupied. He came over and gave me a quick kiss, then noticed my questioning expression. "I'll tell you about it later," he whispered, and brushed his fingers along my cheek. Then the four of us settled down with cups of herb tea-no caffeine-to go over the strategy.

"Will this thing be able to find me here?" I asked, thinking that if it couldn't, I could just move in.

Bethany nodded. "We believe so. It's your consciousness that it traces, or at least that's the theory. Tonight we're going to work on the assumption that as it's getting more insistent, it will simply need to take on a somewhat less amorphous form. But even if it's barely present, we're prepared to handle it."

I thought of Cal as he'd been when I'd met him, glowing and charismatic, a teenage Wiccan god. How had it all come to this?

Alyce showed us the chunk of brown jasper she had gotten. It was the size of a softball, and though it was shot through with interior flaws and occlusions, it was still beautiful and impre^ive.

"You'll be sleeping in my bed," Alyce said. "The three of us will be magickally cloaked. Your role will be to go to sleep and be as powerful as you can. Did you bring your mother's tools?"

I nodded and kicked my backpack gently.

"You'll surround yourself with protection spells that will limit anyone who attempts to bind your powers. Then you'll go to sleep and wait for Cal to come to you. Once he does, once he make5 a connection with you, you will need to, in your dream, actually take hold of him. Hold him and don't let go. Our thb0ry is that what happens in your dream will be mirrored in real life."

"So you'll just wait while this thing approaches me while I'm asleep?" My voice sounded tight with tension.

"We'll absolutely be on the alert and able to get to you in a moment," Bethany assured me. "There will be three of us, joining our bowers. Once you have a hold on the thing, we'll trap it with the binding spell we created. Then we'll further encase it in the brown jasper. And I think that should be the end of it."

"And you're quite sure Morgan won't be hurt?" Hunter asked.

"We'll be right here," Alyce said. "She certainly couldn't go anywhere."

"Does this sound all right with you?" Hunter asked me. "If you're afraid, we don't have to do this. We'll think of something else." He rubbed his hand across his eyes, and I noticed the dark circles there. "No, it sounds okay," I said. "It's frightening, but not as bad as the idea of having more dreams like this. I just have to stop them."

"Okay," said Alyce, standing up briskly and gathering our cups. "Sounds like we've got a plan, then."

I went into Alyce's bathroom and put on my mother's magickal robe. It was a deep green silk, embroidered with symbols, runes, and letters. As usual, it felt comfortable and light against my skin. When I wore it, I was never too hot or too cold-it was always perfect.

I went into Alyce's bedroom, which I'd never seen before. Once again it seemed to embody its occupant. The bed looked overstuffed and comfortable, the colors were shades of lavender and green, and there were fresh flowers, a crocheted runner across the dresser, and the scent of soothing rosemary and chamomile. Alyce, Bethany, and Hunter were performing cloaking spells on themselves.

At the head of the bed I placed one of Belwicket's silver cups, with water in it. I also placed my birth mother's wand there. Around the other three sides I placed the other three cups, to represent earth, fire, and air. I got into bed, sinking into the comforting softness, the fresh, clean-smelling linens. I had the Belwicket athame, the one engraved with generations of initials of Riordan witches. Someday, I would have my own initials engraved on it, too.

I pulled up the covers and tucked the athame at my side. Surrounded by the powerful tools that had helped women in my family work magick for hundreds of years, I felt fortified and more confident. I felt connected to the long line of witches who were my ancestors and a special connection to Maeve, the woman who had given me up for adoption rather than allow me to be killed by Ciaran MacEwan.

Hunter came over and tucked me in. "Got your spells ready?" he asked. I nodded. "Right, then-sweet dreams. When you see me next, all this will be over." He leaned over and kissed me, then went back to Alyce and Bethany, who were opening the window and removing its screen.

Alyce came over, smiled, and patted my shoulder. "This will all be okay," she said.

"All ready?" Bethany asked. I nodded. "Good luck, then."

Alyce turned off the light. I looked at the luminous hands on my watch-it was ten-thirty. I often stayed up later than that, but at the moment I felt completely wiped. Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath, trying to relax and concentrate. Just relax, I told myself. Relax. Everything is all right. You're safe.

"Of course you're safe," Cal says, sitting on the edge of the bed. I jump-I hadn't sensed him coming.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask. "What do you want?"

He leans over. "I want you, Morgan," he says. "I always did. You never would join with me the way I wanted. But now you will." He smiles and strokes my hair, and I can't help flinching. He doesn't seem to notice. "Tonight you'll be mine, all mine. You didn't take any of those nasty potions that kept us apart" He frowns at that I try to think of what I'm supposed to do now. I can't remember.

Then Cal cheers up. "But tonight is different," he says, smiling again. "Tonight I'm here, and he's not. Tonight you and I will join completely."

"I don't want to." My voice comes out sounding faint, and I say it again, more strongly."! don't want you. I want you to leave me alone." Cal tips back his head and laughs, exposing the smooth brown skin of his neck. "Of course you don't really want to be alone," he says, sounding indulgent in a way that pisses me off. "Not when you can be with me. Didn't you have too many years of being alone? You did. But now you'll never be alone again."

"What are you talking about?"

He takes my hand, and it really feels like a person holding it His skin is smooth and warm, and I feel the brush of the leather friendship bracelet he used to wear. When he was alive. I shiver, but again he doesn't seem to notice.

"You've been playing hard to get," he says. "I don't blame you. You're an exceptional witch-very strong. You're simply too strong not to be joined with me." His smile lights his face, and I'm struck by his physical beauty. "You know what they say-if you're not with us, you're against us."

"Who's us?" I ask. I know I'm supposed to do something, something guided or interactive-but what? Desperately I try to remember-I'm supposed to do something, for some reason-

Cal shrugs casually. "With me. Tonight you're going to join with me forever."

"No."

He laughs easily. "You don't really have a choice, Morgan. Not anymore. Not tonight."

"I always have a choice." My voice comes out stronger than I intended, and it makes his golden eyes flick over at me.

"Not really. Not against me." He stands up and holds out his hand. "Now, come on. Let's get going. I've waited too long for this. You won't get away from me tonight" He remembers to smile at the last bit, but it's a horrible, almost vicious expression, and I recoil.

"No," I say, pulling farther back into the bed. What should I do? What should I do? Isn't something supposed to happen now? Is someone supposed to help me? Where are they?

Cal reaches forward and grips my wrist in a tight, almost painful grasp. My eyes narrow a bit-I'm not a pushover. Not anymore. I'm no longer innocent Morgan, never had a boyfriend, so flattered that a demigod like Cal Blaire would want me. He thinks I'm weak, is counting on it But I'm not weak. I'm very strong, and I know it. I'm so strong, I can protect myself in this situation. Strong enough to fight Cal all by myself. I can win. I can beat him.

"Why are you doing this? I want you to leave me alone," I say firmly. I tug on my hand, but he doesn't release it. "I don't want to be with you. I'm not going to join with you. You need to leave and never come back."

He frowns. "Morgan. Stop it. This is nonsense. Now, come on." He gives a hard yank on my hand and almost pulls me out of the bed. My shoulder feels a sharp pang, as if my arm is straining against its socket. Determinedly I pull it back.

I realize now that we're in the meadow again. I don't remember where we were just seconds ago. But we're in the meadow, and there's Cal's bed at the edge of it The sun is warm on my hair, the bees' droning noise is mesmerizing-it's the most perfect, peaceful place in the world. Except Cal's in it.

Time to act. I reach forward and grab Cal's other hand, pulling it toward me. He smiles-playful Morgan-but I keep a death grip on it and won't let go. He frowns in puzzlement and tries to pull his own hand back. "Let go," he says.

I send every bit of power I have into the hold I have on his hand. "No," I say calmly. "I won't let go."

He suddenly gives a hard yank, and I hold on tighter, clenching my teeth. "You can't hurt me anymore," I grind out-

Then my eyes opened to darkness lit only by a glow of blue witchfire. I lurched up in bed and stifled a horrified scream-in my hand I was holding one leg of a dark-feath- ered hawk! The same hawk I had seen in all my dreams- the one with the cold, golden eyes. My face froze in shock as I took in the scene-the hawk's huge, powerful wings beating the air, my fist gripped around its leg tight enough to break its bone. The hawk screamed unbearably loudly, right in my face, and I squeezed my eyes shut, the horrible sound raking my eardrums.

Its beak lunged toward my face, and I ducked at the last second to avoid having my cheek ripped open. Around me I heard a commotion-moving and shouting, and then a light flashed on. Other hands were grabbing at me-I was on my knees on the bed, hanging on to the hawk's leg, avoiding its beak. Then I recognized Alyce's voice, and Hunter's and Bethany's, and it was enough to pull me back into reality. Hunter managed to grab a beating wing. Alyce grabbed the other one, holding it hard, outstretched against her body. A sudden slash made me cry out, and I saw that the hawk had managed to slice into my arm with its other taloned claw.

I let out a gasp, and then Hunter grabbed the other leg, and between the four of us we held the hawk down. It struggled fiercely, still lunging with its beak, and then Alyce reached out one hand and grabbed its neck. Her face was contorted with fierce, ruthless determination-I had never seen her look like this before.

I still held on to one leg and glanced down at the gashes on my arm, dripping blood. I stared at the hawk, at its golden eyes-they were like Cal's eyes. I looked up at Alyce to ask what should we do now, but I saw a look of horror come over her face. My head snapped back to the hawk, and then my jaw dropped in terror as the hawk's mouth opened and a wisp of thick, oily smoke emerged. In a second I remembered the last time I had seen something like that-it had been back when Selene had died, in her library. It was here now, and it was incredibly foul, this close. Just being within proximity of it made me feel like my life force was draining away, as if it was the coldness of death itself. My heart sank and my mouth went dry, and then, as the last of the smoke roiled out of the bird's mouth, it went limp and sank lifeless in our hands. It was dead.

"Quick!" Bethany shouted, dropping the bird's body on the bed and throwing herself toward the window. She slammed it down and locked it, and Alyce sprang for the door and locked that, too. I was still trying to get my bearings, but the other three witches were circling the anam, grim looks of resolve on their faces.

Then, as we watched, the nebulous smoke slowly began to achieve more form. It coiled upon itself, becoming more three-dimensional. My eyes felt like they were burning as a grisly, acid-eaten face gradually emerged from the oily fog.

It was Selene.

My mind went blank with terror. Selene! My first thought was that against Cal, we had good odds of beating him. Against Selene, who besides Ciaran was the strongest, most evil witch I'd ever come across-our odds were much worse.

Selene! How was it possible? Her anam must have been within the smoke that drifted from her mouth when she died. She must have found some other host-this hawk, or another one, or something else. Then she had decided to take revenge on me. It hadn't been Cal at all. It had never been Cal.

I felt my heart sink at this realization. The real Cal was dead-he had been dead all this time. Selene had used his image in my dreams to make me follow him. She must have known that I still had conflicting feelings about her son: anger, fear, maybe even a little fondness. But most of all, guilt. He had sacrificed his life for me. And as much as I knew he was a twisted person who had done terrible things, a small part of me still regretted that Because he might have truly loved me, in his way. And because he never really had a chance. Not with a mother like Selene.

Her death's-head grin was becoming more apparent-in life, Selene had been as beautiful as Cal, in the same sleek, golden, feline way. She was no longer beautiful. It was as if every bit of evil she had in her had eaten away at her human form, leaving only the grimacing mockery of a challenge.

Without thinking I threw out my hand, and a jagged, neon blue bolt of energy snapped from my fingers and sliced right through the smoky form. Her slash of a mouth widened in horrible amusement.

I was stiff and stupid with fear. We hadn't prepared for this. I felt pearls of cold sweat popping fully formed on my forehead, felt the ache of adrenaline tightening my muscles, the dull pain of my stomach, tight with terror. Selene.

Alyce made an incoherent sound-she and the others had been muttering spells nonstop since the hawk had died-but now I looked down and saw that dark tendrils were spinning off from lower down, and they were beginning to curl around the legs of Hunter, Alyce, and Bethany. They each quickly tried to jump away but already seemed held. They were throwing witchfire at it, spitting spells at it, and nothing they were doing was having any effect. These three witches were all strong, quick, and knew well how to protect themselves-but not even Hunter seemed to be able to stall her attack.

The smoky tendrils were weaving themselves higher, coiling insidiously around their bodies.

"Why are you doing this?" I shouted. I was going to sit here and watch my friends-and my muirn beatha dan-die, and then I was going to die myself if I didn't figure something out. A horrible, risky idea was starting to take form in my mind. I rejected it, but it kept coming back, and now I saw it as perhaps my only hope. It would be dangerous, and I didn't know if I could pull it off. I didn't even want to try.

"If it's me you want, take me, and leave them alone!" I cried.

The horrible Selene face laughed, and I realized that she wanted to see them die, that she would enjoy it. I found my mother's athame in my hand, glowing with a white heat, and without a plan I leaped forward and plunged the blade into the middle of the smoke. To my surprise, Selene actually seemed to feel it-the smoke recoiled and the face gasped. Then her expression twisted with anger, and a dreadful, perforated voice emanated from it. "You can't stop me, Morgan," it said, every word feeling like a steel nail scraped down a blackboard. "You're not strong enough. I'll take my revenge. My kind have been waiting hundreds of years to wipe out your kind, and I'm not going to let my own death stop me. You're the last of Belwicket, the last of the Riordans. Once you're dead, true Woodbanes can continue their work. I'm willing to martyr myself to that cause. Soon we'll be more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

Twining vines of smoke slid toward me, running up the bedspread like fire. I edged back against the wall, then looked up to see that Bethany's neck was entwined-she was choking and gagging, and her face was tinged with blue. Bethany was going to die. Alyce and Hunter had turned their energies to saving her, but Selene's march toward death seemed unstoppable.

Unless.

Fully formed, my mother's power chant, the power chant of Belwicket, came to me, as it had on so many other occasions. The ancient, beautiful, and sometimes harsh words spilled from my mouth as I kept my eyes locked on Selene's form. "An di allaigh an di aigh an di allaigh an di ne ullah…" I kept the words flowing like lifesaving water as my hand crept across the bed to the body of the dead hawk. My half brother Killian had caught a hawk once by calling its true name. If you know the true name of something, you have ultimate control over it. I knew Ciaran's true name, but no one knew mine, including me. My fingers brushed the soft feathers, felt the absence of a life force, and I included the hawk's true name in my chant.

Selene was hardly paying attention to me-perhaps she thought it would be amusing to see what I could come up with, what puff of breath I could throw against her turbulent hurricane of power. Bethany was almost unconscious now, and the coils were moving up Alyce and Hunter. I saw hard intent in his face but no fear, and my heart felt a searing pain at the thought of what he was going through and how he was facing it.

I remembered what it felt like to be wolf-Morgan. My birth father, Ciaran, had taught me a shape-shifting spell. I didn't remember most of it, but now I called on ancient Riordan power, the power of my mother and her mother before her, back through the generations. Help! I sent the message silently. Mother, help me. Help me now.

I closed my eyes, swaying for a moment as new words, at once unknown and familiar, streamed into my mind. I recognized the form of limitations of the shape-shifting spell, and silently I repeated them, putting everything I knew, everything I felt, every need I had into the words.

I was frightened, deathly frightened, yet felt I was pulled inexorably toward this future, this one direction. Silently I murmured the true name of the hawk. Then the pieces came together in my mind in a beautiful, dazzling, stained- glass window of magick, the three things I needed weaving themselves together in a spell so balanced and perfect and beautiful, I wanted to cry.

Bethany sagged in Selene's grasp. Alyce and Hunter were now fighting the deadly tethers around their necks. There was no more time-not one second.

"Rac bis han!" I shouted, throwing my arms wide. Selene whipped around to look at me. "Nal nac hagagh! Ben dan!" I had a moment to see her gaping, protruding eyes widen in shock, then I was forced double, and I was screaming in pain.

Even Alyce and Hunter stopped struggling to watch me, and I cried out, instantly regretting my decision through a thousand hours of ripping, racking pain that lasted less than a minute. My bones bent unnaturally, my skin was pricked with thousands of needles, my face was drawn forward like burning steel. There was no way of getting through this with dignity or even a show of bravery. I wailed, screamed, cried, begged for mercy, and finally ended up sputtering incoherently, lying on my side on the bed. I blinked and struggled to rise. The room was strange and hard to understand. My feet couldn't clutch the bed well, and I gave a clumsy hop so I could perch on the footboard. Hesitantly I flapped my wings, felt the latent power contained within.

I was a hawk. I had shape-shifted. I now had a hawk's laser sight, razorlike talons, and merciless, ripping beak. I sent a message to Selene: Catch me if you can. Then I gathered my wings to me, and with a brilliant burst of immense joy and an aching longing for air and freedom, I took flight, right through the closed and locked window. I felt the wood splinter, the glass shatter against my chest, but then I was soaring up, up, into openness. I heard glass raining down, and then, with a soft sound, my wings caught fire and I streaked through the sky.

A few, exhilarating moments later I sensed another hawk coming after me. It was Selene, back in the body she had usurped. However, that body had already been dead for several minutes, its systems breaking down, and as I glanced back for a millisecond, I saw that it flew with jerky, uncon-trolled movements, working hard to keep up with me.

Yet right now Selene seemed unimportant. A hawk's wild joy ignited in me as I wheeled effortlessly through the dark night air. I felt incredibly light and incredibly strong. A thousand scents came to me as I soared higher-the higher I went, the thinner and cooler the air was as it filled my lungs. I heard the flames on my wings whip fiercely through the air, but I felt no pain, no heat, only a terrible, righteous anger and an increasingly strong need for revenge. As ecstatic as I was, shooting through the night, my thoughts once again turned toward Selene. She had been haunting me all this time, appearing to me in Cal's form. She wanted me dead. She wouldn't ever stop until I was dead and the dark Woodbanes were able to flourish. I couldn't let that happen.

I tucked one wing slightly in and began a huge, sweeping arc at sixty miles an hour. The dark hawk was slowly gaining on me, and even from this great distance I saw the glint of hatred in it golden eyes, the overriding lust for my death, and I knew that this could end in only one way: her death. My victory.

Once more I began saying the Riordan power chant, hearing the words unspool in my mind, feeling my power strengthen and swell.

I'm a Riordan, I thought. I'm the sgiurs dan. This will end here, and my descendants will go on to help Woodbanes be everything they can be, on the side of good.

Then, like children responding to a dare, we squared off and faced each other, hovering for a moment in the onyx- colored sky. I felt everything in me coil and hesitate, and then, like a bolt of witchfire, I hurtled through the night toward Selene, aware that she also was streaking toward me. I was both falling and soaring, my wings tucked close, feet drawn up: I was a weapon, going eighty miles an hour downward toward my enemy.

I was on Selene so fast that I didn't have time to really expect it-it was only a few seconds before we were swerving at the last second so we wouldn't just crash into each other. Quickly I circled as tightly as I could, and then I let all my raptor instincts take over-I quit thinking like a human, quit being Morgan altogether. I let go of all that and let my hawk free.

I don't know who drew blood first-Selene or me. But we attacked at the same moment, and my hard beak shot forward and seized her flesh, pulling and ripping. I tasted her blood, warm and salty, at the same instant I was aware of a searing pain in my right shoulder. The next several minutes were a blur of feathers and fire and a fine mist of blood arcing through the air. Selene's feathers were scorched by my fire, and the acrid smell of burned feathers filled my sensitive nostrils. Harsh, raucous screams filled the air, upsetting and distracting me-and then I realized I was making them. Finally with one huge surge of power I rose up just enough to be able to clamp one of my vicelike feet around Selene's thick neck. It reached around and I squeezed my grip as tightly as I could, as if Selene were a rabbit and I was about to have lunch.

In a frenzy Selene's dark wings beat the air around me, obscuring my sight. But still I hung on. It was impossible to fly and hold on at the same time, so I swung my wings when I could and concentrated on closing, closing, closing on Selene's neck.

This is for Cal, whom you destroyed with your evil, I thought grimly. This is for me, whom you haunted and terrorized. This is for all the people you've hurt or used or killed. You are going to die here and now, at my hand.

When I had been a wolf, I had been seized with an overwhelming lust for the hunt, a palpable desire to track prey down and rip into it. I had been able to stop myself at the last second when I realized my prey was Hunter. I felt no such inclination to stop now. Every tenet I had been raised with against murder, against revenge-disappeared now as I felt myself slowly pressing the life from Selene's body.

We were spinning now, falling toward earth in a death spiral. I was unable to keep myself aloft and hold on to Selene at the same time, so I allowed myself to fall. Selene was still beating her wings, but more and more weakly. My claws, holding her neck, ached with the pressure, the tension of staying tight, but I was locked onto her and there was no way I would let go. I glanced down and saw with a sickening realization that the ground was rushing up to meet us. Soon I would crash, probably breaking every bone in my body. I didn't think even a hawk could survive that kind of collision. But at least I would take Selene with me.

All at once I felt the life force of Selene's hawk blink out. One breath later I was sure of it-the hawk was dead. I was maybe fifteen feet from the ground, and I loosed my talons and let Selene drop heavily to the ground. Then I began beating my wings backward furiously-how to land? I didn't know!

I did the best I could, slowing myself as much as possible and setting my feet in front of me. I ended up crashing, anyway, my feet running against the ground, my wings outstretched, but I lost my balance and tumbled head over claw several times in what must have been the most humiliating hawk landing ever.

Still, I didn't break anything, and as soon I stopped rolling, I was up on my feet and leaping over to Selene. Just as I got there, the hawk's mouth opened, and once again the oily black smoke began to coil outward. I slammed my foot around its neck, crushing it shut, holding it ruthlessly.

It was horrible-the dead bird's battered and bloody body flopping and struggling against me. My own blood running into my eyes and stinging them. The oily smoke of Selene's anam stopped short. This close to her, I felt her panic, her intense fury, her hatred, her venom and malice. I flapped my wings to keep my balance, hopping awkwardly on one foot while the other held on. It seemed like hours later, but at last I sensed the final, twitching, muffled death of Selene's anam. Trapped inside a dead being with no escape, she could not survive.

Selene Belltower was no more. Yet I didn't let go, not for a long time, not until the shaking of my muscles forced me to release my grip.

Then I released my hold, folded in my wings, and began the agonizing process of becoming myself.

Selene was dead, and I had killed her.

And I wasn't sorry.