Full Circle

14. Hunter

We got Morgan cleaned and patched up at Alyce's. She felt terrible about the broken window, and Alyce looked at her like she was insane when she offered to pay for it. Bethany didn't think any of her wounds actually needed stitches, but she did put butterfly bandages and poultices everywhere. Then I brought Morgan to Bree's house, about half an hour before the sun came up. We woke her up, and she helped me put Morgan to bed. I said we'd explain later. As soon as I was sure Morgan was asleep and safe, I took off and went home.

Once there I took a long, hot shower, getting blood and pain and evil off me. I dropped into my bed and passed out cold.

"Here, lad, have a cuppa," Da said. I heard his voice and groaned, but then the tantalizing scent of strong tea reached my nostrils and I struggled to surface.

I propped myself up on my elbows and took the hot mug. "Cheers."

"How are you? You look all worn out." I moaned. "Don't ask. I've had better weeks. What time is it?"

"Oneish. I've been thinking about that witch, Patrice," Da went on.

"Me too," I said, and told him about everything that had happened with Patrice and Robin in the woods last night. I sighed. "I'm thinking that maybe I should ask her to turn herself in to the council. I hate the idea, but I don't know what else to do. Despite how sincere she is, now that she's done something like this, I just can't see never keeping an eye on her again. And next time she would be much more subtle, more experienced. I don't know."

I took a big gulp of tea. Ahhh. "I know that if she absolutely refuses to turn herself in, I won't make her," I went on. "I won't strip her of her powers against her will. That's a bloody awful business."

"Well, maybe you won't have to," Da said. "Look." He took out a black-and-white composition notebook. "I've been working on a translation, from Middle Gaelic. It's been very unusual, very enlightening. It seems to have been a textbook from a Wiccan center of learning, back in the 1500s. I've been finding some incredibly unusual spells, and they're almost all to do with limiting powers in some way."

"Really?"

"Yes. I mean, these spells haven't seen light of day, as far as I can tell, in hundreds of years. When I was studying for my initiation, I never even touched on this category." He flipped past pages covered with his fine, scrawly handwriting and began reading me pieces of his translation.

My brain wasn't quite up to par after the events of the last two days, nowhere near enough sleep, the trauma of having Morgan go through what she had. I squinted up at my father.

"I'm not getting it," I said bluntly.

"Look," he said, a deliberately patient tone entering his voice. "I'm saying we take the basic form of this spell here because it does things in stages and can be broken up. Now, this spell"-he flipped through several pages-"is interesting because of how it sets out its limitations at the beginning, and the best thing is that it doesn't seem to be tied to the phase of the moon. This spell has a really good ending in how it wraps things up, seals things, in the way it controls its effects. So see? We take these parts from these three spells-plus one or two phrases from a couple of others- and create one spell from them. What do you think?"

I struggled to make sense of it. I sat up and took the notebook from him, flipping back and forth between the marked pages, reading his careful translations and margin notes. Slowly the picture began to seep into my troubled brain. My jaw dropped at its implication.

I looked up at Da. "Oh, Goddess-do you think it could work?"

He sat back on his heels, pleased. "I think it might."

"You are absolutely bloody brilliant," I said, and he laughed, tilting back his head.

"Can I get that in writing?" he said.

We took a couple of hours to carefully write out the whole, new, complete spell. The two of us went over it again and again, checking and cross-checking everything. Around four, an uncharacteristically domestic Sky brought us some tea and sandwiches, as well as some sample oatcakes from a recipe she was trying out for Beltane. "They're great," I said, practically spitting crumbs. "Go with it"

At last we felt ready.

Da and I were very familiar with the spell; there seemed to be no loopholes in it-it was exciting, different, as if we were about to make Wiccan history. Da must have felt this way about the dark wave spell, having created something beautiful and terrible out of nothing. It was funny, when I'd first found him in Canada, he'd been a mess. Now he really seemed to be excelling. It made me proud to be his son.

We drove over to Thornton, to Patrice's house. We'd called ahead, and she was expecting us. When we got there, she was alone, which surprised me. I would have thought she would have called, if not Celia or Robin, then at least some other friend or colleague.

"Thanks for meeting with us," I said as we stood awkwardly in her foyer. She looked tired and somehow beaten, as if she was going to give up now, since her most desperate plan hadn't worked.

I introduced her to my father, and like Celia and Robin, Patrice was a bit impressed to meet the dark wave destroyer. I let Da explain what we wanted to do.

"From what I understand, you've worked magick that could almost certainly get you stripped of your powers," Da said in his forthright way.

Patrice flushed and hung her head, the edges of fear showing in her eyes. "I know," she said, barely audibly.

"However, no one in authority knows about it yet," I said. "But anyone who knows about this will never forget it. Because there's always the possibility that you'll drift back to dark magick."

Her face blanched at these stark words. "So you seem a bit dangerous, do you see?" I asked, not meanly. "Once someone crosses the line, it seems so much easier for them to cross it again. People will be watching you, waiting for it to happen. But my father has crafted a spell that seems to address this particular situation. We believe that we can work a spell around you that will satisfy others' fears about you."

"You want to strip my powers," Patrice said dully, looking at the floor.

"No. We want to limit them, forever. But in a very specific way," Da explained.

"It's a bubble spell," I said. "A spell that affects your powers in a certain way for the rest of your life. As of today, it can't be undone. Your powers wouldn't actually be limited in strength, but in effect: if you agree to undergo this, you'll never again be able to affect any other living thing with your magick again."

Patrice gave me a quizzical look.

"You'll be able to make magick, beautiful, powerful magick. You'll be able to celebrate and take part in magickal rites. You'll be able to affect stone, mineral, air, and earth as much as you can now. But you won't be able to affect your son's health. You won't be able to rid yourself of the smallest headache. You won't be able to create a sleeping draught for a friend. You won't be able to do the peas-times-three spell on your garden."

She gave a slight smile at the mention of a very basic spell that every witch child learns.

"You won't be able to call your dog with magick; you won't be able to scry to see other humans or animals or plants. But you'll be able to learn, to teach others, to witness magick, to participate, to feel the joy and satisfaction of creating something beautiful from nothing-just like any other witch."

"But because I can't affect any living thing, I can't harm anyone with dark magick," she said, looking thoughtful. "And neither could I help anyone with good magick."

"That's correct," Da said.

"I hate this," she said calmly.

"It's the best option you have right now," I said.

"You're right," she said, years of strain and fatigue in her voice. "How long will it take? I have to give Joshua his medicine at eight."

"It will take about forty-five minutes," said Da.

Trying not to cry, Patrice led us to her small circle room, in what used to be a butler's pantry, off her dining room. "Let's do it, then," she said.

It took longer than forty-five minutes because neither Da nor I had ever done it before. We also hadn't had an idea of what effect it would have on Patrice physically, and at one point she became so nauseated, we had to stop for a few minutes. But we followed each step carefully, as we had written it, and by a few minutes after six we said the final ending words.

When it was over, I felt drained and hungry. Da dismantled the circle, and I edged away and sat with my back against the wall. Patrice simply lay down on the wooden floor, right where she was, looking white and ill. Da also seemed very tired, but it was he who went to the kitchen and came back with a pitcher of iced tea and a package of cookies.

"I raided your fridge," he said cheerfully. Slowly we ate and drank, and afterward we all felt better. I fetched a wet washcloth for Patrice's forehead, and she seemed glad to have it.

"Do I look different?" she joked weakly, and I shook my head.

"No. I don't even know if you'll feel different or how the spell will take effect," I said. "You were the guinea pig. But if it works, it could save a great many witches from having their powers stripped in the future."

"Then it will be worth it," Patrice said. "Now I need to go tend to my son."

I went to Morgan's house after that. Mrs. Rowlands let me in, smiling pleasantly, even though I knew she wasn't thrilled with the idea of Morgan dating a witch.

"Hello, Mrs. Rowlands," I said. "I was wondering if I could see Morgan."

"I'll call her down," Mrs. Rowlands said. "You aren't going to believe what she looks like. Apparently she and Bree were trampolining in Bree's backyard this morning, and Morgan managed to bounce off and crash right through a lilac hedge. She's a mess." Tsking and shaking her head, she went to the stairs, where Morgan was already on her way down, having sensed me come in.

I looked at her solemnly. She did look like a wreck, but there was a relief in her eyes, a lack of fear, of tension, that hadn't been there in ages. For that I was glad.

"I told you that trampoline should have a safety net around it," I said.

"Hunter Niall: Wiccan smart-ass," Morgan said in disgust a few minutes later. "That will be the title of your biography." We were out on the double glider that had recently made its spring appearance on the Rowlandses' front porch. We had some iced jasmine tea, and Morgan had also managed to supply some zucchini bread.

I gave her a little smile and put my arm across the back of the glider, resting against her shoulders. We would have to go over the events of yesterday in depth, but not tonight. "Good story, by the way." I paused. "When I was in the house, I felt Alisa upstairs."

Morgan nodded. "They're going to the nine o'clock movie downtown. Dad's taking them. I think Alisa might be sleeping over."

"Good." I hesitated before I brought up the next subject. It was an idea I'd had a couple of days before, but it had seemed impossible then. It might not be impossible now. "How strong are you feeling?" I asked.

Morgan looked up at me with curiosity and shrugged. "You mean, after yesterday?" I nodded. "Actually, though physically I feel like crap, magickally I feel pretty strong. It's like every time I go through something that should have killed me, when I come through, I just feel stronger."

I smiled. "There's something I'd like to ask you to do for me," I said. "Not tonight But tomorrow. It involves your magick."