Full Circle

4. Hunter

"What about here? I asked. "No rocks, a mixture of sun and shade, nice view." The picnic basket was starting to feel heavy-I was ready to sit and eat and lie in the sun.

"This looks good," Morgan agreed, nodding.

"Okay by me," said Robbie.

For a moment it looked like Bree might object, but then she followed majority rule. She and Morgan unfolded an old blanket and shook it out.

"Goddess, what a beautiful day," Morgan said, immediately lying down in the blanket in a way that made me wish Robbie and Bree weren't there. I wanted to touch her, feel the smooth skin of her stomach. Well, nothing I could do about it yet.

By unspoken agreement the four of us ended up on our backs, looking up at the intensely blue spring sky and the puffy white clouds slipping past.

"This is great," Robbie said.

"Mmm," Bree murmured in agreement. "Oh, Morgan, did I tell you? That B and B on Martha's Vineyard worked out."

"Hey, great," Morgan said. "When are you guys going?"

"The end of June," Robbie said. "Just for a week. I don't think I'll be able to get more time off from the shop." Robbie had gotten a summer job at Widow's Vale's tiny used-book store.

Using my lightning-fast former Seeker intuition, I deduced that Bree and Robbie were going to Martha's Vineyard together for a week later in the summer. A quiet envy settled across me. I would kill to have that kind of alone with Morgan. Sometimes I wished her father were more like Bree's father-rather absent and not entirely aware of what she did. I knew that Morgan's intensely caring and involved parents were, in general, a much better thing. But sometimes…

"That sounds so great," Morgan said. "I'm probably going to be working at my mom's office all summer. Data entry, filing, et cetera. Making coffee. Yawn." Her mom was a real estate agent, and I knew Morgan often worked for her when she needed money.

"At least you'll be in air-conditioning," Bree pointed out. "Which reminds me-speaking of being chilly-I was reading about Beltane this morning, and it seems that many covens feel the Beltane rites are best done skyclad. Like the fertility rites, the dances. The maypole."

"Skyclad?" Robbie asked. "What does that-oh."

Bree giggled and crossed one of her legs over Robbie's.

"I'm so sure," Morgan said, rolling her eyes. "Count me out."

Trying not to laugh, I said, "I don' know, Morgan. I believe that if we're going to be historically accurate, Kithic should celebrate Beltane authentically. I imagine it would be all right if not everyone has sex under the moon, but the nudity…pfaw!" I stopped to spit some grass, which Morgan had been flinging at me, out of my mouth and held up my hands to ward off any further attacks.

"Very funny," said Morgan, throwing more grass. I half sat to brush it off and saw that her face was flushed with self-consciousness. I grinned at her. In public she was fairly reserved, and she certainly didn't dress to show off her body. But in private…we had been together enough for me to know that her physical desire and innate sensuality ran as strong in her as her magickal powers did. And I had been the lucky recipient of those feelings. I hoped that soon we would be ready to take those feelings to their natural conclusion.

"Right, then," I said, lying back down and grabbing Morgan's hand. I held her hand on my chest and felt her relax against me, her foot resting against my ankle. "So I'll go ahead and inform the coven that nudity and public sex are optional."

Robbie snorted with laughter, and Bree told him, "You can strip down first."

I was happy, lying there in the sun and dappled shade. It felt normal, natural, light. I hoped that the rest of the year would be more like this and that the darkness we'd been facing had finally gone for good.

After a while we sat up and ate our sandwiches. Everything tasted better because we were outside in the cool spring sun and we were together. I lay in my back with Morgan and her friends and watched the clouds. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this calm.

Not long after that, Bree and Robbie took their leave to make a foreign-film matinee in Taunton. Bree left the dessert with us, and soon we heard the distinctive sound of her BMW driving off. Leaving me alone with Morgan at last.

I turned on my side and gathered her to me, pushing her down on the blanket with my weight, feeling her slenderness beneath me, her leg automatically bending to curve around mine. Her arms came around me and I began kissing her all over, touching her everywhere. I felt intensely alive, curious, excited about our future. My body responded to hers so strongly that I knew if we waited much longer to make love, both of us would lose our minds. It wasn't until I felt her hand on mine that I realized I was at her waist and I had undone the button on her jeans.

Feeling foggy, I blinked and looked at her flushed face. I looked down at my hand and a her hand holding it. She smiled at me with slow amusement.

"Right here? Wouldn't we scare the chipmunks?"

I was too far gone to make a coherent response right away. Everything in me was telling me to charge ahead, and the fact that we had stopped and she was talking was taking a while to imprint on my lust-clouded brain.

"Mommy, what are those huge ugly animals doing?" Morgan said in a high, squeaky chipmunk voice. "Don't look, sweetie," she answered in a concerned mother chipmunk voice. "Just go back in the tree."

For a moment I just stared at her, then I started laughing hard. Morgan grinned at me while I guffawed, and it was only with effort that I got my wits about me. Leaning down, I kissed her on the nose. "You are incredibly odd," I said tenderly. "Really, incredibly odd. I'm sure that's the first time in the history of human sexuality that someone has imitated a chipmunk as part of foreplay."

We laughed together then, sitting up and holding on to each other, cackling like maniacs. She rebuttoned her jeans, and when we lay back down again, it was just to cuddle and talk. In the back of my mind I remembered my upcoming meeting with Celia Evans and Robin Goodacre. All they'd told me was that they were concerned about their coven leader possibly working dark magick. They weren't sure what to do but needed help in deciding if there was anything they could do. Later tonight we were going to meet again, and they'd promised to give me the whole story.

I had wanted to talk to Morgan about them, get her impressions on what she thought might be going on. But I didn't have their permission to talk to anyone, and while I would have felt all right about telling another Wiccan "professional," like my da, telling Morgan seemed like a breach Of confidence.

"What are you going to do this summer?" Morgan asked me, snuggling close, and I heard the wistfulness in her voice. She was thinking of Bree and Robbie's trip, no doubt.

"Well, I'm hoping to earn enough money to go home for a while," I told her honestly. "I want to see everyone, eat some decent fish and chips, fill up on England." She was quiet, playing thoughtfully with one of my shirt buttons, and I went on. "Is there any way you could go with me? What about if you promise to visit historical sites and write a report?"

She smiled, looking sad. "I'll ask my parents, but don't hold your breath."

I cuddled her closer again. We both knew, without saying it, that there was no way her parents would let her go to Europe with a guy. Not when she was only seventeen. I nuzzled her beneath one ear and felt her shiver. "We need time alone." Morgan nodded. "Then maybe we could get around to certain things we've been thinking about," I said meaningfully. Her hazel eyes, the color of stones seen through clear water, brightened with amusement, and she gave an instinctive wiggle against me. I kissed her gently, not wanting us to get all worked up again. Soon we were lying still again, our arms around each other, looking up at the sky.

As my eyes drifted lazily closed, I heard an odd cry above me. My eyes fluttered open and my gaze fastened on a red-tailed hawk, shooting groundward incredibly fast. It dropped below the level of the trees but almost instantly shot upward, each strong beat of it's powerful wings taking it farther into the sky. In its talons was a writhing black snake.

"Lunch," I said, admiring the bird's almost perfect predatory ability. I looked down to see Morgan frowning.

"That's weird," she said, squinting to watch the bird disappear high above us.

"Why? Hawks hunt all the time. This place is full of red-tailed hawks." I stroked her hair, loving the way the sunlight played across it.

"Yeah, I guess," Morgan said slowly. "It's nothing."

"I have to tell you," I said, gently easing her head up onto my shoulder, "I'm not thrilled about working at Practical Magick."

"No?"

I shook my head. "I know I can't be a Seeker anymore, but putting little spells on herbs isn't my life's calling, either. If only-it would be so great if the council weren't the only sow in town."

"What do you mean?" Morgan asked, rolling over on her side and tucking one arm under her head so she could look at me.

"Well, if there were an alternate council, say," I said. "One that held more closely to the Wiccan Rede."

Morgan was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if she understood what I was feeling. "Maybe you should start your own council," she said.

I laughed, then saw that she looked solemn and thoughtful. "You're not serious." The idea of me creating a whole new council, single- handedly, was laughable. "Are you?"

"How serious are you? she asked me, and I had no answer.

I was almost out the front door that evening when the phone rang. I debated nit answering it-I had only ten minutes to get to the coffee shop where I was meeting Celia and Robin-but then I picked up on the fact that it was Sky calling. I lunged for the phone.

"Hello-ello," I said, and she snorted. "How's jolly olde England?"

"Still repressed as ever," Sky said dryly. "Even English witches are more restrained than American ones."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I said, and she allowed herself an amused heh-heh.

"I guess it is a bit of a relief not to have everyone's emotions hanging out all over," she said. "On the other hand, Americans seem simpler to deal with. They say what they feel or think, and you never have to guess what's going on behind the silence."

I thought for a moment, and it came to me. "How's Uncle Beck?"

Sky sighed loudly into the phone, which told me I'd hit my mark. As light and beautiful and loving as my mum had been, her brother, Beck, Sky's father, was dark and hard hewn and almost forcefully introverted. He'd raised me, my younger brother, Linden, and my sister, Alwyn, from the time I was eight, and though I'd always felt physically safe and taken care of, I'd also always felt wary, distanced, and on thin ice emotionally. Sky and her four sisters hadn't fared much better, though they were his own daughters.

"Anyway, I think I'm ready to come back to Widow's Vale," she said.

"Good news," I said sincerely. "It's not the same without you."

"Right. So I think I'm getting a standby flight, probably on Tuesday. Think you can give me a lift home if I tell you when?"

"Absolutely "I said. "Why standby?"

"It'll be cheaper," she said, "and I can't see waiting another two weeks for a discounted flight."

So the family was definitely getting on her nerves. She'd stuck it out for a long while, though. "Just give me some advance notice and I'll be there," I promised.

"Cheers. Anything happening?"

"Yeah, Da is more in demand-" I broke off as I caught sight of the clock. "Damn! I'm sorry, Sky-I'm late for a meeting. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

"Sure. Bye."

I hung up the phone and raced out the door.

"Sorry I'm late," I said as I arrived at the coffee shop almost fifteen minutes later. Celia looked up at me, then glanced at her watch. I got the message. She was dressed as though she'd come from an office, in neat, tailored navy pants and jacket that looked professional yet not too formal or uncomfortable.

"I had an international phone call just as I was leaving the house," I explained truthfully, sliding into the remaining seat at our small table.

Robin glanced at Celia, and when I focused my senses, I picked up on feelings of nervousness, fear, and guilt. Once again I found myself intrigued. What was it they wanted, exactly?

"Why don't you get something to drink and then we'll talk," Celia suggested. I nodded and went to the counter. While I waited for my tea, I looked around the small café. Only one other table was occupied. Celia and Robin had chosen a table in the far corner, and each of them was sitting with her back to a wall.

I carried my huge cup over and sat down. I stirred in two packets of sugar and waited for one of the witches to speak. They kept glancing at each other, as if communicating telepathically, but they weren't, I didn't think. I waited, trying to look unconcerned. People want to talk. I'd found that out as a Seeker. Simply waiting was often a far more effective means of getting information than a hard-edged interrogation.

"Thank you for coming," Celia said at last. "When you were late, we wondered if you'd changed your mind."

"No," I said mildly, taking a sip of tea. "I would have called."

"We need you to promise you won't do anything without our permission," Robin blurted, an anxious look on her round face.

I met her gaze calmly. "Why don't you just explain what's going on?"

Celia leaned forward, the smooth planes of her face taut with tension. "Can we trust you?" she asked, her voice low and intent.

"Do you practice dark magick?" I asked, and she drew back.

"No," she said in surprise.

"Then you can trust me." I took another big sip.

"It isn't us," Robin said. There was so much anxiety coming off her that I was starting to feel jumpy myself. I kept casting out my senses to be aware of any possible danger nearby. But there was nothing.

"You said it was your coven leader," I said.

"Yes, and we need you to promise that you won't…harm her," Robin went on. Celia gave her a sharp glance, and Robin looked down and began twisting her hands together in her lap.

"I would never harm anyone," I said. "Unless they posed a threat." I couldn't figure out what these two were getting at. Of course, if I found witch practicing dark magick that might hurt someone, I had an obligation to turn them in to the council to have their powers stripped. As little faith as I had in the council these days, I still knew how important it was to prevent anyone from causing harm.

Robin glanced at Celia nervously, and the two of them seemed to be considering my reply. Finally Celia looked around as if to make sure we were alone. Then her clear brown eyes met mine. "We're both members of Willowbrook, a mixed coven up in Thornton."

Thornton was a town about forty minutes away, north and east from Widow's Vale. A mixed coven meant that not only was it blood witches and nonblood witches, but also blood witches of different clans. I was sure Willowbrook had been mentioned casually by people I'd talked to, but nothing in my memory triggered any negative reaction.

I nodded. "Go on."

Celia continued a low tone. "For the last seventeen years Willowbrook has been led by a gifted Brightendale named Patrice Pearson."

"How long have you each been in the coven?" I asked. I had been around them enough now to realize that though they seemed to know each other well, there was a distance between them. They were covenmates but not best friends, and they certainly weren't lovers.

"Eighteen years," Celia answered.

"Twelve," said Robin.

"And there's a problem?" I asked.

"Patrice is wonderful," Robin said earnestly, leaning closer to me. Her round brown eyes were once again surrounded by complicated makeup.

"But…" I said leadingly, and Celia looked annoyed.

"But nothing," she said shortly. "Patrice *is* wonderful. She's so…warm. Giving, helpful, caring, full of joy and life." She paused.

"I went through a very difficult personal situation a few years ago, and I don't know what I would have done without Patrice."

"We all just love her so much," Robin said. "We're all so close as a coven. Most of us have been together for at least ten years or more. Patrice just brings us closer and makes us all feel-" She looked for the word. "Loved. Even-About six years ago Patrice went through an ugly divorce we were all so surprised. But even through all that, she came to circle each week without fail. Every week. And led our circle with generosity and joy."

"She's an exceptional leader," Celia said simply. "She has exceptional clarity and focus." I was starting to get a bad feeling about the perfect Patrice.

"But lately," Celia said, and she and Robin exchanged glances one more time. "Lately she's been different."

I relaxed in my chair. Now that the dam had been breached, everything else would follow. I projected feelings of calm, of being nonjudgmental.

"She's unchanged in most ways, but sometimes-it's almost as if someone else is looking out through her eyes."

All my senses went on alert.

"Circles are different, too," said Robin. "They've always been the high point of my week. Energizing. Life affirming."

"But lately several of us have noticed that after circles, we feel unusually drained," Celia said looking at her long, slim fingers wrapped around her mug. "Sometimes some of us have to lie down afterward. One night a few weeks ago Robin and I finally mentioned it to each other and found we were feeling the same things. So we decided to try to find help. Discreet help. We can't say what's wrong or even if anything's wrong. But it doesn't feel completely right anymore, either."

"Of course, Patrice has been under an awful lot of pressure," Robin said. Joshua-her son, he's eleven now-was diagnosed last year with Leukemia. He underwent a bone-marrow transplant about eight months ago."

"Now he has host-versus-graft disease," Celia went on.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Well, they matched Joshua up with a donor," Celia said. "Then they did massive chemo and radiation to kill all the cancer-causing cells. It killed all of Joshua's own bone marrow, too. Then the donor's cancer-free marrow was implanted in him. It's working, in that it's producing white blood cells and boosting his immune system. Unfortunately, this marrow's white blood cells have identified Joshua himself as being foreign, and the marrow is attacking virtually every system in his body."

Her voice was tight with pain, and I reflected on the fact that both of these women must have known Patrice when Joshua was first born and had probably known about or been involved in his upbringing for the last eleven years. Now he was deathly ill. It wasn't only Patrice who was feeling the strain.

"It's a different kind of sickness from the cancer," Celia said. "But still awful. It could kill him."

"He's in such pain, such misery," Robin said, her voice wavering. "But even with all this, Patrice has missed only two or three circles in the past year."

"I offered to take over leading the circles for a while, to give her a break," said Celia. "I'm the most senior member of the coven. But she refused."

"That's how loyal she is, how dedicated," Robin said.

"What do the other coven members say?" I asked.

"I know some of them feel something's wrong," said Celia. "No one's said anything to me outright. The thing is, every once in a while it seems fine. It almost made me wonder if I was just imagining things or coming down with the flu myself."

"But I felt all the same things," Robin said. "And last week I heard someone else whisper a concern about it."

"If something negative is affecting all the coven members…we have to figure out what," Celia said firmly.

"We know Patrice is a good person," Robin put in quickly. "We just think she needs help, maybe."

I frowned, sipping my tea. This did not sound good. Of course, there might be some benign, rational explanation. And it would be wonderful if that were true. But instinctively I felt there was more to this.

"What is it you want me to do?" I asked carefully.

"We want you to…figure out what's going on," Celia said, and Robin nodded. "As a former Seeker, you would have investigative skills, knowledge about the different paths witches take, ideas about how to confront Patrice if it's necessary."

"If she's strayed a little, we can help her get back on the right path," Robin said.

"Or maybe just figure out how to protect her from herself," Celia suggested. "Or protect us from her. We don't know, really. We just know we need help."

"And we need to keep this very, very quiet," Robin said urgently. "We don't want you to go to the council, even if you have affiliations. Patrice is a good person. She just needs help."

I rubbed my chin while I thought. "I don't know whether I can promise that. If I discover that Patrice is involved in something dangerous…I'm no longer a Seeker, but I still have an obligation, as a blood witch with a conscience." I leaned back, and Celia and Robin both seemed to deflate a bit.

"Well…" Robin glanced at Celia hesitantly.

"We don't…we don't want anyone to be hurt," Celia assured me. "Perhaps…what if you make no promises, except that you won't harm anybody unnecessarily and you won't let anyone else be harmed?"

I sighed and considered her words. Well, at the very least, I could certainly track down more answers than they had now. "That goes without saying. Maybe I can look into it," I agreed. "See what I can come up with. But if Patrice is mixed up in something dangerous-I simply can't let her continue."

Celia nodded tightly. "Of course. We just-"

"If there's another option other than calling in the council, we want to explore it," Robin said, nervously picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "You know, we don't want to see her…hurt."

"Nobody wants to see anyone hurt," I assured her.

The two women sat back, relief emanating from them like perfume.

Blimey, I thought. What kind of mess have I gotten myself into?