Full Circle

8. Hunter

I got home from Bethany's by ten-fifteen and found Sky making a pot of tea.

"I knew there was a reason that I missed you," I said, and she swatted me with a tea towel. "Put out a mug for me, will you? Is Da out? Did you two talk much?"

She nodded, putting my mug on the table.

I love Sky, I respect Sky, and I know who Sky is underneath. She can be funny and warm and thoughtful. Though sometimes I worry that someone who doesn't know her like I do might be put off by how self-contained she is.

"He's something, your Da," she said, sitting down with her mug of tea. "He went out for an hour. Should be back soon. He seems quite different from the way you described him when you first saw him."

"He's night-and-day different," I assured her. "He's going to seem like my old da any day now."

Sky made a face at my cheekiness and took a sip of tea.

"How's your corner working out?" I asked. One thing none of us had thought of was that our house had only two bedrooms. Da had immediately offered to give up his, which had once been Sky's, but she wouldn't let him. I had done the chivalrous thing and offered my room, too. But I had to admit to myself that I was relieved when she didn't take me up on it. Not when I still had hopes of getting Morgan in there someday alone. So we had rigged up a makeshift curtain across a small alcove that might have once been a pantry, off the dining room. There was just enough space for a single futon, small table, and reading lamp. Oddly, it seemed to suit Sky's somewhat Spartan needs.

"Corner's fine," she said. "Very cozy. In fact, I'm heading there now. Jet lag is knocking me on my back." She stood up and automatically carried her mug to the sink.

"Good to have you back," I said, catching her hand as she went past. She gave mine a squeeze, then headed into the dining room.

Around eleven my father came home. I was waiting in the kitchen and had a mug of tea ready for him. He looked grateful, if somewhat surprised, at my thoughtfulness. He filled me in on his latest speaking dates, and I decided to let him in on Morgan's dreams. I felt a bit odd talking to him about it. Cal had been Da's son, just as much as I was. It wasn't hard for me to hate a half brother I had hardly known, but I knew that Da had much more conflicted feelings. For one thing, I knew he blamed himself for leaving Cal, his infant son, with Selene, in order to be able to marry my own mother, Fiona. He would always question whether Cal would have practiced dark magick if he'd grown up with us, in our family. We'd never know. I deliberately kept my tone as neutral as I could, but I saw a familiar weight bow his shoulders.

"That sounds bad," he said quietly, stroking his chin. "Do what you can, lad."

"What do you think of the possibility of Cal's anam coming back this way?"

"It would be extremely unusual," he said. "Despite all the fairy tales, it's incredibly difficult and rare for someone to come back from the netherworld-at least, not without a lot of help." His face was taut, and by unspoken agreement we didn't discuss how he had once supplied that help to others. "And I didn't know Cal, mind, but I wouldn't have thought he was strong enough."

"Right, that's what we think, too. And there's something else," I said, moving on quickly. I felt glad I had someone I could trust to talk about Patrice Pearson with. My father, for all his parental idiosyncrasies, could actually be very helpful at sorting out what was happening with the Willowbrook coven. I knew he could be trusted, and he was experienced in the ways of dark magick. I told him everything that Celia Evans and Robin Goodacre had told me, along with my own impressions of them. He listened attentively, giving a low whistle when I described how drained the women felt after a circle and how they sometimes felt they couldn't remember the entire evening.

"Sounds like a job for a Seeker," he said meaningfully, but I shook my head.

"I think I can do more not being a Seeker. Anyhow, I need to start investigating. I was wondering if you felt up to some spying and scrying tonight."

"Me?"

"Yes. I'm not sure how strong Patrice is-I could use someone else's powers, and then, you might also see things I would miss."

"Are you referring to breaking and entering?"

"Nooo. Strictly outside work."

He nodded, considering, then grinned. "Let me get my jacket."

Celia had given me Patrice's address, and we located it without much trouble. Forty minutes after leaving my place I drove past her house, which turned out to be a large, well-maintained Victorian in a historic section of Thornton. I parked around the corner, then made sure my mobile was on and set to vibrate. I had a faith that Bethany's potion would work, but I wanted to be available if Morgan needed me.

Da and I were dressed in dark clothes, and we said a few see-me-not spells I our way to Patrice's house. We also put up some basic blocking spells: Patrice might feel the presence of other blood witches, but before she could investigate, she would be distracted by something. It was almost midnight; she was probably asleep. But just in case, we wanted to be smart.

It was a quiet, moonless night, and I was thankful for magesight as I picked my way unerringly through her neighbor's backyards. The air was still and quite chilly, but the late spring scent of newly opened flowers drifted toward me, and I inhaled appreciatively. From the very back of her property we looked up at her house. One or two windows had a slight glow to them, as if there were night-lights on. That seemed odd-night-lights were one thing you didn't often find in a witch's house. Then I remembered her ill, uninitiated son and figured he must be the reason.

Neither Da nor I sensed any kind of activity from the house, so we wove our way silently to her large backyard garden. It was a real witch's garden, I saw, with neat beds, raked paths, and green everywhere. I read the small copper signs, seeing the familiar plants: burdock, beetroot, rosemary, yarrow, thistle, goldenseal, mullein, nettle, skullcap. Herbs for dyeing, herbs for tinctures, herbs for healing, soothing, cleansing. Very appropriate.

Then I saw the neat row of foxglove at the back of one bed. Then I looked around more and noticed Da doing the same. Wordlessly he pointed to a plant. Even in the dark I identified it as a young castor bean plant. By autumn it could be up to ten feet tall, with seedpods full of attractive seeds that people make necklaces out of. Hopefully no one would decide to chew on their necklace because it would likely kill them. I began walking slowly around the beds, becoming concerned, but didn't see anything else out of the ordinary.

I signaled to my father, and we crept across the yard to sit beneath a huge oak tree.

"Interesting," he said in a barely audible tone.

"Very."

"Of course, a great many plants are poisonous, and people still have them, I said. "Because they're pretty or useful in a nonedible way. Laurels, rhododendrons, oleander, yew. They're everywhere."

"But castor bean? Nightshade?" said Da skeptically.

"No. it doesn't look good." Deep in the shadows here, I pulled out my scrying stone, a large, flat piece of obsidian that Da had left me when I was eight. He gave a small nod of recognition. Together we placed our fingertips around the very edge of the stone, and I said the little scrying rhyme Sky and I had made up so many years ago. It had always served me well and could be adapted for any number of situations.

Stone of jet, hue of night

Help us as we join our sight

Let us scry the one we seek

She whose name we now will speak.

Patrice Pearson.

I traced the rune of Sigel over the stone to help us achieve clarity. Then I concentrated on my heartbeat slowing down, my breathing becoming more shallow, my focus and gaze centering on the stone before me. Almost immediately a very clear image of a dark-haired woman came to me. She was in a darkened room and was lifting something in the air. I didn't realize what it was at first, but then I recognized it as an IV bag. Patrice hooked it onto some sort of metal frame. In the next instant she looked up, as if she had just felt us scrying for her. She frowned.

"Here we go," said Da, and we leaped to our feet. Within seconds the back door of Patrice's house had opened, and we heard the furious barks and snarls of a dog tearing toward us in the dark.

"Run!" I said needlessly-Da was already outpacing me by a yard. We fairly flew through the neighbors' yards, pounded down the sidewalk, and scrabbled at the door handles of my car.

As soon as he slammed the car door shut, we heard a heavy thunk against the metal: the dog hitting the car. Outraged barks were barely muted by the closed windows.

"Goddess," Da breathed, pushing his hair off his face. "Fierce bugger."

I started the engine, planning to do a quick U-turn so I wouldn't have to pass Patrice's house. My father peered through the windows.

"What is it?" I panted, feeling adrenaline pulsing through my veins. I'd been bitten by a dog before, as a Seeker, and it had been incredibly painful. "A Rottweiler? A mastiff?"

My father started chuckling-an unusual sound, coming from him. It sounded like rusty nails being shaken in a can. "It's a dachshund," he said, really starting to laugh. "It's a long-haired dachshund. Look, you can see him when he jumps up to the window."

I looked across and saw a small, elegant brown head lift into my sight for a moment, then sink down again. A moment's pause and then once more his little face appeared, teeth bared viciously, horrible-sounding snarls coming from his throat. Then he sank down, no doubt already mustering the strength for another determined leap.

I snorted with laughter, almost choking, as I pulled slowly and carefully away from the curb. "Oh, Goddess, Goddess," I wheezed. "If that dog had caught us, it would have torn us apart."

"From the knees down, anyway," Da said, and we convulsed with laughter again.

Tomorrow I would need to talk to Celia and Robin.

On Wednesday, I was jolted awake by the ringing of the phone, which I had placed right next to my bed. I grabbed it without opening my eyes. "How did it go, my love?" I asked Morgan.

"Okay, I think," she said. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's all right. I was up a bit late last night. But I want to hear what happened."

"I don't think I dreamed," she said, uncertainty in her voice. "I can't remember anything, and I don't think I sleep-walked. But I feel yucky. Weird and uneasy, as if I saw something awful but I'm blocking it out."

"Hmmm. But you remember nothing?"

"No, nothing since I fell asleep. I just feel like I have a storm cloud hanging over my head. I don't know why."

"We're going to unravel this," I promised her. "Very shortly."

"I know," she said, sounding wan. "I'd better go-Mary K. has a pep club meeting before school."

"All right. Call me after school and we'll get together," I said. "I want to see you."

"Okay," she said.

After we hung up, I lay in my bed for a while, worrying about Morgan. I didn't know for certain what was going on with her dreams, but if it was that bastard Cal, come back to haunt her, I was going to destroy him. Somehow.

"Morning, all," said Da as he entered the kitchen about an hour later. His gray hair was recently trimmed, and the more time that passed, the more his rangy frame seemed to fill in.

"Da." I nodded.

"Morning, Uncle Daniel," said Sky. "Cuppa? I've got a pot made."

"Ta, lass," said Da.

"Say, Da," I said. "I've arranged to meet Celia and Robin-those two witches I told you about-downtown in half an hour. Since you know a bit about the case now, do you want to come?" I was happy to spend time with my father again, and truthfully, his quiet, matter-of-fact nature might help keep this meeting from being ugly.

"Yes, if I'm free," he said, taking his first sip of tea. "I'll need to check my book."

It still struck me as odd that my father was becoming so in demand as a speaker and teacher. I would always have that image of him as emaciated hermit in Canada, as he'd been when I'd first found him. It seemed like he was metamorphosing in front of my eyes.

"There they are," I said in a low tone as we entered the coffee shop half an hour later. Once again Celia and Robin had taken the corner table, but unlike last time, the place was much more crowded. My father and I both ordered herbal tea.

"Hello, Celia. Hello, Robin," I said politely as we approached their table. "I hope you don't mind-this is my father, Daniel Niall. I've told him about your case, and I think he could be helpful to us. Da, this is Celia Evans and Robin Goodacre."

They all shook hands, and I was pleased and a little surprised that they recognized his name and looked impressed: the man who wrote the spell to conquer the dark wave.

"Last night my father and I visited Patrice's house," I began, and went on to tell them of what we'd found, the couple of poisonous plants mixed in with the herbs and vegetables. Both women looked concerned.

"Many plants are ornamental," Celia said, obviously looking for a loophole.

"You're right," I agreed, "and I certainly made allowances for that, what bothered me was the placement of the plants. They were in vegetable and herb beds, right next to edible plants that looked similar. Few of them were truly ornamental. In other words, I wasn't concerned about the row of rhododendrons lining her drive. You see the difference?"

Robin nodded reluctantly, and Celia clasped her hands around her glass and frowned.

"There's been no evidence of her trying to poison anyone," she said. "None."

I took a sip of tea. "I know-I'm not suggesting that she's poisoning anyone. It just struck me as interesting."

"Well, you're on the wrong track here," Celia said shortly.

I held up my hands in a placating gesture. "Look, I don't have any definitive answers at this point. It's important that I don't rule out any possibilities-even ones that are hard or ugly or not what you want to hear. I'm either looking for the truth or I'm not. Right?"

Celia set her jaw and deliberately uncoiled her fists. "I'm saying that I feel it's highly unlikely that Patrice could ever poison anyone."

"Right. And it is highly unlikely. But the only thing we can do is look at the whole picture, not just parts of it. Do you agree?"

"Yes. But the scenario you're describing is simply incompatible with Patrice as a person."

"Good," I said. "I would love to be able to tell you that your trust is completely well placed. I hope I can, once I've done more research."

"Well, what do we do now?" asked Celia. "We have circle in two days."

"I need to investigate some more," I told them. "We can't do anything until we know for certain what's going on. It's possible that I'm completely misinterpreting the situation. It's possible that someone or something else is causing the strange fatigue after your circles. However, if Patrice is responsible, if she really is practicing dark magick… well, in most cases the witches are turned in to the council and stripped of their power."

"We can't have that," Celia said, and Robin shook her head. "Absolutely not," she agreed.

"There must be other options," Celia said. "Perhaps counseling, or an intervention, or simply removing her from her source of power."

"There are always options," I said mildly. "But it may be that Patrice's own actions will cause her options to be narrowed."

Celia and Robin were silent.

I glanced at Da, who had been quiet and watchful during this whole exchange. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, and I felt incongruously pleased.

"We need to think about this," said Celia.

"Please, don't do anything until we contact you again," Robin added. She grabbed her purse and stood, and Celia got up as well.

"We're not trying to be difficult or obstructive," Celia assured me. "It's just a complicated situation, and it seems to be getting more complicated. But we'll talk things over and give you some definite direction as soon as we can. Okay?"

I nodded. "I understand."

"Fair winds," Celia murmured as she and Robin brushed past me to the exit.

"And to you," I made the traditional reply.

My tea was now cold. I sighed and heated it up again with a quick circle of my hand.

"If she's working dark magick, our options just went down to one," Da said finally.

"Perhaps," I said. "But perhaps Celia and Robin are right: we can come up with something else. Somehow I don't want to turn her in to the council, not now. We're smart, Da. You're a brilliant spellcrafter. I have strongly honed skills and instincts. Surely between the two of us we can find a different solution."

"Well, we don't have to decide now," my father said, sipping his tea. "If they want you to continue, we'll just concentrate on gathering as much information as we need."

"Right."