Full Circle

9. Morgan

"Night, honey," Mom said. "Don't stay up too late."

"I won't," I said. She smiled and closed the door behind her. I was sitting up in bed, reading the Great Depression chapter in my history textbook-a little light reading to keep my mind off things. Well, I needed to study. And the truth was, I didn't want to go to sleep tonight. Bethany's potion had worked last night, as far as I knew. But I had still felt uncomfortable this morning, like something was off. All of my instincts were telling me that sleep was a bad idea tonight.

It had been so good to see Hunter this afternoon after school. He, Mary K., and I had all gone to the diner out on the highway and had milk shakes. It had seemed so normal, so reassuring. But now I was alone, it was bedtime, and my family was going to sleep around me.

As soon as I heard the door to my parents' room close and heard Mary K. get into her own bed, I put down my book and pulled out a slim magazine: Green Gage, a quarterly journal of modern Wicca. I loved their articles-in this issue there were recipes for light summery drinks and how to imbue them with magickal properties. There were features on summer gardening and on various crafts, like sewing, basket weaving, and spinning your own yarn.

When I cast out my senses, I found that everyone was asleep, probably having normal dreams about forgetting to study for a test, or that one that Mom had told me about, where she dreamed she sold the perfect house for a ton of money and when she proudly threw open the door for the new owners, it was a total wreck inside. Those were the kinds of dreams I could handle.

It was eleven-fifteen. My eyelids felt a little heavy, but I wasn't about to give myself over to sleep. I padded downstairs barefoot and got a glass of juice from the fridge. I took it into the family room, where the family computer was set up. Dad had recently gotten a cable modem and now we were always online and fast, fast, fast. I loved it.

I did a search for dream magick/Wicca, and that turned up some useful sites. Forty minutes later my eyes felt gritty and the glare of the computer screen in the dark room was giving me a headache. I still didn't want to dream, but if I took Bethany's potion now, it would surely knock me out safely. I clicked on one more Wiccan site and found a mention of a disclosure-type spell, one to reveal who was expending energy on you: people who were thinking a lot about you, working for you or against you, people who had strong emotions about you. I shrugged. It was worth a try. It wasn't like I'd found anything else.

I printed out the page and went up to my room. After a short internal struggle-was I ready to risk another dream? — I surrendered to exhaustion and gulped down the second half of Bethany's potion. It would take almost an hour to kick in. I would probably be a mess at school the next day, but oh, well. Inside my room I did a quick delay spell on the door, then got my magick-making supplies from my closet. I set out my four element cups and drew three circles of protection before casting the final circle. Then I sat cross-legged inside the circle and lit a single candle, invoking the Goddess and the God. I also gave thanks for everything in my life that was going well. I was learning that expressing gratitude for everything I possibly could helped dispel some of the negativity I picked up without even trying.

The page with the spell was on the ground next to me, and I read the words carefully. Some of them were in Gaelic, written out phonetically so that they were easy to pronounce. At the appropriate times I drew the runes Ansur, Eolh, Daeg, and Sigel in the air above the candle. Then, facing the candle, I pressed two fingers from each hand over my eyes and tried to see with my "inner eye," the one that sees reality with no interpretation.

Soon I saw Hunter's image, and followed by that, like a page flipping in a book, I saw Alyce's image and Bethany's- they were concerned about me and trying to help me. More faintly I saw my own family, who loved me but didn't seem actively worried about me, which was good. Then they faded away, and I saw the fuzzy outline of a shadow, huge and distorted on a wall. It became slightly clearer, darker, enough so that I could tell it was a person. I kept watching and once more murmured the words of the spell. As I watched, the shadow seemed to come away from the wall, becoming more three-dimensional, as if the shadow itself was assuming a form. Reveal yourself, I breathed. Reveal yourself.

As if from a distance the shadowy form contracted and writhed and expanded. Finally it took on a form I could recognize: a hawk. Another hawk! Dumbstruck, I watched it fly away, and then I slowly opened my eyes.

Why couldn't I see who it had been? Was it Cal, as everyone seemed to think? How could he do this? I had felt his cold cheek-he had truly been dead.

I dismantled the circle and put my supplies away. In my readings I had learned that most Wiccans believed when someone died, their anam went to the netherland, a kind of holding place. In the netherland their life is reviewed, and a person can then choose to come back to this world in a new incarnation, ever working toward that spiritual perfection that will allow them to join with the Goddess as one. It was a nice idea. I had grown up believing in Catholicism's idea of heaven, and I could still see the appeal of a perfect resting place. But I liked Wicca's chance to come back again and try to do better with your life.

A few sources I had found discussed the ability of an anam actually to linger in the world without immediately going to the netherland. They had suggested that for an anam to retain any of its power or coherence, it had to have another vessel to reside in. It could be a literal vessel, like a metal box or glass jar with a lid-or in extreme cases it could be another person or even an animal. Like a hawk.

As soon as I had that thought, a cold chill washed over me. A hawk. Was there any way-oh, Goddess, I couldn't think about this. I was really getting paranoid. As Hunter said, hawks were all over the place, everywhere. The images of hawks in my dreams were probably representative of something else, like a generalized threat of some kind. Okay. But what if it was a person doing this to me? These dreams seemed so personal. It would have to be someone who knew me, even knew me well, or at least could find out a great deal of personal information about me.

Ciaran? My natural father had had his powers stripped, so it couldn't be him. But what about other witches from Amyranth? How could I find out?

Killian.

It took me a minute to find my half brother's latest phone number and go back down to the family room. When I called, I got a disconnect message. I called information and got another number for him, and amazingly, when I called it, my half brother answered. On the seventh ring.

"Morgan! How lovely to hear from you!"

I couldn't help smiling. For all of Killian's character flaws, I couldn't help responding to his good nature, his affection, his unquenchable thirst for fun. And he apparently didn't hold a grudge: the last time I'd seen him had been in the old Methodist cemetery, our local power sink. I had trapped our mutual father there, and his powers had been stripped. Ciaran MacEwan had gone from being an incredibly powerful, charismatic, forceful, and evil witch to being a shriveled, powerless husk. Because of me.

"Hi, Killian," I said. "How are you?"

"Tops, sis, just tops. On my way out-the local watering hole does a bang-up microbrewery stout. The lads are waiting for me."

"I bet. And some lasses, too, no doubt."

Killian laughed.

"Listen, Killian," I said. "I was wondering-I haven't talked to you in a while, and I was hoping you could give me some news about Ciaran."

"Ah," he said, and I had a sudden image of a glass of champagne losing its bubbles. "Our sweet da. Well, sis, I won't lie to you. He has seen better days."

My heart gave a pang of remorse and guilt. "Where is he?" I asked softly.

"A type of rest home in Ireland," said Killian. "Down in Clonakilty, by the southern coast. It's warmer there. Relaxing. I hopped over to see him a fortnight ago. He hasn't really turned a corner yet, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry." My throat felt tight as I experienced the usual dichotomy of emotions I felt about Ciaran. He had killed my birth mother. He had been one of the leaders of an incredibly evil dark coven, Amyranth. I knew he had personally caused any number of people to be killed, and he had, in fact, tried to kill me. But in an unexplainable psychological perversity, I had loved him and respected him. I had been very drawn to him, and oddly, he had seemed to sincerely care for me, though his love for power had definitely outweighed his love for me. Something in me resonated with something in him, and while that worried me, I also couldn't deny it. I cared about him. I didn't want him to die. But I hadn't been able to let him continue to work the appalling forms of dark magick he had loved.

"Tchah, Morgan," Killian said with unexpected gentleness. "I'm sorry for him, too, but Goddess, this is the threefold law barely coming home to roost. You didn't set him in motion. You only slowed him down a lot."

"Thanks," I managed to say. The knot in my chest loosened a bit. "Besides," he went on. "What Mum's doing to him is making your bit look like child's play."

"Oh, Goddess. What's happening?"

"She's divorcing him," Killian said, and there was amusement in his voice. "An illegitimate child, untold dark workings, several very public affairs, years of fights and barely masked hatred and betrayal-none of these were enough to make Mum take this drastic step. But now that Da has no more power than a firefly, she's running him down."

"Oh, no," I said. I had been the illegitimate child.

"Well, it's a shame, but what goes around, comes around," Killian said lightly. I knew he cared for his father, but I also knew there was a great deal of anger and resentment there, too. Ciaran hadn't been a good father to anyone. And he'd treated his wife just as badly.

"Goodness. I wonder what's happening to Amyranth without him?" I made my voice casual, but from the pause on the other end I knew Killian wasn't fooled.

"Basically I think they're running around like chickens with their heads cut off," Killian said, deciding to answer me. "I haven't had any direct news, but from gossip I've picked up, I gather that Da had held his reins of power so tightly that no one was really waiting in the wings. It would take an incredibly strong witch to assume control, and knowing Da, he probably made sure there was no one that strong near the top."

"Huh. So what happens now?"

"Someone will eventually get their act together and step in. I predict lots of infighting and backstabbing," he said cheerfully. "It should be quite the soap opera for a while."

"Wow." So it didn't sound like either Ciaran or Amyranth was together enough to be behind my dreams, then. "Well. What are you doing for Beltane? Anything planned?"

"I've had a couple of invites. What about you?"

"Oh, we're having a celebration here," I told him. "Food, drink, maypole, dancing."

"Say, what a great idea! That sounds terrific, and we can get all caught up," said Killian.

Ack! I thought. I could just picture Killian loping into our little Beltane celebration. It was going to be tense enough, with both Raven and Sky there, but to have the third member of the disastrous love triangle there would be too much. Either this thought hadn't occurred to Killian, or it had, and he simply assumed it wouldn't be a problem. But I hadn't even invited him!

"Urn," I said, wondering how to put this. "Okay, but wear armor?"

"Great, then, Morgan. I'll see you Beltane Eve. Thanks so much for calling! Ciao!"

The phone line went dead before I could say anything. Jeez, I thought. What horrible emotional catastrophe had I set in motion? I shook my head and hung up the phone and then was hit by an unexpected giggle. Killian was really too much. I was knotted up by stress, yet Killian was living it up. Nothing seemed to get to him. It was oddly comforting.

Still smiling, I sat down on the family room couch and pulled a throw pillow into my lap. The house was dark around me, except for the glare of the computer screen and a small lamp on a side table. I could feel my family sleeping upstairs and lamented the fact that lately it always seemed that I was the only one who was up when everyone else was asleep. I rested my head against the back of the couch, feeling like my arms and legs weighed a ton, like I was standing on Jupiter. I closed my eyes. Of course, I couldn't actually stand on Jupiter-it was mostly made of…

"Morgan. I've been waiting for you."

I jump. Oh, Goddess. This can't be real.

Cal is sitting right next to me. I'm struck with different feelings; the most disturbing is an actual gladness to see him. I felt terrible when he died, and something in me won't let me forget my first love. Then I feel the fear and mistrust sink in. My muscles tense, and adrenaline starts pumping into my system. Lastly I'm hit with overwhelming guilt-that I could feel glad to see Cal when I am so completely in love with Hunter.

"It's so good to see you," Cal says, his warm golden eyes probing mine. I feel dreamy, slowed. Part of me knows what to do, how to take charge of this situation, but most of me feels like just floating along, waiting to see what will happen.

"I've missed you so much, Morgan," he says earnestly. "You're very special to me. Together you and I can do wonderful things."

Struggling with my sleep-tied tongue, I manage to spit out, "I doubt it"

"No, no, it's true." Cal takes my hand and stands, pulling me up with him. Is this a dream, so I can use my guided-dreaming techniques? Or is it real? I can't tell, and it seems so hard to think about it, to concentrate. Cal's walking along, and now we're in a beautiful rolling meadow, dotted with wildflowers. The sun feels warm on my skin; I hear the soothing drone of bees as they buzz from flower to flower. The wind blows, fresh and cool, and at this moment it seems that everything is perfect. But when I look ahead, it's Cal holding my hand, not Hunter. I pull back and frown. "No," I say.

Cal turns around, puzzled. "It's just up here a little bit. Not far. I've got a picnic waiting."

Some small part of my brain remembers my picnic with Hunter in the woods, how in love I felt, how close to him. "I don't want to go," I say, my bare feet stopping in the cool green grass.

Oddly Cal doesn't become angry or upset Looking sympathetic, he comes to me and gently brushes my hair off my face. "I understand," he says. "But it'll be okay. It's just a little bit farther."

Inexplicably I begin walking again, letting him lead me on through this heavenly place. Is this what the netherland is like? Oh, Goddess, am I dead? For some reason this thought strikes me as funny, and I laugh, feeling the cool breeze on my face. I can't be dead-I have finals starting in two weeks! This makes me laugh more, and Cal turns around and smiles at me.

I look around, still being led by the hand like a child. Behind me is a dark line of trees, their leaves swaying gently. We're walking down a gentle slope, and I become aware of a rippling, gurgling brook. The idea of putting my bare feet into an icy stream sounds wonderful, and I walk on. It must be close.

"Here," says Cal. He stops and gestures proudly. I look up and see not a burbling stream, but Cal's bed. It's set up in front of me, a beautiful, dark four-poster bed, hung with a filmy mosquito net When I first saw it, I thought it was the most romantic bed I had ever seen. For one moment I flash on Hunter's bed-his mattress and box spring on the floor in his room, his unmatched sheets, his threadbare comforter….

I would rather be there, my mind insists.

"I don't want to be here," I say clearly, hearing my words drift away on the breeze.

"It's okay," Cal says soothingly. "I would never make you do anything you didn't want to do. I've missed you. I just want to be with you."

I look at him, and his face is open, real, and as beautiful as I remembered. This face was the first to ignite desire in me, but those first sparks felt nothing like the rich, full longing I feel for Hunter. I pull my hand out of his.

"No," I say, more loudly. "This isn't what I want. I don't want to be here. I can't be with you, Cal."

His perfect brows arch downward. "I don't understand," he says. He takes my hand again and tugs me gently forward. "You love me. You want to be with me. I've always been the one you loved. I love you."

"No," I say again."I didn't know any better then. But I do now."

He frowns, starting to look determined. "You'll never love anyone more than me," he insists. "You know we need to be together."

"That's not true," I say strongly, and pull my hand away again. I start to back away. I don't know how to get out of here. Dimly I remember something about guided dreaming? Interactive dream-ing? But it doesn't make sense.

Cal comes and stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders. I feel the warmth of his touch through my long T-shirt.

Long T-shirt? What am I doing outside, dressed like this? This is what I sleep in-

"No!" I cry, wrenching my shoulders away from Cal's hands. Then suddenly the world goes black. I blink again and again, trying to focus. Where's the meadow? Why am I cold? Where am I? The sound of water is loud in my ears.

I looked down and sucked in a frozen breath. Goddess! I was outside, it was night, and I was standing on the rocky ledge where Cal and Hunter had fought, months ago! My toes could feel the unstable ground crumbling beneath me. This was where I had thrown an athame at Hunter, where I thought I had killed him. Now I was going to fall over the same cliff. My arms started to windmill in slow motion as I felt my weight start to shift over the ledge. Below me was a twenty-five-foot drop onto rocks, surrounded by icy mountain runoff.

I was going to die. Cal had led me here to die.

Small pebbles and dirt broke free beneath my feet, and I heard their almost imperceptible tumble down the cliff. Goddess, Goddess, help me, I thought, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. I was going to die, right here, right now, unless I saved myself. I needed to save myself.

Holding my breath and going against every survival instinct I had, I consciously willed myself to relax every muscle. My feet were peddling against the side of the ledge. I felt my balance start to shift. Drop, I told myself, my eyes closed. Drop. Your weight will carry you backward. Just let yourself fell.

Like a building in an earthquake, my body went limp and I crashed heavily to the ground with a thud. Every bone in my body shook with the impact. The breath left my lungs in a whoosh, and for several seconds my mouth worked uselessly, trying to suck in air. I felt my feet dangling over the edge, and my eyes shot open. I turned over and scrabbled at the dirt and roots around me, finding one to latch onto. Holding the root, I snaked forward on my belly until I was sure I was on solid ground. There was a pine tree right there, and I crawled over to it, sitting curled up with my knees drawn up under my big T-shirt. I was filthy.

It was then that I allowed the rest of my consciousness to come to life. I shivered uncontrollably, partly because of the chill of the late-spring night and partly because it was hard to remember when I had last been so frightened. I had experienced plenty of danger in the last few months, but the reality of death, the possibility of dying without any of my loved ones understanding what had truly happened-it was terrifying. Cal had led me here in a dream. I looked around quickly, casting my senses, but didn't pick up on anything except the normal animal life of the woods.

Cal had led me here to kill me.

Suddenly my stomach roiled, and I got to my hands and knees. I dry-heaved for a minute, then curled up again, feeling the sickening crash of the adrenaline leaving my veins. I needed Hunter.

Hunter, come. Please help. Hunter! Help me!

Was he asleep? Had he heard me? Should I try Sky, or Alyce, or Bethany?

Coming.

Oh, thank the Goddess. Now I just had to keep it together until Hunter got here. Then I could turn into a shrieking, terrified banshee.

I couldn't estimate time-every minute felt like an hour-but finally I heard a car coming down the dirt road to the river's edge. When I recognized the familiar outline of Hunter's car and then felt his presence, I was too relieved to even stand up and go to him. Instead, I collapsed on the ground as he hurried over to me, and he put his arms around me.