Seeker

11. The Rowanwand

The Seeker arrived yesterday. I don't know how to describe my reaction-he's an invader, and I should resent him being here, yet he is so… interesting. He is an Englishman, young, scarcely even twenty. Yet he carries himself with a confidence, a maturity that makes me think he has great potential. I do sense turmoil in him-whether it is a result of this assignment or a personal problem, I can't say. Still, he is so attractive to me, so stimulating to talk to, I find myself wondering if I could win his heart.

Of course, I haven't been able to do any research since I sensed him coming. I've stripped the library of any traces of magick and have performed endless purification rituals to keep him from sensing the taint of the other side. I miss my work and my friends in the shadow world more than I can express, but I can be patient. The Courceaus know much about patience, hiding our time, waiting until the right moment to make our intentions known.

Goddess, help me to keep my focus and remember that it is my work that is most important-more important than any temporary attraction I might have. If only there were some way to make him understand. If only I could get his true name…

— J.C.

This morning I spent time in Foxton proper, hanging out at the local bookstore, the coffee shop, the library. It’s a bigger town than Saint Jérôme du Lac and has more resources. Basically I was casting my senses, trying to listen for gossip about Justine. Unlike my father, no one here seems to have identified her as a witch, though quite a few people knew who she was. I mentioned her name in a few places, and people had only good things to say about her. The previous autumn she’d led a fund drive for the library, and it had been their most successful ever. One woman told me how Justine had helped when her dog was ill—she’d been a godsend. The general impression was that she was something of a loner but friendly and helpful when needed. They thought of her as a good neighbor.

The way Kennet had talked about her, I had been prepared for another Selene Belltower—an amoral, ruthless user who felt she was above the council laws. Justine didn’t seem that way at all. Though, of course, appearances can be deceiving.

Back at the bed-and-breakfast, Da was doing a lot of lying around, staring at the walls. I had brought several books to read, and I offered them to him. If he knew about the watch sigil or the spelled door, he didn’t mention them. Mostly he seemed incredibly depressed, hopeless, uninterested in anything. I wanted to jolt him out of his stupor but wasn’t sure how. I wished there was a healer around.

That afternoon Daniel lay down with a book, and I headed back to Justine’s. She greeted me cheerfully, and soon I was again sitting in her comfortable lounge, with cats appearing out of nowhere to take naps on me.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday,” she began. “About the council laws and why we have them. And I’m just not convinced. I mean, I obey all Canadian laws, and I recognize their right to have and enforce them. After all, I’m choosing to live here. If I don’t like their laws, I can decide to move somewhere else. But I have no choice about being a witch. I am one, by blood. It would be impossible for me not to be one. So why should I accept the council’s laws as valid over me? They set themselves up almost two hundred years ago. Nowadays they’re elected, but the entire council, in and of itself, wasn’t created by the Wiccan community or even by the Seven Clans. To me they seem arbitrary. Why should I subject myself to their laws?”

I leaned forward. “It’s true that the council created itself long ago. But the original members were witches, just as all members are today. The council wasn’t created by humans, who have nothing to do with witch affairs. The creation of the council signifies the intent of the witch community at large to be self-governing. And yes, we’re all subject to whatever human laws govern the places in which we live, but those laws don’t address the sum of our existence. Everyone who practices the craft, everyone who works with magick is a part of a different world. That world intersects with the human world but doesn’t overlap.” I adjusted one of the cats on my lap, whose claws were digging into my thigh. “We’re not talking about golf here, Justine. We’re talking about magick. You know as well as I do that magick can be incredibly powerful, life-altering, dangerous, misused, destructive. You don’t think it’s a good idea to have some sort of mutually agreed-upon guidelines for it? Do you really think it would be preferable to have no laws in place? So that every witch could make any kind of magick she or he wants, with no fear of reprisal?”

Her brows came down in a thoughtful V, and she pulled a corner of one lip into her mouth: she was thinking. “It’s just that the laws seem arbitrary,” she argued, crossing her legs under her. Today she wore faded jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater that showed the neck of a white T-shirt underneath. She looked very fresh and pretty. “I mean, look at the rules about uninitiated witches making certain kinds of magick. Why does someone need some stranger’s stamp of approval just to do what comes naturally? I hate that.”

“But what comes naturally, Justine?” I asked. I was enjoying this back-and-forth discussion. I hardly ever got to have this kind of interesting, stimulating conversation. Among the witches I knew, we all just accepted the council’s laws. And other people, like Morgan, don’t really know enough about Wiccan history or the witch community to be able to fully form an opinion. “What kind of magick did you make as a child? That was natural, wasn’t it? But was it always good?” I thought about my own spell on poor Mrs. Wilkie. “I don’t believe either people or witches are always born naturally good,” I went on. “I think that as people get older and more educated, they learn to channel their goodness, to identify it, and to express it. But I think witches, and people, too, are born with a capacity for light or dark. It’s up to their parents, their community, their teachers to educate them to see the consistent benefit of good and the consistent detriment of darkness. The council and its laws only serve to reinforce that, to provide guidelines, to help people learn where the boundaries are.”

“But is that all they do?” asked Justine, and we were off again. For the next hour we went back and forth, discussing the various merits of laws versus no laws, outer-determined behavior versus inner-determined behavior. It was really fun, though at times I was uncomfortably reminded of the scientists who had figured out how to make an atom bomb. They had seemed to divorce the idea of how to create it from the idea of what its natural consequences would be. They hadn’t wanted to see it. In a way, I felt that Justine was doing the same thing: closing her eyes to the potentially destructive effects of her actions.

But we talked on. Justine was sure of herself, sure of her own intelligence and attractiveness, and didn’t let insecurity get in the way of her speaking her mind. For a moment I wondered if I should be concerned that I was enjoying her company so much, but then thought, Nah. I knew I loved Morgan more than anything. I was doing my job, being a Seeker, finding out what made Justine tick. It was all for the report.

I had talked to Morgan the night before, but it had been kind of stilted. Hearing her voice had brought back my unhappiness about my parents, about how much I missed Morgan herself, about how much I didn’t want to be here. Widow’s Vale seemed so far away from here, both physically and emotionally.

“I was wondering—are you interested in seeing my library?” Justine asked.

“Yes,” I said immediately, aware that this was a show of trust on her part. For my part, a Seeker never turns down an invitation into someone’s private world. It’s often where I find the answers to my questions.

She led me through a tidy, well-stocked kitchen to a small door in a hallway. She passed her hands over the door frame: dispelling protection spells. Once opened, the door led to steps going downward. I immediately became alert and quickly cast my senses to see if anything unpleasant was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s underground,” Justine explained, turning on the electric lights. She didn’t seem to pick up on my momentary suspicion, or maybe she was just being polite. “That helps keep it safe from fire. I think the people who owned this house before me used the cellar as storage, as a wine cellar. I enlarged it and waterproofed it.”

At the bottom of the stairs she flicked another light switch, and I blinked, looking around. Justine’s library was enormous. We were in one good-sized room, but doorways led to at least two other rooms I could see. The floor was made of rough wooden planks, and the walls were a crude stucco. But most bare surfaces had been painted with stylized designs of runes, hexes, words, and even some sigils I didn’t know the names of. I picked up on a general air of light, of comfort and pleasure and curiosity. If dark magick had been worked here, I couldn’t feel it.

“This is incredible,” I said, walking slowly into the room. Despite the lack of windows, the room looked open and inviting. A fireplace took up one wall, and by gauging the rooms above, I figured its chimney must run through the kitchen fireplace’s. Big, cozy armchairs were strewn here and there. There were closed glass cases, regular bookshelves, wooden tables piled with stacked books. Unlike Selene’s personal library, this one wasn’t cold or intimidating. It was all laid out neatly and beautifully organized.

“This is quite an accomplishment for someone so young,” I said, wandering into the next room. I saw that it led to another room, and that there was a lavatory off to one side.

“I’m twenty-four,” Justine said without artifice. “I inherited a lot of this from my mother when she moved into a smaller house. Most of what I’ve contributed myself are the books on the use of the stars’ positions to aid or hinder magick. It’s another interest of mine.”

I ran my fingers lightly over books’ spines, skimming titles. There were one or two books on the dark uses of magick, but that was to be expected of almost any witch’s library. The vast majority of the books were legitimate and nonthreatening. Or as nonthreatening as a manual of how to make magick can be. Just about anything can be misused.

“My father would have loved seeing this,” I murmured, remembering the Da of my childhood, surrounded by books in his library at home. Candles burned down around him and still he read, late into the night. He’d often impressed on us kids how precious books were, learning was.

“Is he no longer living?” Justine asked sympathetically.

I bit back a snide retort about the definition of living and answered instead, “No, he’s alive. He’s at the B and B in Foxton.”

“Why don’t you bring him next time, then?” Justine said. “I’d be happy for him to see my library. Is he a Seeker, too?”

“No,” I said, unable to suppress a quick dry laugh. “No, but he’s in bad shape. My mum died at Yule, and he’s taken it hard.” I was surprised to hear myself confiding in her. I tend to be very closemouthed and don’t often share my personal life with anyone, besides Sky and Morgan.

“Oh, how awful,” Justine said. “Maybe the library will be a good distraction for him.”

“Yes, maybe you’re right,” I said, meeting her brown eyes.

“This place is nice,” I said, looking around the small restaurant. It was Monday night, and Justine had recommended the Turtledove as a likely place for Da and me to have a decent meal. Across from me, the etched lines of his face thrown into relief by the flickering firelight, Da nodded without enthusiasm. Since I had gotten back to the B and B this afternoon, he had been alternately withdrawn, confrontational, and wheedling. I figured a nice meal out would help stave off my overwhelming desire to shake him.

Not that I felt that way every second. Every once in a while, I would get a glimpse of the old da, the one I knew and recognized. It was there when he almost smiled at a joke I made, when his eyes lit with momentary interest or intelligence. It was those moments, few and far between, that had kept me going, kept me reaching out to him. Somewhere inside this bitter husk was a man I’d known as my father. I needed to reach him somehow.

“More bread?” I asked, holding out the basket. Da shook his head. He’d barely picked at his beef stew. I was going to give him another five minutes and then finish it off for him.

“Son,” he said, startling me, “I appreciate what you’re doing. I do. I even think you’re right, most of the time. But you just can’t understand what I’m going through. I’ve been trying and trying, but I need to talk to Fiona. I need to see her. Even if the bith dearc saps my strength or my life force. I just can’t see any kind of existence where I wouldn’t need your mother.”

His hand shook as he reached for his wineglass, and he downed the rest of his drink. This was the most direct he’d been with me since we’d left the cabin, and it took me a moment to find my footing.

“You’re right—I don’t understand what it’s like to lose your mùirn beatha dàn, not after you’ve been married and had children, made a life together,” I said. “But I know that even with that tragedy, it doesn’t make sense for you to kill yourself by continuing to contact the shadow world. Mum wouldn’t have wanted it that way.”

Da was silent, his clothes hanging on his thin frame.

“Da, do you believe that Mum loved you?”

His head jerked up, and he met my eyes.

“Of course. I know she did.”

“I know she did, too,” I agreed. “She loved you more than anything on this earth. But do you think that she would be doing this if you had died? Or would she be doing something different?”

Da looked taken aback by my question and sat in silence for a moment.

Changing the subject, giving him time to think, I repeated Justine Courceau’s offer of letting Da see her library. “It’s quite amazing,” I said. “I think you’d be very interested in it. Come with me tomorrow and see it.”

“Maybe I will,” Da muttered, tapping his fork against the tablecloth.

It wasn’t a total victory, but maybe it was a step forward. I sighed and decided to let it go for the present.

On Tuesday, I called Kennet and gave him a preliminary report. I had more background checks to do on Justine and more interviewing, but so far I hadn’t turned up anything of great alarm.

“No, Hunter, you misunderstand,” Kennet said patiently. “Everything she’s doing is of great alarm. Under no circumstances should any witch have written lists of living things’ true names. Surely you see that?”

“Yes,” I said, starting to feel testy. “I understand that. I agree. It’s just that you made Justine sound like a power-hungry rebel, and I don’t see that in her. I feel it’s more a matter of education. Justine’s quite intelligent and not unreasonable. I feel that she needs reeducation; she needs to be made to understand why what she’s doing is wrong. Once she understands, I think she’ll see the wisdom in destroying her lists.”

“Hunter, she needs to be shut down,” Kennet said strongly. “Her reeducation can come later. Your job is to stop her, now, by any means necessary.”

I tried to keep my voice level. “I thought my job was to investigate, make a report, and then have the council make a judgment. Have you already decided this matter?”

“No, no, of course not,” Kennet said, backpedaling at the implication of my words. “I just don’t want you to be swayed by this witch, that’s all.”

“Have you known me to be easily swayed in the past, by man or woman?” I asked with deceptive mildness. Deceptive to most people, but not to Kennet. He knew me very well and could probably tell I was working hard to keep anger out of my voice.

“No, Hunter,” he said, sounding calmer. “No. I’m sure we can trust your judgment in this matter. Just keep reporting back, all right?”

“Of course,” I said. “That’s my job.” After I hung up, I sat on my twin bed for a long time, just thinking.

That afternoon I brought Daniel to Justine’s cottage. As before, she was welcoming, and though I detected her shock at my father’s haggard appearance, she made no mention of it.

“Come in, come in,” she said. “It’s gotten a little warmer, hasn’t it? I think maybe spring is on its way.”

Inside, Da instinctively headed for the fireplace and stood before the cheerful flames, holding out his hands. Back at the cabin, it had been as though the fire hadn’t existed, so I was interested to see his reaction to this one.

“Are you warm enough, Mr. Niall?” Justine asked. “I know it can be chilly in these stone cottages.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” said Da, turning his back to the fire but keeping his hands behind him, toward the heat.

Justine and I talked for a while, and she told us stories about growing up with Avalen Courceau, who sounded like an intimidating figure. But Justine spoke of her with love and acceptance, and again I was impressed by her maturity and kindness. She got even Da to smile at the story of when she had built a house of cards out of some important indexed notes her mother had made. Apparently sparks had flown for days. Literally.

“Mr. Niall,” said Justine, “I wonder if you could do me a favor?” She gave him a charming smile, sincere and without guile. “I don’t get many opportunities to try new magick— no one around here knows I’m a witch, and I want to keep it that way. I was wondering if you would consent to be a guinea pig for a spell I’ve just learned.”

Da looked concerned but couldn’t think of any reason not to and didn’t want to refuse in the face of her hospitality. “What for?”

She smiled again. “It’s a healing spell.”

Da shrugged. “As you wish.”

“It’s all right with me,” I said, and she turned to give me a teasing look.

“It’s not your decision,” she pointed out. Feeling like an overbearing clod, I sat down on the sofa, relaxing against the plump pillows, waiting for some cat to realize I was there.

She had Da sit down in a comfortable chair, then cast a circle around it, using twelve large amethysts. She invoked the Goddess and the God and dedicated her circle to them. Then she stood behind my father and gently laid her fingertips against his temples on either side. As soon as she started on the forms and opening chants, I realized I wasn’t familiar with it.

It went on for more than an hour. At different times Justine touched my father’s neck, the back of his head, his forehead, the base of his throat, his temples. Da seemed patient, tired, disinterested. I myself felt almost hypnotized by the warm crackling of the fire, the deeply felt purring of the apricot-colored cat who had finally settled on me, the soothing tones of Justine’s low-voiced singing and chanting.

At last I recognized the closing notes, the forms of completion, and I sat up straighter. Slowly Justine took her hands away from Da and stood back, seeming drained and peaceful. I looked at Da. He met my eyes. Was it my imagination, or was there more life in them?

He turned to find Justine. “I feel better,” he said, sounding reluctant to admit it. “Thanks.”

She smiled. “I hope it helped. I found it in a book I was cataloging last month, and I’ve been anxious to try it. Thank you for allowing me.” She took a deep breath. “Now, how about some tea? I’m hungry.”

Ten minutes later, watching Da tuck into his cake with the faint signs of an actual appetite, I smiled my gratitude to Justine. She smiled back. To me, this healing was one more indication that Justine was just misguided, overenthusiastic in her quest for knowledge, but basically good-hearted. There was no way someone like Selene could have performed that healing rite, not without my picking up on her dark underlying motives. I’d felt none of that with Justine. She seemed genuinely what she was.

“My son told me how impressed he was with your library,” Da said.

“Would you like to see it?” Justine asked naturally, and my father nodded.

I felt something like gladness inside—this was the first time he had called me his son, in front of another person, since we’d been reunited. It felt good.