The Calling

9. Connections

November 11, 1981

I thought it would get easier. Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? And if not time, what about the healing rituals our clan has used for hundreds of years?

Why is it that I see Maeve’s face when I wake and when I sleep and when I lie in bed with Grania? Maeve, behind every door, around every corner, in every invocation to the Goddess? There is no longer any joy for me in this world. Even my own children cannot hold my interest or attention, and that’s probably a kindness. If I really let myself see them, I see them as the things that made Maeve reject me. If not for them, she and I would be together now. I can’t forget her. And I can’t have her. And the rage does not ebb.

It’s funny. Fat, old Greer, of all people, was the one who saw what was happening. She didn’t mince words. “Your soul is sickening and your heart shriveling,” she told me. “There’s a black, twisted thing inside you. So use it, boy.”

At first I was so out of my mind with pain, I didn’t understand what she meant. It was not hard to figure out, though. Who better to call on dark magick than one whose own soul has sunk into darkness?

— Neimhidh

Hunter was staring out the living room window at a leaden winter sky, his jaw tight with frustration. Raven was still sleeping, and Robbie had gone out to get bagels.

Bree sat cross-legged on the living room floor, doing a yoga stretch. “Look, I know you’re trying to protect Killian, but personally, I’m not sure his being gone is such a loss.”

From the couch Sky said, “I know what you mean.”

Hunter’s eyes focused on me. “I want to go over what happened last night when you and Killian sensed that hostile presence. I know you think you told me everything, but tell me again. Even the littlest details, no matter how unimportant they might seem.”

I sat down on the couch. “We were in the living room, just talking, when we both felt a presence. Killian said something was trying to get into the apartment. I sent that message to you then, and we both searched with our senses. Then I went to the intercom and called the doorman to see if he’d seen anyone. Killian did a scan of the hallway. And then there was a big thump at the window that nearly scared us both to death—”

“You didn’t mention anything about a thump last night,” Hunter said sharply.

“That’s because was it nothing. Just a pigeon. And then right after that you showed up.”

Hunter frowned. “A pigeon?”

“What?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“Pigeons aren’t nocturnal,” Hunter said. He looked tense. “What exactly did you see?”

I felt a stirring of alarm. “Um, it was just a blur. Feathers. Brown and gray, I think. About this big.” I held up my hands to make a shape the size of a large cantaloupe.

“That’s too big to be a pigeon,” Hunter said instantly. “I suspect it was an owl.”

My mouth went dry. “You mean…”

He nodded. “I mean one of the shape-shifters from Amyranth.”

There was a long silence. I tried to still the flutterings of terror in my stomach.

“At least we can be reasonably sure we were right about Killian being their target,” Hunter said. “Obviously Amyranth followed him here.”

“He knew,” I said, suddenly understanding why Killian was so subdued after the “pigeon” incident. “He didn’t tell us, but I’m sure he knew exactly what it was.”

Hunter blew out a long breath. “Now the question is whether Killian cut out on his own or whether Amyranth somehow managed to spirit him away. But it all comes down to the same thing. Somehow we’ve got to find him before anything happens to him.”

I thought about Ciaran’s watch, wondering if we could somehow use it to figure out where Ciaran was. “Hunter,” I said, feeling nervous. “I need to show you something. Come with me for a minute.”

Bree and Sky both gave me questioning looks as Hunter followed me into the guest room. Wishing I’d been straight with him from the start, I took the watch from my jacket pocket and handed it to him.

One blond eyebrow arched as he unwrapped the green silk covering. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his eyes unreadable.

I told him the whole story then.

Hunter listened silently. Then for an endless stretch he just looked at me. I didn’t need my witch senses to know that I’d disappointed him—by acting so rashly, by having kept the whole thing secret from him, especially once I knew Ciaran was the Amyranth leader.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have told you.”

“Yes. You should have.” He sounded weary. “Nevertheless, the watch might be a valuable aid. Let’s see if it will help us.” He wound the stem a few turns. “Since you’re connected to Maeve and it was hers, you need to be the one to hold it.”

I took the watch from him and held it in my hand. Intuitively we both slipped into a meditative state, focusing on the rhythm of the watch’s ticking.

Hunter chanted a few words in Gaelic. “A spell to make visible the energies of those who once held the watch dear,” he explained.

I felt a warmth along the watch’s golden case and a rush of tenderness wound through with what I’d come to recognize as my mother’s energy.

“Maeve cherished it,” I told Hunter.

He sketched a rune in the air, and I recognized Peorth, the rune for hidden things revealed. “What else?” he asked.

Something flickered along the surface of the shiny, gold case. A bit of green. Maeve’s wide green eyes, then her russet-colored hair. I felt my throat go thick with tears. The last time I’d seen a vision of Maeve, it had been of her trapped in the burning barn. Dying.

Here she stood in an open field, her eyes lit with joy and love. The image changed. This time it showed Maeve in what must have been her bedroom. A small space tucked under the eaves with a narrow bed covered by a brightly colored quilt. Maeve stood in a white nightgown, gazing from her window at the moon, a look of yearning on her face. I was sure she was thinking about Ciaran.

Now show me Ciaran, I entreated the watch silently. But there was only Maeve, and her image lasted just a moment before fading away.

I looked up at Hunter. “Not much help, I’m afraid. Just my mother from back before I was born.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded, wrapped the watch back in its green silk, and returned it to my jacket pocket.

“Well, there’s one more thing I can try,” Hunter said. He reached into his back pocket and drew out what looked like a playing card, only on it was an image of the Virgin Mary, shown with a spiky golden halo and a little angel over her head.

“The Virgin of Guadalupe,” Hunter explained. “When I finally found Killian in the abandoned building last night, I found this in there with him. I’ve traced it to its source.”

“Huh?” I wasn’t following this at all.

Hunter smiled. “Want to come with me and see where he got it?”

My day suddenly looked brighter. I was going to spend it with Hunter!

In the living room we had a brief confab about plans for the day. Sky and Raven were going to the Cloisters. Bree and Robbie were still undecided. We were all going to meet that night for our one real restaurant splurge.

Hunter and I walked across town to the West Village. Hunter led the way to a small store just west of Hudson Street. The shop’s crowded window was filled with candles in colored glass jars, crosses, rosaries, statues of the saints, gazing crystals, herbs, oils, and powders. We stepped inside, and I smelled an odd blend: frankincense and rosemary, musk and myrrh.

“This is weird,” I whispered to Hunter. “It feels like a cross between an outlet for church goods and a Wiccan store.”

“The woman who runs this place is a curandera,” Hunter explained in a low voice. “A Mexican white witch. Central American witchcraft often has a good deal of Christian symbolism mixed in with the Wicca.” He rang a bell on the counter. My eyes widened as a beautiful, dark-haired woman stepped out from the back room. It was the witch from the club, the one who’d told me that I needed to heal my own heart.

“Buenos días,” she said. Her eyes lingered on me, and there was a silent moment in which we each recognized and acknowledged each other. “Can I help you?”

Hunter held out the card with the Virgin on it. “Is this from your shop?”

She studied it for a moment, then gazed up at him. “Sí. I sometimes give these cards to those in need of protection. How did you trace it to me?”

“It carries the pattern of your energy.”

“Most witches wouldn’t be able to pick that up,” she said. “I put spells on my cards so that they can’t be traced.” She looked at him more carefully. “You’re from the council?”

He nodded. “I’m looking for a witch called Killian. I think he’s in danger.”

“That one is always in danger,” she said, but her eyes were suddenly wary.

“Do you know where he is?” Hunter asked.

Silently she shook her head.

“If you see him,” Hunter said, “would you contact me?”

She gazed at him again, and I had the feeling that she was reading him the way she’d read me. “Yes,” she said at last, “I will.”

Hunter hesitated, then said, “Do you know anything about Amyranth?”

“Brujas!” she said, shivering. “They worship darkness. You don’t want to go near them.”

“We think they may have Killian,” Hunter said.

Something unreadable flickered in her eyes. Then she scrawled a name on a piece of paper and handed it to Hunter. “She once had the misfortune to be the lover of Amyranth’s leader. She has been trapped in terror ever since. I don’t know if she’ll talk to you, but you can try. Show her my card.”

“Thank you,” Hunter said. We turned to go.

“There’s something you’ve been putting off, Seeker,” the woman said.

Hunter turned back to face her, startled. “Do it now,” she urged him. “Do not hesitate. Otherwise you may be too late. Comprende?”

I was baffled, but Hunter’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“Wait, I have something that might help you.” The woman disappeared into the back room and reappeared with what looked like a large seedpod. “You know what to do with this?” she asked.

“Yes,” Hunter said again. His face had turned pale. “Thank you.”

“Hasta luego, chica,” she called to me as we left.

“What was that all about?” I asked when we were outside.

Hunter took my arm and steered me west, toward the Hudson River. “She’s befriended Killian,” he explained. “She’s been trying to help him. I’m fairly certain she’s the one who told him to hide out in that building in Chelsea. The church across the street was called Our Lady of Guadalupe.”

“But what was she talking about at the end?”

He was silent for almost a block. Then he said, “She’s very empathic. She can pick up on people’s deep fears and worries.”

“I noticed,” I said, thinking back to what she’d said to me at the club. “And?”

“And…she picked up on my worry about my mum and dad. She gave me a safe way to contact them—I think. With this.” He stared at the seedpod.

“How does it work?” I asked.

“Indirectly, as I understand it,” Hunter said. “I’ve never used one of these before—they’re rather a specialty of Latin witches. It’s supposed to work something like a message in a bottle, but with a very low-level finding spell on it that will seek out the person you’re trying to reach. The spell is so slight that with any luck, it will slip right under the radar of anyone who might be watching. The drawback is that with such a weak spell, the message could take a while to reach its destination—and anything might happen to it along the way.” He sucked in a deep breath. “But I have to try it.”

“Are you sure you should?” I asked hesitantly. “I mean, the council told you to leave it to them. I know I’m not the council’s biggest fan in general, but maybe they’re right about this. It seems too dangerous for you to do on your own.”

“They’ve had no success,” Hunter said. “And I’ve been getting the feeling that time is short—that I’ve got to contact Mum and Dad now. I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t dare wait any longer and find out too late that I was right.”

The wind rose as we drew closer to the river. “This way,” Hunter said, leading me to a small commercial pier. There was a metal gate with a lock on the pier, but Hunter spelled it, and it popped open. We walked through the gate and past a bunch of industrial drums and crates.

Hunter knelt by the water, a smooth sheet of lead gray. Carefully he opened the pod. I watched as he drew sigils that glittered softly on the air before disappearing into the pod. He sang a long Gaelic chant, something unknown to me. Then he closed the pod and wrapped it in more spells. Finally he threw the pod into the water. We watched it bob on the surface for a few moments. I gasped as it finally sank beneath a swell.

Hunter reached out and took my hand, and I tried to give him my strength. “I’ve done what I can,” he said. “Now I just have to wait—and hope.”