The Calling

14. Tainted

May 25, 1985

I tried to forget her, I swear it. I returned to Scotland. Had another go with Grania and the little ones, every bit as miserable as the other times. Killian is an interesting one, though. He has more innate power than Kyle and Iona combined. He could be a real find. Still, I can’t share a roof with any of them, not when it’s Maeve I ache for. She’s a craving in my heart, a sickness in my blood. I wake and fall asleep to her memory. I love her as much as I hate her. She is with me every minute.

But the truth is, she remains with Angus, damn him. Time and again I’ve tried to persuade her to leave the worthless fool. And time and again she refuses.

I wonder sometimes what would be if she gave me a chance, if she saw who it is I’ve become in these years since she first rejected me. The heart she would not accept from me, I gave to the darkness. My power has grown beyond what I ever believed possible. I have served the darkness well, and it me. There is nothing on this earth that frightens me and very little that can stand against me. Would the good witch of Belwicket be able to accept that? I must believe that our love would open her to her own true Woodbane nature and that she would revel in it as I do.

Meanwhile my love for her only grows. It never seems to diminish, no matter how I distract myself. I’ve tried everything, even stooping to childish tricks. I’ve left anonymous threatening sigils around their house. I’ve even hung a dead cat from their porch rail. Goddess, it’s sickening, juvenile stuff, but I am a man possessed. What shall I do? What can I do?

— Neimhidh

I don’t know how long I sat there on the steps of the museum, trying to wrap my mind around what Hunter had just told me. I was numb, unable to process it. It was too dark, too monstrous. I couldn’t let it in.

Ciaran, my true father?

No. No, no, no. It simply couldn’t be.

“Listen, love,” Hunter said. “I want to tell you about him.”

“Please. Don’t.” I couldn’t say anything else. His jacket hung open on my shoulders. I wasn’t even feeling the cold anymore. “No, you need to hear this. It was Ciaran who freed me. He told me you were his daughter and that I had to save you.”

“Why? So he can drain me again?” I said.

Hunter sighed. “You’re not listening. Ciaran gave me the spell for calling up the sigils in the table. And he added his power to mine. Don’t you know I couldn’t have held off all those witches on my own? Neither one of us would have gotten out of there alive without his help. Morgan, whatever he is, whatever he’s done, he couldn’t kill you. Not his own child.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied dully. “He’s still evil. A murderer. And I’m his daughter.” Robbie had been right about me. I was fundamentally tainted. It was my birthright.

“Morgan—”

I put my finger to Hunter’s lips. “Stop. Please. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that you can’t change what’s fated to be.”

Hunter rubbed his temple. “We need to talk about this, but tonight’s obviously not the right time.”

“We should get out of the city,” I said with a shudder. “Before Amyranth regroups. Let’s go get everyone. I’ll drive back to Widow’s Vale tonight.”

Hunter gave a hollow laugh. “I’m not even sure you’re capable of climbing into a cab, much less driving upstate. No, we’ll spend the night in the city. I expect we’ll be safe enough. But first thing tomorrow morning we’ll get the hell out.”

He hailed a cab and helped me into it.

It was late when we got back to the apartment. We rode up in the elevator in silence. It was only when we got out on Bree’s floor that I realized I was still wearing that awful brown robe. “How am I going to explain this?” I asked.

Hunter brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “It’s after eleven. Maybe they’ll all be asleep.”

They were. Sky and Raven were in the living room, nestled together on the pullout couch. Raven looked content, peaceful, almost innocent.

I found a note from Bree on the kitchen counter.

M&H—

I’m so glad you’re all right! Since my dad is still in Connecticut, Robbie and I are camping out in the master bedroom. You guys can take the guest room.

— B

In tiny print at the bottom she’d added another note: M—You were right about me. How about that?

Hunter was standing at the closed door of the guest room. “Morgan, look,” he said softly. On the doorknob Bree had hung a small wreath wound through with white blossoms. Their sweet, heady scent filled the hallway. “Jasmine,” Hunter said with a smile. “Wonder where she found it at this time of year?” He took my hand. “Shall we go in?”

I tried to force a smile, but I couldn’t.

“Hunter,” I began, my voice breaking, “I don’t know how to say this, but—I just hurt a lot right now. I need to sleep on my own tonight.”

I saw the flash of pain in Hunter’s eyes and felt a remote sense of guilt, of regret. Here, at last, was our chance to spend a whole night together. After surviving the disaster at Ciaran’s, sleeping together was exactly what should have followed, a natural way to ground ourselves in life again after having come so close to death. An affirmation of our love, a time for comfort. But I couldn’t accept it. Not now.

“If that’s what you need…” Hunter’s voice trailed off.

“It is.” I reached up and touched his cheek. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Anytime,” he said.

I walked into the guest room and caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. For the space of several heartbeats I forced myself to study my own face. My cheeks were tear-streaked, my nose slightly swollen. My eyes were puffy and red. And exactly the same shape and color as Ciaran’s.

I felt a sick appreciation for the irony of it. After all these years I finally knew who I resembled.

I couldn’t look anymore. I needed a shower desperately, but I was too tired. The shower would wait until morning. I stripped off the brown robe. In the morning I’d stuff it down the garbage chute.

I went into the guest room and climbed into bed. I closed my eyes and willed sleep, but an endless tape kept running through my head: Ciaran is my father. Ciaran is my father. Ciaran is my father.

I couldn’t doubt it. Not after the connection I’d felt with him. Not after I’d looked in the mirror and seen his eyes staring out from my face.

My father was a murderer, the leader of a Woodbane coven whose purpose was to destroy other covens. He’d killed Maeve and Angus. He was pure evil.

It occurred to me that Killian was my half brother.

All sorts of things began to fall into place. Things that hadn’t quite made sense before. The sense of connection I’d felt with Ciaran—and with Killian. My unusual powers. Not only was I heir to Belwicket’s legacy of magick, but to Ciaran’s as well. And my own tendency to abuse power definitely came from Ciaran.

Through the wall I heard Hunter curse the couch in the study. Bree had told me that it was lumpy and uncomfortable.

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I loved Hunter in a way I’d never loved anyone. But I couldn’t be with him. Not now, knowing what I really was.

An heir to darkness.