The Calling

6. Healing

August 19, 1981

Maeve and I have pledged our souls to each other. We left the village just after dark and went out beneath the cliffs. She and I share an affinity for fire, so it was child’s play to kindle a raging bonfire with our minds—the concrete expression of the all-consuming nature of our love. Dancing and licking at the night like an animal, it was a thing of beauty, red and yellow and orange, with a dazzling white-blue heat at its heart. I am so happy, I am nearly delirious. At last I am fully alive.

I even gave her the watch that Da gave to Ma, the one I’ve carried with me all these years. Funny that I never thought to give it to Grania. But then, I never loved Grania.

There is only one thing more to do. I haven’t yet made love to Maeve, though Goddess knows, I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything on this earth. But I want no lies between us, so first I must tell her about Grania and the children. It will be difficult. But our love will get us through. I have no fear. Nothing can quench our fire.

— Neimhidh

Murray’s was a crowded deli on Columbus Avenue, sandwiched between a shop selling computer accessories and a flower stand. The spicy smells of corned beef, pastrami, and sauerkraut suddenly made me realize that I was starving.

Bree and I made our way over to the small, square table where Raven and Robbie sat. Seconds after we pulled up chairs a waitress dropped four huge menus on the table.

“No Sky or Hunter,” Raven announced.

“They never showed up at the apartment?” I asked her, starting to worry all over again. I knew Hunter and Sky could take care of themselves, but having the dream a second time had left me with a feeling of dread. Was he just late now, or was he not going to show at all?

“No,” Raven answered, “but I recorded a message for them on Bree’s dad’s answering machine, telling them to get their witchy butts up here.”

Bree looked both amused and horrified. “Great. I’m just imagining one of my father’s clients calling and getting that message.”

The waitress returned. “What’ll you have?” she asked.

“Uh—we’re waiting for friends,” Robbie said. “Could you come back in ten minutes?”

She gestured at the line that had formed near the door. “I got people waiting for tables,” she told us. “Either you’re ready to order or you should let someone else sit down.”

“Let’s just order,” Bree decided.

So we ordered corned beef and pastrami sandwiches and sodas. Raven got a Reuben. The food came immediately, and I’d eaten half my sandwich when I felt Hunter and Sky nearby. I turned around to see them walking through the door.

Hunter was wearing his leather jacket and a bottle-green scarf. His cheeks were red from the cold. “Sorry we’re late,” he said as they reached the table.

Raven rolled her eyes. “Nice of you to show up.”

Robbie, ever the gentleman, managed to round up two more chairs and bring them over to the table. Sky sat down next to Raven.

“Are you hungry?” I offered Hunter the uneaten half of my sandwich.

“No. Thanks,” he said, sounding distracted. He didn’t take the chair Robbie had brought for him. Instead, he knelt by my side. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said in a low voice. “How about if you wrap up your sandwich and we take a walk?”

“I’m full,” I said. I was glad of the chance to talk—I wanted to tell him about having the dream again.

I left money for the check and made arrangements to meet the others back at Murray’s in half an hour. Then Hunter and I set off. By unspoken agreement we headed toward Central Park, stopping only to buy two takeout coffees, defense against the cold.

We walked down a side street lined with gracious brownstones, past the Dakota, where John Lennon had lived, and finally stopped to sit on a low wall overlooking Strawberry Fields, Lennon’s memorial. Because it was so cold, there weren’t many visitors to the teardrop-shaped garden that day. But on the circular mosaic imprinted with the wordImagine someone had left a bouquet of white and yellow daisies.

“Did you know that Strawberry Field was actually the name of an orphanage next door to John Lennon’s boyhood home?” Hunter asked. “His aunt, who raised him, used to threaten to send him there whenever he misbehaved.”

“I’ll have to remember that tidbit for my dad,” I said. “He’s still a big fan.”

“My parents had all the Beatles’ albums,” Hunter remembered. “My mum used to play the second side ofAbbey Road on Sunday mornings. ‘Here Comes the Sun.’” He hummed the tune softly for a moment. “Goddess, it’s been ages since I thought about that.” He shook his head as though trying to shake off the pain of memory.

“At least you know they’re alive now,” I said, trying to sound positive. The dark wave had demolished Hunter’s parents’ coven when he was only eight, and his mother and father had been in hiding ever since. For years he hadn’t even known for sure whether they were dead or alive. Right before Yule, Hunter’s father had actually contacted him through his lueg. But the dark wave had overwhelmed the vision, cutting it off before Hunter heard what his father was trying to tell him. Since then we hadn’t dared try to contact them again, for fear that it would lead the darkness to them.

“I know they were alive three weeks ago,” Hunter corrected, his voice tight. “Or at least Dad was. But anything could have happened since then, and I wouldn’t know. That’s what kills me—not knowing.”

Aching for him, I put my arms around his waist. For the most part Hunter kept his grief for his family hidden well below the surface, but every so often it would well up and I’d see how it always was with him. How part of him would never rest until he knew for certain what had happened to his parents.

I felt a gentle glow of white light in the center of my chest. One of Alyce’s healing spells was opening to me. “Will you let me try something?” I asked.

Hunter nodded. I unzipped his jacket halfway. I took off my glove, undid one button of his shirt, and slid my already cold hand against his smooth, warm skin. He flinched, then I felt him opening himself to the white light that was flowing through me.

I began a whispered chant. “‘The heart that loves must one day grieve. Love and grief are the Goddess’s twined gifts. Let the pain in, let it open your heart to compassion. Let me help you bear your grief….’”

I couldn’t continue. Suddenly I knew exactly what it would feel like to have my parents and Mary K. ripped from me. It was beyond excruciating. It was more than could be borne. I cried out in grief though I managed to keep my hand on Hunter’s chest, managed to keep the healing light flowing.

“Shhh,” Hunter said. “You don’t have to do any more.”

“No,” I whispered. “I have to finish the spell. ‘Then may your heart ease and open to greater love. May the love that flows eternally through the universe embrace and comfort you.’”

Gradually I felt the white light diffusing and, with it, Hunter’s pain. My eyes met his. There was something different in them, a new clarity. I felt something that had bound him dissolving. “Thank you,” he said.

“Courtesy of Alyce,” I told him shakily. “I didn’t realize quite how much it hurt. I’m sorry.”

He kissed my forehead and pulled me against him. When I’d stopped trembling, he said, “Would you like to know why we’re sitting here freezing our bums off instead of eating lunch?”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that,” he said. “First, I’m sorry for not answering your messages. It took us a while to find our contact, and then when we finally tracked him down, he was absolutely terrified. He led us through a maze of elaborate safety precautions. If I’d answered you and he’d noticed, he might have thought I was betraying him.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I was just worried about you. Did this guy have any information?”

“Yes,” Hunter said, “he did.”

He paused. The sun, which hadn’t been strong that morning, disappeared behind a band of thick, white clouds.

“So?” I prompted after a moment.

Hunter’s green eyes looked troubled. “I found out who the leader of the New York Amyranth cell is. Apparently the members of the coven wear masks that represent their animal counterparts when they need to draw on the power of that animal. Their leader wears the wolf’s mask. My contact didn’t know them all, but he confirmed that there are also coven members who wear the masks of an owl, a viper, a cougar, a jaguar, and a weasel.”

“So my dream—”

“Was of the New York cell of Amyranth,” Hunter finished. “Yes.”

I shuddered. “Hunter, I had the dream again,” I told him. “It was just about an hour ago, while I was in an occult bookstore down in SoHo.”

“Goddess!” Hunter looked alarmed. “Why didn’t you contact me?” Before I could answer, he let out an exclamation of annoyance. “Stupid question. I wasn’t answering your messages. Morgan, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I mean, it was scary, but this time I knew what it was. I’m not sure why I had it again, though.”

“Perhaps because we’re in New York,” he said. “Or perhaps…” He trailed off, looking still more troubled. Then he reached out and took my hand. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you. Something I learned today. It will bring up painful thoughts for you.”

Icy fingers of dread walked up my spine as I sensed the weight of whatever news Hunter was carrying. I gave him a weak smile. “Go for it.”

“The name of this wolf-masked leader is Ciaran,” he said.

“Ciaran?” I felt sick. “It—it can’t be the same Ciaran. I mean, surely there’s more than one Ciaran in the world.”

“I’m sure there is,” Hunter agreed. “But this Ciaran is a powerful Woodbane witch in his early forties who comes from northern Scotland. I’m sorry, Morgan, but there really isn’t any doubt. He’s the one who killed Maeve and Angus.”

I realized I’d never had any idea of what happened to Ciaran after he set the fire that killed my parents. “I guess I assumed he was back in Scotland,” I said lamely. “But he’s here in New York City?”

Hunter nodded, his eyes on my face. I sat there, trying to process this new information. Ciaran—alive. Here. Within my reach.

Within my reach? What the hell did that mean? I asked myself bitterly. What would I do if I ever came face-to-face with him? Turn and run the other way, if I had any brains at all. He’d been more powerful than Maeve and Angus together. He could crush me like an ant.

“We also found out that Ciaran has three children,” Hunter went on. “Two of them, Kyle and Iona, still live in Scotland. But the youngest is here in New York. You’re not going to believe this.” He paused. “It’s Killian.”

“Killian?” My jaw dropped. “The witch we met last night?”

Hunter nodded grimly. “He was all but sitting in my lap, and I didn’t realize he was the one.”

I downed the last gulp of my now cold coffee. “That’s too much of a coincidence.”

“There are no coincidences,” Hunter reminded me, stating one of those Wiccan axioms that I found so annoying and cryptic.

I thought of the terrified wolf cub in my dream. “That means Killian is Amyranth’s intended victim?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Hunter said.

“Oh God. First Ciaran kills my mother and father; now he’s gunning for his own son.”

“Ciaran gave himself to the darkness a long time ago,” Hunter said. “It’s all of a piece. A man capable of killing the love of his life is capable of killing his own son, too.”

“What else did you find out? Do you know where he lives? What he looks like?”

“None of that. I’ve just told you everything.” Hunter crumpled his empty coffee cup and launched it at a trash container a good fifteen feet away. The cup went in.

He hopped down off the wall and helped me off. “I’ve got to try to find Killian and see if I can suss out why Amyranth wants to drain his power. Maybe he has some sort of special ability they need. In any case, he may have valuable information about the coven, and if I play my cards right, he could become a valuable ally for the council.”

“I’m going with you,” I said impulsively.

Hunter was suddenly holding my upper arms and scowling at me. “Morgan, are you crazy? You can’t come with me—especially now that we know Ciaran is the leader of Amyranth. The last thing I want is for him to become aware of your existence. I wish to God you’d stayed in Widow’s Vale. In fact, I should take you to Port Authority right now. You can catch the next bus back upstate. I can bring your car and your things back in a day or so.”

In a flash we had reverted to our old antagonistic relationship. “Let go of me,” I said, furious. “I don’t take orders from you. When I go back to Widow’s Vale, I’ll be driving my own car, thank you, and I’ll go when I’m ready.”

For a long moment we just glared at each other. I saw Hunter struggling to keep his temper in check.

“If you stay,” he said between his teeth, “you’ve got to give me your word that you’ll keep a low profile. No flashy magick on the street. In fact, while we’re in the city, I want you to avoid any magick that isn’t absolutely necessary. I don’t want you drawing any attention to yourself.”

I knew he was right, much as I hated to admit it. “Okay,” I said sulkily. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Hunter’s grasp relaxed.

“Be careful,” I said.

He kissed me again. “That’s my line. Be careful. I’ll see you tonight.”

I hurried back to Columbus Avenue. As I neared the restaurant, I passed a father carrying his little son on his shoulders. The boy was laughing, as if it were the greatest treat in the world.

It made me wonder about Killian and his father. Was there ever a time when they were close? What would it be like to be the child of a father who was devoted to evil?

Maybe, I thought, it explained Killian’s recklessness. Maybe he was running away from the darkness. That, I thought with a sigh, I could certainly understand.

Bree and the others were on their way out when I got back to Murray’s.

“Perfect timing,” Bree said as she stepped out of the restaurant. “Do you want to come to the Museum of Modern Art with me and Sky?”

“I opted out,” Raven said. “I’m going to see a movie down in the Village.” I didn’t know Raven well enough to be sure, but she was talking more loudly than usual, and I had a feeling it meant that things between her and Sky were still tense.

I glanced at Robbie. He looked so miserable, I was certain that he hadn’t been invited on the museum trip. I tried to remember: Was Bree always this ruthless in relationships? Or was Robbie getting special treatment because he was the one she actually cared about? Either way, her behavior made me uncomfortable.

“No thanks,” I said, my voice curt. “I’m not in the mood.”

Bree shrugged. “Okay, we’ll see you back at the apartment.”

I started for Broadway. Since I was unexpectedly on my own, it occurred to me that now would be a good time to see if I could find Maeve and Angus’s old apartment. I thought of the promise I’d made Hunter, to refrain from anything that might draw unwelcome attention to me. But looking for my birth parents’ old apartment wouldn’t do that, I reasoned. I’d just have to make sure I avoided using magick during the search.

A ray of late-afternoon sun emerged from the clouds as I walked, and that bit of brightness seemed to lift the mood on the street. Two skateboarders whizzed by while a woman assured her reluctant poodle that it was a beautiful day for a walk. I suddenly realized that Robbie was trailing behind me.

“Robbie,” I said. “Where are you going?”

Robbie gave an overly casual shrug. “I thought I’d hang with you. Is that okay?”

Robbie looked so miserable and abandoned that I couldn’t say no. Besides, Robbie was special. He’d been with me when I found Maeve’s tools.

“I’m not going to a very scenic part of the city,” I warned. “Um—I was kind of trying to keep this quiet. You know, discreet.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows. “What, are you going to score some dope or something?”

I swatted him on the shoulder. “Idiot. Of course not. It’s just…Maeve and Angus had an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen before they moved upstate. I want to find it.”

“Okay,” Robbie said. “I don’t know what the big secret is, but I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

We walked on in silence. I was the one who finally broke it. “I think your restraint is admirable,” I told him. “If I were you, I would have decked Bree a long time ago.”

He grinned at me. “You did once, didn’t you?”

I winced at the memory of a horrible argument in the hallway at school. An argument about Cal. “I slapped her across the face,” I corrected him. “Actually, it felt awful.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

I tried to think of a delicate way to put my question. “Did things go—okay—between you two last night?”

Robbie took a deep breath. “That’s what’s so weird. It was great. I mean, as great as it could be with Raven snoring right next to us. We just cuddled. And it felt good to be together, totally warm and affectionate—and right. It was sweet, Morgan, for both of us, I swear.”

“So, what changed this morning?” I asked.

“I don’t have a clue. I woke up, said good morning to Bree when I saw her in the kitchen, and she snapped my head off. I can’t figure out what I did.”

I thought about it as we waited at the bus stop. I wondered how much I could tell Robbie without betraying what Bree had told me. After about ten minutes of waiting, a bus finally lumbered to a stop. We managed to snag seats together, facing the center aisle.

“Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, grateful for the blasting heat. I loosened my scarf and peeled off my gloves. “Or maybe what you did wrong last night was to be right.”

Robbie massaged his forehead. “You just lost me.”

“Okay, maybe last night things were every bit as great as you thought they were,” I said. “And maybe that’s the problem. When things are good is when Bree has trouble trusting them. So that’s when she has to mess them up again.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Robbie said.

I gave him a look. “Did I ever claim Bree was logical?”

We got off at Forty-ninth Street and began walking west. “We’re looking for number seven-eight-eight,” I told Robbie.

He glanced up at the building we were passing. “We’re nowhere near.”

We waited for the light on Ninth Avenue to turn. Ninth Avenue looked pretty decent, with lots of restaurants and small shops selling ethnic foods. But as we kept walking west, Forty-ninth Street became seedier and seedier. The theaters and little studio workshops were gone now. Garbage was piled by the curb. The buildings were mostly residential tenement types, with crumbling brickwork and boarded-up windows. Many were spray-painted with gang tags. We were in Hell’s Kitchen.

I knew that this neighborhood had a long history of violent crime. Robbie was wide-eyed and wary. I cast my senses, hoping to pick up any trace Maeve might have left. At first all I got were flashes of the people in the neighborhood: families in crowded apartments; a few elderly people, ailing and miserably alone; a crack junkie, adrenaline rocketing through her body. Then I felt the hairs along the back of my neck rise. In the worn brickwork of an abandoned building I saw vestiges of runes and magickal symbols, nearly covered over by layers of graffiti. It didn’t feel like Maeve’s or Angus’s work. That made sense; they had renounced their powers completely when they fled Ireland. But it was proof that witches had been here.

“This is it,” Robbie said as we came to a soot-streaked redbrick tenement with iron fire escapes running down its front. The building was narrow and only five stories high. It seemed sad and neglected, and I wondered how much worse it had gotten since Maeve and Angus had lived in it nearly twenty years ago.

I couldn’t pick up any trace of my birth mother, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something inside the building. If only I could get into the actual apartment where she’d lived. Three low stairs led to a front door behind a steel-mesh gate. A sign on a first-floor window read Apartments for Rent, Powell Mgmt. Co. I rang the bell marked Superintendent and waited.

No one answered the bell or my pounding on the steel gate. Robbie said, “Now what?”

I could try a spell, I thought. But I wasn’t supposed to use magick unless I absolutely had to. And this didn’t qualify as an emergency.

“Can I use your phone?” I asked Robbie. I called the management company on Robbie’s cell phone. To my astonishment, the woman on the phone told me that apartment three was available. I was so excited, my voice shook as I made an appointment to see the place the next day. It was meant to be, I thought. Obviously.

“I hate to bring this up,” Robbie said when I hung up. “But you look like the high school kid you are. I mean, why would anyone show you an apartment?”

“I’m not sure,” I told Robbie. “But I’ll find a way.”