I have to write this down before I forget. I want to forget, but I know it's important to remember. Who said, "If man doesn't learn from history, he's doomed to repeat it?" Or something like that. That's what this is like.
I don't know how to explain it, how to talk about it, even to my Book of Shadows. Oh, Goddess, I walked the fine edge between light and darkness tonight, and even now I don't know if I chose right.
Selene is dead at last. I saw the life fade from the eyes of her hawk, and I know her spirit couldn't escape. I didn't kill a person in a human body, but I crushed the spirit of someone who was once human, someone who was incredibly evil, who had tried to kill me, had hurt my sister.
Does that count?
Does it matter if I myself wasn't human when I did it? If I shape-shifted into a hawk, then was it one hawk killing another, and does it make it less bad?
Goddess, I don't know. Maybe I am on the dark side now. I don't want to be. I want to work for goodness. Do I get to try again? Goddess, I need answers. I'm only seventeen.
"Free!" Tess cried, throwing her arms in the air. Moira, sitting on the school steps, closed her mother's Book of Shadows and smiled.
"Mondays are always so long," she said as students from their school streamed past them. She kept a watch out for Ian-they'd had barely any time to talk today between classes.
"Is your mom still freaked about Saturday?" Vita asked in a low voice. "My folks were uptight all yesterday. It was the worst thing I've ever seen."
"Me too," Moira said. "Yeah, Mum seems really rattled. She hates to let me out of her sight. Yesterday I met Ian in town, but I'd told Mum where I was and all."
"Iiiiaaaannn," Tess sang under her breath. "Did you tell him about the black smoke?"
"No." Moira shrugged. She still couldn't shake the uneasiness she'd felt since scrying with him.
"How are things going with him, then?" Tess asked.
"Good," Moira said, nodding. She saw Tess and Vita look at each other. "What?"
"What's wrong?" Vita asked. "You're all distracted. Like you're not really here."
That got Moira's attention. "I'm sorry." She leaned closer so only they could hear her. "Actually, I'm totally weirded out about my mum."
Tess and Vita looked at her questioningly.
Moira hesitated. But if she couldn't tell her two best friends, who could she tell? "My mum shape-shifted," she breathed. "Into a hawk." Her friends' eyes went wide.
"No," Tess whispered. Vita's mouth was open in shock.
Moira nodded solemnly. "Mum told me yesterday, and then I found it in her second Book of Shadows. These books have been something else," she said softly. "It's a whole different picture of my mum. Like she had a completely different life that I didn't know anything about. It's kind of mad."
"Do you know what happened?" Vita asked.
"Not completely," said Moira. "I mean, she told me about it, and I was like, oh, Goddess. But then I read that bit in her second Book of Shadows this morning and again just now. And for some reason, reading about it got to me in a way her telling me about it didn't. Like it was more real. But I've been freaked out about it all day."
"Don't blame you," said Tess, looking worried. "I don't know what I'd do if I found out something like that. I mean, shape-shifted! That's some wicked magick."
Moira nodded, her tension feeling like a knot in her chest.
"Did you mention it to your mum?" Vita asked.
"No. Not yet. But we've been having big talks." Moira sighed. "About her. Her past. I mean, it's good and all, but…"
"Come on over and get it off your chest," Vita offered. "My folks are at work still, and Seanie won't bother us." Seanie was Vita's twelve-year-old brother.
"Moira?"
Ian. Moira turned and there he was, standing on the step above her. He gave her a slight smile, as if unsure how she would be today. Last night he'd insisted on walking with her all the way to her house in the rain because he hadn't wanted her to have to walk by herself. They'd held hands, and he'd kissed her again, in the road, right before the light from Moira's house had hit them. All day they'd been exchanging glances between classes and during math, the one class they shared.
"Hi," she said, feeling shy in front of her friends.
"I'll come, then, Vi," Tess said, straightening up and acting normal. "Moira, you want to come, or maybe another time?"
Tess was giving her an easy out. Moira glanced at Ian, at the expression in his eyes, and she nodded gratefully at her friends.
"Another time?"
"Sure." Tess and Vita waved good-bye. For a moment Moira wanted to change her mind and run after them. It had been such a relief to confide in them, and she wanted to talk about it more. On the other hand, this was Ian.
"Are you all right?" he asked after the two girls had left.
"Yes. You?" Could he see all the emotion in her eyes?
"All right. I'm amazed we didn't catch our death of cold," he said, trying for a light tone.
"Must be all that Echinacea and goldenseal Mum pumps into me," Moira said, and Ian grinned. There. Now he looked like himself.
"Want to go sit in the park for a while?" he asked, and she nodded happily. The doubts were still there, but somehow being with Ian made everything else feel all right.
"What does that look like?" Ian asked.
Moira tilted her head and squinted at the pile of leaves on the ground. "Nothing. A fat mouse?"
Ian grinned at her. They were sitting side by side on a bench in the tiny park two blocks from school. The wind was picking up, and it was getting chillier as the sun started to think about going down. But Moira wasn't going to be the first to move- not when Ian had his arm around her and they were alone. Not even her mum's worrying could budge her. Moira sent her a quick witch message letting her know where she was.
"Cair a beth na mill nath ra," Ian sang very softly under his breath. He chanted more words so quietly that Moira couldn't hear them.
The leaves on the ground shifted and overlapped and rearranged, separating and drawing together. Soon they had formed the initials MB, there on the brick walk.
Moira grinned with delight. "Next thing you know, you'll be doing it with ladybugs," she said, and Ian laughed.
The wind scattered her initials, and she leaned closer to him, feeling cozy.
"No, not ladybugs," he said, still smiling. "But maybe something a little bigger." He began to murmur some words, and Moira thought she recognized their form as being a weather- working spell. She raised her eyebrows. Weather working was considered taboo unless you had a very good reason. Of course, so was turning pages in people's books without their permission and writing one's initials in ladybugs… but it wasn't as if any of it actually hurt anyone.
"Oh my gosh…," Moira breathed, staring at the sky. Almost imperceptibly, Ian was sculpting the clouds above and had gently morphed them into a huge, puffy M and a huge, puffy B. She laughed, but he wasn't finished, and soon a large plus sign floated next to her B, followed by a capital I and a D. MB + ID.
Laughing, Moira gently smacked his knee with her hand. "Lovely-the world's largest graffiti." They smiled at each other, and then Moira said, "That's amazing-thank you. But maybe you shouldn't risk working weather magick."
"There's no risk in playing with clouds," Ian said reasonably. "I've always done it. It can be so cool." In the sky the letters were already wisping away. It had seemed harmless, Moira thought.
"You try it," Ian urged her. "You know how."
Moira hesitated for a second. Members of Belwicket-especially uninitiated ones-were not allowed to work weather charms. Belwicket has such a narrow view of things sometimes. Anyway, she probably wouldn't be able to do it-she wasn't initiated and had no practice.
"Right, then. Here goes," she said, closing her eyes and thinking about what she wanted to do. She thought about the clouds, their heavy grayness and the letters Ian had formed. Then she began to chant her coven's basic form of weather- working spells, adding in a ribbon of allowing the clouds to be whatever they wanted to be. She was proud of herself for remembering to weave in a time limitation and a place limitation. Instead of forcing the clouds into a picture she wanted, she would let them create one of their own, using their own essences. Frankly, she thought her idea was really cool.
Crack! Moira's eyes flew open as lightning bleached the world. Moments later a huge rumble of thunder shook their bench.
Her startled eyes met Ian’s. "What did you do?" he asked with a mixture of amusement and concern.
"I let them be what they wanted?" Moira said uncertainly.
Another huge crack of lightning split the air not far away. Moira smelled the sizzle of ozone and felt her hair fill with static electricity. The enormous clap of thunder that fol-
lowed the lightning sounded like a cannon going off right beside her ear.
"I think it wants to be a mother of a storm," Ian said, standing up and taking her hand. "Please tell me it won't last long."
"Four minutes," Moira said, then gasped as the sky opened and sheets of chilly rain dumped onto the streets. All around them people scurried for shelter. Dogs whined and barked, shoppers ducked back into stores they'd just come out of, and the whole world looked as if someone had turned off the light.
"Teatime," Ian said as another wave of thunder crashed down around them. He pulled Moira quickly up the block, then turned and ran down another street. By now they were soaked and Moira's teeth were chattering. Two more blocks seemed to take hours, with the frigid rain pelting their faces and clothes, their wet backpacks becoming heavier by the second. Finally they could see the sign for Margath's Faire and Moira leaped through the door after Ian.
Oh, warmth, blessed warmth, she thought, shivering. Light. The smells of cinnamon and tea and something baking and candle wax.
For a minute Ian and Moira stood inside the door, silently dripping. Then they headed upstairs to the cafe, where Ian spotted an empty table. They grabbed it, shrugging out of their sodden jackets and dropping into seats still warm from the last customers. Ian shook his head, and fine droplets of water hit the table. Moira held up her hand. "Hey! I'm wet enough."
He grinned and took a paper napkin from the dispenser. Leaning over, he gently patted her face dry, which made Moira practically glow. "I can see why you were concerned about playing with clouds," he said low, so no one could hear.
Moira made an embarrassed face. "Sorry," she said. "I thought the clouds would just make themselves into a nice picture."
"Your clouds seem to have had delusions of grandeur," Ian told her, and she giggled.
Privately, Moira was unnerved that she had worked such powerful magick. She just prayed her mum or gran never found out. They would have her hide.
Ian fetched them both hot tea and a plate of scones with cream and jam. You are wonderful, Moira thought, suddenly ravenous. She checked her watch-an hour before dinner.
"I better let my mum know where I am again," she said apologetically, feeling like a baby. But she had promised. Moira looked off into the distance, concentrating but not closing her eyes. She formed her thoughts and sent them out into the world, aimed at her mother.
I'm at Margath's Faire with Ian. I'll be home when the rain stops.
All right. See you soon. Be careful.
Blinking, Moira came back to the moment and smiled ruefully at Ian. He was looking at her curiously.
"Did you send a witch message to your mum?"
"Uh-huh. She likes to know where I am. She worries."
"You can send witch messages, and you're not initiated yet?"
Moira looked up in surprise from where she was spreading jam on her scone. "Well, mostly just to Mum. Tess and Vita and I practice, but it's not so reliable."
"That's amazing," said Ian, warming Moira inside. She shrugged self-consciously and took a bite of scone. "And you always let your mum know where you are? Like yesterday, at Elise's Brook?"
Now she was embarrassed. He must think she was a total git.
"Yeah," she mumbled, looking at her plate.
"No, no, don't get me wrong," he said, leaning over and putting his hand on her knee. "I'm not trying to tease you. I just think it's amazing you can do that. All right?"
Moira looked at him, at his earnest face, his eyes, the lips that had kissed her so many times yesterday. He meant it.
"All right," she said, but she still felt self-conscious.
"Anyway-everything okay?" Ian asked lightly. "Did Morgan of Belwicket suspect you had anything to do with the storm?"
"I don't think so," Moira said, just as a man from the next table turned toward them.
Moira glanced over and found him looking at her. She frowned slightly and met Ian’s eyes, then looked back at her scone. The man seemed familiar-did she know him from somewhere?
"Excuse me," he said, in a strong Scottish brogue. "Did you say Morgan of Belwicket?"
"Why do you ask?" Ian said, a touch of coolness entering his voice.
The man shrugged. "I'm on my way to see her. Passing through town. On my way to Dublin. Thought I'd drop in." He took a sip of his tea, and Moira looked at him more closely. He looked very familiar. He was maybe a little older than her mum, with dark auburn hair and dark eyes. Moira didn't think she'd ever met him-she would have remembered. His face was very alive, very knowing, with laugh lines etched around his eyes and a half smile lingering on his lips.
"What do you want with her?" Moira asked. Things had been tense lately, with the attack on the coven and all. But she didn't want to sound overly rude in case he really was a friend of Mum's.
"Dropping in, like I told you. Usually she comes to see me-she travels a lot. This time I thought I'd save her a trip."
Moira's eyes narrowed. So he knew her mum traveled a lot. "Really? Who are you?"
The man smiled charmingly, and if Moira hadn't been on guard, her defenses would have melted. He was very attractive, she realized, startled to think that way about someone so many years older. But at that moment he radiated good will, humor, benevolence. Ian took her hand under the table and squeezed her fingers.
"I'm her brother, dear heart," the man said. "And who are you?"
Moira's eyes widened for a second before a look of suspicion came over her face. "She doesn't have a brother. She only has a sister."
"Actually, no," said the man with a friendly smile. "She has her American sister, the delightful Mary K., and then she also has me and two other siblings. Or half siblings, I should say."
"No," said Moira.
"How do you know?" the man asked playfully.
Ian squeezed Moira's fingers again, but not before she said,"I'm her daughter."
"Her daughter?" said the man, his eyes lighting up. "You're Moira, then. But I thought you were barely twelve or so. How time flies. Say hello to your Uncle Killian. Killian MacEwan."
Moira frowned. Why did that name sound familiar? Ian’s hand had tightened on hers almost painfully, and she shook her fingers free before he cut off the circulation. Had her mum ever mentioned that name? Had she ever mentioned a half brother? No. But then, Mum hadn't mentioned Cal Blaire or Selene Belltower or shape-shifting into a bloody hawk, either.
"How could you be her half brother?"
"We had the same da, sweetheart, though your mum didn't know it till she was practically full grown."
Moira thought back. "Angus Bramson? Maeve Riordan's husband?"
"Angus wasn't her Da. It was Ciaran MacEwan, my father."
He spoke softly, so probably no one else in the tea shop heard them. Still, to Moira it seemed as though the world stopped for a moment, all conversation ceased, every movement stilled.
She knew the name Ciaran MacEwan. Everyone knew it. It was right up there with other historical mass murderers.
"I don't understand," Moira said. "Ciaran MacEwan was your father? My mother's father?" A chill of fear went down her still-damp back, as if she expected him to whip out a wand and put curses on everyone in the room. Especially her.
Killian gave a long-suffering sigh that managed to convey his own personal regret that he hadn't chosen his parents better. "Aye, that he was, I'm afraid. And Morgan's, too. But if you're her daughter, why don't you know that?" He cocked his head and looked at her.
Across the table, Ian looked frozen. Moira immediately felt horrified that he was here, listening to this stuff. It couldn't possibly be true. If it were true…
"Because it isn't true," Moira said firmly. "You're making it up. Why in the world would you think Ciaran MacEwan could be my mum's father? This is nonsense. I'm going." She stood up abruptly and grabbed her book bag. Ian got up also, moving his chair so she could get out. "Come on," he said. "I'll see you home." He glanced at the stranger, but it wasn't a glance of revulsion or distrust. More like awe, Moira thought, and that upset her even more. How could Ian be so stupid? Ciaran MacEwan was evil personified. That's his son! She was so overwhelmed right now, she couldn't handle worrying about Ian and his motives. She had to be able to trust him, at least.
She pushed out of Margath's Faire into the street, to see that the rain had stopped and the sun had gone down and she had a long bicycle ride in the dark. Dammit. She'd just leave her bike at school and take the bus home.
"Hi, Morgan's daughter," came a voice from behind them: Killian's. "Can I offer you a lift? I'm going to your mother's now."
He had to be kidding. Like she hadn't heard enough horror stories about strangers in general and the MacEwans in particular. This guy's dad had helped develop the dark wave that had killed hundreds and hundreds of innocent witches and nonwitches.
"No," she said firmly, glancing back. "I can get home myself, thank you."