Cate Tiernan - Night's Child

Next to her Sky was looking fatigued. She had worked a couple of keep-awake spells during the night but hadn't let Morgan share the driving. Morgan had cried for an hour, and by then they had been on the highway and Moira had fallen asleep. They had thrown a blanket over her when Sky had stopped for gas, and when they got back in the car, Sky had glanced over at Morgan and said, "Bloody hell."

There had been blood on the front of Morgan's sweatshirt.

When the bleeding had abated, Sky had convinced Morgan to rest for a while.

Now, with dawn approaching, Morgan was feeling better. At least she wasn't crying anymore or oozing blood.

"We don't have a plan," said Morgan, and Sky made a noise like a bitter chuckle.

"Let's turn around and go back home, then," she said.

"You know-we could be walking into a trap here," Morgan said. If Hunter was alive, why was Iona just now letting Morgan glimpse the truth? Could they even trust Lilith's information? These signs that had been coming to her… they had a purpose behind them. Had Lilith set Moira up to «catch» her scrying for Hunter? She certainly hadn't been very careful about hiding the image from Moira, and if she was behind those hexes and spells at Morgan's house, then she was capable of more secretive magick. Then there was Hunter's warning, too, not to come. It all pointed to the fact that this was a trap, Iona wanted Morgan to search for Hunter-but why?

Trap or no, Morgan couldn't stop now. She had to find Hunter.

"I know," Sky said. "But what choice do we have?"

"I should have left Moira at home," Morgan said.

Sky shrugged. "This is her life, her father. She would never have allowed us to leave her behind."

"Maybe so."

"And Morgan… you need her right now. Hunter needs her."

Morgan swallowed hard, thinking about this.

Behind them Moira stirred, then sat up, yawning. "Where are we?" she asked, and then Morgan watched the memories of the night before cross her face.

"Almost to Iona's," Sky answered her. Turning, she said, "I have a friend who lives not far from here. Maybe I should call her and you could stay there, just for today. Your mum and I don't know what's going to happen."

Morgan was grateful the suggestion came from Sky, but not unexpectedly, Moira's reaction was an instant furrowing of the brow, a determined expression on her face. "No, thank you."

Morgan turned to face her daughter. "Moira, last night was terrible. But it was nothing compared to what we might be facing. I can't guarantee that Iona won't be expecting us, that we're not heading into a trap. In fact, I'm sure we are." Morgan shook her head, thinking with dread of what might lie before them. "All my instincts are telling me to run a thousand miles from this situation, but I can't-not if Hunter's still alive. That's my choice, but it doesn't have to be yours." She looked deeply into Moira's hazel eyes, like her own, but with slightly less brown, slightly more green. "We lost your dad six months ago. I can't risk anything happening to you. I can't let it. Iona could be much worse than Lilith ever was. Please, go to Sky's friend's house."

"No."

"I wonder where she gets that from?" Sky murmured.

Sky had the foresight to begin casting pathfinding spells while they were still almost twenty kilometers-a good half hour or forty-five minutes-away. Even with the spells, they took wrong turns and got lost twice. Without them, they never would have found their way at all.

Arsdeth itself was a small, unremarkable village, not as quaint as some more southern towns, but with an older feel to it. It was rougher, less civilized in a way, with bits and pieces of ancient castles visible in the distance.

On a side street in Arsdeth they stopped the car and Morgan scried. She closed her eyes, lit a candle she placed carefully on the dashboard, and called images of fire to her, building her own power and strength. She pictured Iona as she remembered her from Ciaran's funeral, then asked the Goddess to show her the way to her. In her mind she wandered down roads, turning, heading north, then east, then north again. Eventually she saw the house, an ugly redbrick saltbox, with white-painted window frames and doorway.

"Okay, head north." She consulted their map. "We'll hit it up at this intersection. Then I'll tell you where to turn."

"Right, then," Sky said, shifting into a higher gear. "Let's go wring some information out of this woman."

Morgan knew that what was ahead of them was going to be very dangerous. There was no way to turn back now. Not when Hunter might be at the end of the trail. Not while there was still the slightest shred of hope. She still couldn't believe all of this was really coming from Iona. Iona wasn't strong enough-but then, Killian had told her that since their father's funeral, Iona had vowed to become stronger.

Ciaran's funeral. Morgan sat up. "Sky. Ciaran's funeral! At Ciaran's funeral Grania, Kyle, and Iona were furious I had come. Kyle tried to put a spell on me. But then Iona-Iona smiled. As though she had a secret." Morgan shook her head, remembering. "She knew she had taken Hunter from me."

They finally found Iona's house. Sky carefully turned the car and parked it facing outward, back toward the road, in case they had to leave in a hurry. Morgan pulled a wind- breaker over her sweatshirt to conceal the bloodstain in front. As calmly as they could, Morgan and Sky took several minutes to lay new and stronger ward-evil spells on the car.

Looking behind her, Morgan made sure Moira was beside her. She paused for a moment, casting out her senses. Frowning, she walked to the edge of the driveway and looked past the house.

"She's up there," she said, pointing. There was a low hill behind Iona's house, and on the hill were the battered remains of what had once been a Celtic stronghold.

"Up in the castle ruins?" Moira asked.

"Yes." She looked at the two of them. "Are we ready?"

Moira nodded, though she was unsuccessful in keeping the fear out of her eyes. Sky's face was grim, resolute. They pushed through the hedge bordering the driveway and lieaded toward the hill. There was no path, and the turf was spongy with rain. Soon their shoes and pants bottoms were soaked through and flecked with grass. They'd reached the first gentle slope of the hill when an unearthly baying sent chills down their spines. The next thing Morgan saw was four large Rottweilers, tearing down the hill at them, barking ferociously. Their jaws gaped, showing large white fangs that seemed ready to snap a tree limb in half. Suddenly the dogs were almost upon them, and Morgan felt Moira freeze with fear.

"Stop there," Morgan said softly when the dogs were ten feet away. Holding her hand out flat, she sent out a sensation of running up against a wall and a calm, quiet, happy feeling, where life was good, bellies were full, and there was a raw steak waiting back at the house.

Gentle things, Morgan crooned in her mind. Sweet and calm. We're friends, friends to you, we mean no harm.

The four dogs stopped with almost comical suddenness, their front paws backpedaling and screeching to a halt on the wet grass. From snarling, vicious, out-to-kill man-eaters, they became almost bashful giants, bobbing their heads and pulling their lips back in apologetic grins. Muscular tails began wagging as they stood in a confused group, wondering what to do next.

Morgan walked up to them, held out her hand for them all to smell. Sky did the same, and Morgan made sure Moira did also.

"We're your friends," Morgan said gently. "Remember us. Remember us." She traced the rune Wynn on each silky black forehead, writing happiness and harmony on them.

The huge black-and-tan dogs stood aside, cheerful puppies wishing they had a tennis ball. They watched the three witches walk past them up the hill, unconcerned. Every muscle in Morgan's body was coiled and ready for anything. Her blood was singing with tension, adrenaline flowing through her veins like wine. Each breath took in more oxygen than she needed, each sense was hyperaware: the clouded blue of the sky, the scent of the wet grass. No birds sang here; there was no other life than the four dogs they'd just left.