Cate Tiernan - Night's Child

That was important, Morgan thought dimly, trying to think, trying to fight her way through the spell as she had before. Why now? With her mind she examined the edges of the binding spell, testing its strength. It was stronger than yesterday's. She had to focus and concentrate on getting free, on fighting Iona. If she thought about anything else-Hunter, Moira, Sky-all would be lost.

"Me. The visions, the dreams. I sent the morganite-I even sent the ring," Iona gloated. "That was a brilliant touch, I must say. The actual ring! And now you finally find your heart's true love, only to watch him die! You get to suffer twice!" She threw back her head and laughed.

"I can't help you," Hunter whispered to Morgan. He sounded like he was near tears. "I have no powers. Over time this island binds powers."

"It's all right," Sky told her cousin kindly. "It's all right."

"Mum?" Moira said. She had edged closer and was standing very still, trembling.

Stay back and be invisible, Morgan sent.

You need me, Moira sent back.

Think, think, Morgan told herself fiercely. Unravel the spell. Figure out why now? Iona had mentioned the ring, the morganite, the visions, the dreams… but not the hexes and spells around Morgan's home. Had those been an extra touch from Lilith-her own personal vendetta?

Focus. It didn't matter right now. What mattered was learning Iona's intentions and uncovering the best way to defeat her. She had gotten her power from taking the souls of other, more powerful witches. Would that make her vulnerable somehow? She looked up at Sky, whose dark eyes watched her, worried. Taking in very slow, shallow breaths, Morgan visualized herself to be strong, whole, powerful. I can break out of this binding spell, she told herself. I'm Ciaran's daughter. But more important, I'm Maeve's daughter, Maeve of Belwicket. I have her blood, her power in me. I am the sgiurs dan-the Destroyer."

Morgan raised her hand.

A look of fleeting surprise crossed Iona's face and she frowned. She raised her stick, and Morgan felt the force of Iona's rage crash against her mind, pushing into her consciousness. Buckling over onto the sand, Morgan frantically slammed up every mind block she could think of, remembering the last time she'd had to fight this hard, two decades ago. But she was no longer an uninitiated teenager. She was stronger, with a wealth of power and knowledge. Wincing, she felt Iona pressing harder. If Iona managed to get inside, Morgan would have no chance.

"Let her go!" Morgan heard Hunter's splintered voice dimly, from far away. "You have me! Isn't that enough?"

"No," Iona said, her voice tight. "I want you both."

Think, Morgan! How integrated were Iona's souls? How hard was it for Iona to keep them focused? To control their power? What kind of power would it take just to use them?

A throaty chuckle of triumph reached Morgan's ears, Iona was enjoying watching Morgan bent to her will. Morgan knew that, given the opportunity, Iona would kill them all. Kill Moira. Her daughter. The very thought filled Morgan's blood with anger.

Then suddenly, with no warning, Iona was gone, no longer pushing against Morgan's mind. Morgan keeled over, her face hitting the wet sand. Immediately she pulled her shaking arms under her, rising to her hands and knees. She spit wet sand out of her mouth and stood up.

"I want you to have the chance to fight," Iona said. "And lose. I want Moira to watch you die, as I watched my father die," she went on, stepping carefully down the rocks. "And then I'm going to take your souls. Well, yours and your daughter's and Sky's. Hunter's isn't worth much at this point."

Watch Ciaran die? Morgan thought hazily. They said he died alone at Borach Mean.

"Can you imagine what I can do with your power?" Iona asked, already looking awed by the thought. "I'll have your power inside me." She shook her head, pleasure showing on her sunken face.

"Why now?" Morgan asked. "Why wait sixteen years?" Her mind raced as she tried to think clearly, desperate to protect her daughter. The beginning of an idea started to form. But to try it could cost her life.

"I wanted you to have a child," Iona answered, as if it were obvious. "I wanted her to be old enough to suffer, losing you, the way I suffered. I wanted your loss to be greater. See?" She flicked her stick over at Moira, and Morgan's stomach clenched as her daughter cried out in pain, wrapping her arms around her chest. Morgan lunged to protect her, but Iona flung out her hand. Gasping, Morgan dropped to the sand, feeling as if knives were cutting into her lungs with each breath; she was being flayed slowly from the inside out. She prayed it was only an illusion. Struggling, she tried to put up a wall between her and the pain.

Moira was whimpering now, curling up.

"It makes it so much worse," Iona observed calmly. In that moment Sky suddenly took out her athame, which she'd been concealing in her pocket. She held it out toward Iona, focusing on the tool as her lips moved silently to form a spell. Rocks flew up from around them and launched at Iona. Astonished, Iona whirled and at the last second managed to deflect most of them, with a few only grazing her neck. A thin band of blood appeared, dark red against her white skin.

"How dare you?" Iona cried angrily, raising her stick again. The athame fell from Sky's grasp and thunked into the wet sand, buried up to the hilt. Sky dodged as Iona fired crackling, spitting balls of furious blue witchfire at her. One careened off a boulder and slid past Morgan, singeing her face and making her flinch. Sky reached for her athame, but Iona held out her hand and drew the athame to her. She gave Sky a malicious smile, then tossed the athame into the air, away from Sky. It whizzed above her to bury itself in a twisted tree, right over Moira.

Quickly Morgan gathered her strength and choked out a laugh. "A child? That's pathetic, Iona, even for you. Was that really it? Or did it take that long to amass enough power to fight me? We all know that I'm so much stronger than you."

Anger flushed Iona's ghastly face and her eyes sparked. Yes, Morgan thought. She was getting to her-just a few more well chosen words and Iona would be pushing her way into Morgan's consciousness, Iona raised her stick again-but didn't use it. She seemed to sense something. Morgan watched, breathing shallowly, as Iona slowly looked around her.

Sky was crouching behind a dark, wet boulder. Moira had edged up against the tree. Her face was contorted with pain, and tears ran down her cheeks. The old woman Morgan had seen, plus two more forgotten witches, were milling around, watching this happen but with no comprehension on their blank, childish faces. Clearly they were also powerless to help and beyond caring what happened to them.

Come on, Iona, try to get into my mind. "You know it's true. I am strong and you are weak," Morgan went on recklessly. "Father said so."

That did it. With a snarl of rage Iona threw both of her hands out, and instantly Morgan felt it, her furious, barbed consciousness, crashing against Morgan's mind like a burning battering ram. Once inside, she would wipe Morgan's mind clean, steal her power, drain her soul. It was a chance Morgan had to take. For an instant Morgan dropped her mind blocks, and Iona was inside her head, twisted with hatred, power starved, greedy, clutching at Morgan's powers. Morgan steeled herself, ignored her terror, and scanned what she could of Iona's mind.

The soul of the witch Justine Courceau, insane with rage and a frenzied desire to escape; another, lesser soul of a faded witch who had crossed Iona without even realizing it. And Ciaran. Morgan gasped as she recognized the soul of her father, the soul she had joined with once before in a tath meanma. Ciaran! Oh, God, no wonder Iona is so powerful now! No wonder she could hold me in a binding spell. Somehow she had reached Ciaran's soul when she'd killed him and pulled out the knowledge and strength that had been crushed when he was stripped of his ability to use magick.