Cate Tiernan - Reckoning

I smelled lilacs.

My mother. My mother was teaching me how to walk. She was taking me over to a pot of flowers. I started to run to them and lost my balance, but the hands caught me. I heard laughter. She was encouraging me.

"You've got it, Alisa," the voice was saying. Her voice. "Good girl. You did it."

I looked up, and I saw her. Her face was like mine.

"You did it," she repeated.

Encouraged, I took off again toward the flowers, but they faded from my view.

In a moment the sound of the ocean returned, and the wind kicked back up. The fragrance rose like lifting fog and dissipated. I kept trying to breathe in more deeply, just to get one last breath. Different hands held me. Larger hands, with cooler skin and longer fingers that could grip my arms all the way around.

"Alisa!"

I opened my eyes. I had tipped forward, and Charlie had caught me before I went facedown on the ground. He said a blessing to close the circle and helped me over to the stone bench. As I watched him brush away the salt, my vision grew mistier. No magic this time—I was crying. He looked over in alarm.

"What did you see?" he asked, coming over and squatting down in front of me. I shook my head. I couldn't describe it.

"Was it something bad?" he said, his brow furrowed. "This is such a gentle spell. What…?"

"It was my mother," I said.

He exhaled sharply and shook his head.

"Alisa," he said, "I'm sorry. We're at Norman's Woe. I should have realized that spell would intensify. I'm an idiot."

"No," I said, wiping my eyes. "No. It was…good."

He sat down and just took me in his arms. We listened to the waves hitting the shore just below is. Normally I would have been a complete wreck sitting there, wondering if he was going to kiss me again, worrying about what I should do or say. But my thoughts were on bigger matters, and Charlie seemed to understand that.

It was all clear to me now, what all of this had been about. I'd reconciled with my grandmother. I'd gotten the mermaid-handled athame and the rest of my mother's tools. I'd come to grips with my heritage. These were all the things my mother had been trying to show me.

Now, I realized, I could go home.

February 16, 1991

I haven't explained to anyone yet what I know to be true: Sorcha is indeed gone. I have performed multiple divination rituals, and the result is always the same.

Somhairle will take it very hard. He has never stopped grieving for his lost sister, and I think he has always felt that they would be reunited one day. It was not to be.

Some time ago Somhairle told me the he had received word that Sorcha had a child, a baby girl named Alisa. The poor child is without a mother now, only three years old. She will never know the joy of magick, the indescribable feeling of being with the Goddess. If only Sorcha had never left us, if only she had never turned her back on her family or denied the beautiful powers given her by the Goddess. Now this poor child will never know us and will never discover the great richness of her Rowanwand heritage. I might have had a beautiful, powerful granddaughter.

Now that is never to be.

— Aoibheann

"Sorry it's so late," I said sheepishly when I called Hunter. "You weren't in bed, were you?"

"No, not for hours yet," Hunter said. "How was the circle tonight?"

I'd arrived back at Sam's just moments before, and I had immediately picked up the phone. Not only did I owe Hunter a call, but I figured that once I told Hunter I was coming home, I couldn't back out. I had to move quickly before I lost my nerve.

"It was good," I said. "Different. My grandmother, she gave me my mother's tools. The athame… it has a mermaid handle."

Hunter gave a low whistle. He'd heard about my dream from Morgan.

"Oh," he said. "I see."

"At least I know I wasn't crazy," I said.

"I never thought you were crazy," he said matter-of-factly.

"I did," I said with a laugh. "Plenty of times. But Hunter… I…"

"Yes?"

"I know I need to come home, as soon as possible."

"That would probably be for the best," Hunter said, his voice immediately getting very calm. "The longer you wait, the more problems you may have."

"Maybe there's a bus leaving tonight," I replied, looking around the room as if Sam would have a huge bus schedule on the wall.

"No, not the bus. I'll come get you," he said, in a tone that didn't suggest I had an option.

I thought of what was probably an four-hour trip each way. "Hunter, it's far. You don't have to…"

"I know I don't have to. I want to. I'll leave soon. Tell me exactly where you are."

After listening to me making rambling guesses about the driving directions for about five minutes, Hunter cleared his throat and politely interrupted. "That's all right," he said. "I'll find the best route to Gloucester on a map. The sigil will guide me from there."

"How will I know when you're coming?" I said. "Should I set an alarm?"

"No need," he said. "You'll know. The sigil will warn you."

"Hunter… um, thanks. For everything. For what you did the other night—for this. There was a lot I needed to deal with."

He didn't reply for a second.

"I'm pleased to help," he said, his voice softening. "And Alisa, I'm glad you found what you were looking for."

We got off soon after. Where would be plenty of time for me to tell him everything on the long car ride home. I readied myself for a second call. Sam had Charlie's number in his little phone book on the counter. When he answered, I could hear music in the background. He seemed excited that I had called so soon after he dropped me off. But then he seemed to pick up on something, maybe the tone of my voice.

"Something's up," he said.

"Yeah," I said sadly.

"It's not great news," he said, "is it?"

"I have to go home. I need to go back to my family."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

I heard the springs as he sat down quickly on his bed.

"Do smell or something?" he said, trying to make his voice sound light. "Because I'll shower…"

"I'm sorry. I'd really like to stay, but I have to go before the situation at home gets worse than it already is. My dad is really upset."

"A runaway." He sighed. "A fugitive. I fell for a dangerous type."

Fell for. Charlie had fallen for me. No one fell for me. I fell—into things, over things. I caused things to gall over. But no one had fallen for me, until now. I sank into one of the kitchen chairs, fighting the urge to call Hunter back and tell him not to come.

"But," Charlie went on, "it makes sense. You don't want to mess up your life. As much as I hate the thought of your leaving, it's better that you should go. I don't want you to end up locked up in your house till your ninety-five."

"If that happens," I replied, "you'll come and bust me out, right?"

"Of course!" he said. "But for now, I'll drive you home. I could get the day off, no problem."

I'd always thought it was a cliché, but I actually got butterflies in my stomach at the idea of being alone with Charlie on a car for four hours. But my head knew that it wasn't a great idea. "Um, well, my coven leader is going to pick me up," I said reluctantly. "Believe me, it's better that way. It'll be difficult when I get home. That's not the way I'd like you to meet my dad."

The music in the background was the only noise I heard for a minute.

"You'll be in touch," he said, "right?"

"I'll annoy you with e-mail," I said. "I promise. You'll be so sick of me."

"I'd better be," he said. I could hear that he had smiled as he said that. "I want full reports on the whole Hilary situation."

"Oh," I said, "don't worry about that. You'll get those. The big wedding is coming up all to soon."