Cate Tiernan - Eclipse

The look of fury and horror on his face was frightening, even though I knew I had power over him.

“Take it off!”

His arm raised against his will, and words fell from his lips. In moments I could take deep breaths, and when the spell dissolved, I fell to my hands and knees.

“Morgan, don’t make this kind of mistake,” Ciaran said softly. But he wasn’t in control anymore.

“Be quiet,” I panted, slowly standing up, rubbing feeling back into my arms and legs. The cold of the night air made me shake: I had been motionless for too long.

I looked at him, my biological father, an extremely powerful witch whom I had both reluctantly admired and truly feared. He had put a binding spell on me! He had planned to kill me, kill my friends, my family. I let my contempt show in my face as I looked at him.

“Ciaran of Amyranth,” I said, my lungs still feeling stiff, my tongue thick, “I have power over you. I have your true name, and you are bidden to do my will.” I was trying to remember the exact phrasing from various witch texts. His eyes flashed, but he stood quietly before me. “You will never hurt me again,” I said strongly. I wasn’t sure exactly how a true name worked—but I felt that pretty much anything I said went. “Do you understand?”

His lips were pressed tightly together.

“Say it,” I said, feeling unreal, giving him orders.

“I will never hurt you again.” It looked like the words were costing him.

With quick, efficient motions I put a binding spell on him, just to be safe. He stood in the darkness like a handsome mannequin, but fire was burning in his eyes and his gaze never left me. “I have your true name,” I said again for good measure. “You have no power.”

I backed away from him, feeling exhausted. My watch said 2:26 A.M. Pressing one hand against my temple, keeping my eyes open, I sent out a witch message as strongly as I knew how. Hunter. Power sink. Now. Bring your dad. I need you.

“No, no—it’s nal nithrac , not nal bithdarc ,” Mr. Niall said, not bothering to hide his irritation.

I gritted my teeth. “Isn’t there a nal bithdarc in there somewhere?”

“There’s a bith dearc ,” Hunter reminded me.“But not till a bit later.”

I let out a breath and sank down onto the wooden floor in front of the fireplace. It was way freaking late, I was exhausted, I had a headache, and I was kind of hungry. “Is there any cake left?” I asked.

Hunter had made a killer pound cake yesterday, and we’d all been wolfing it down in between their teaching me this wretched horrible spiteful spell. Without a word Hunter went into the kitchen and came back with a slab of cake on a plate. I picked it up with my fingers and took a bite.

Mr. Niall sat on the floor next to me and held his hands out to the fire. He looked like death warmed over, gray skinned and hollow eyed. Starting last Tuesday night, he’d been working with me on the spell to fight the dark wave. Dad and Hilary thought I was working on my science project with Mary K. I had told Dad I’d be home late, and he agreed. Another sign of Hilary’s turning my dad crazy: a year ago he’d never have let me stay out past his bedtime.

I looked at my watch: past midnight. And I had to go to school tomorrow. Thank God tomorrow was Friday. I could sleepwalk through classes, then go home and crash. Then come here and not have to worry about getting up the next morning.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying not to spray crumbs. “This is all new to me.”

“I know,” said Mr. Niall, rubbing the back of his head. “And this is a hard one. Most witches start with spells to keep flies away, things like that.”

“Keep flies away,” I mused. “I could probably handle something like that.”

Hunter gave a dry laugh, then headed back to the kitchen when the teakettle began whistling.

He came back with three mugs. It was hot and sweet, laced with honey and lemon. I waited till Mr. Niall had drunk his, then tiredly got to my feet. “Okay. Can we start right at the beginning of the second part, where we do the sigils?”

“Lass—” Mr. Niall hesitated. “You’ve been trying, but—”

“But what? But I keep messing up? It’s late, I’m tired, this is my first dark wave spell,” I said testily. “I know I need lots more practice. That’s why I’m here.” My jaw jutted out, and I realized that I had some pride invested here. I wanted to be able to do this. Not to look good in front of Hunter and his dad, but because I was my mother’s daughter. She’d come from a whole line of witches, yet she’d been so freaked out by her powers that she’d stripped herself of them. That seemed kind of cowardly to me. My powers scared me, too, but it seemed so wrong to give up like that. I felt like, I’m me, I’m in control of me. My powers were not in control of me. Doing the spell was a crash course in learning to channel my powers. So far it hadn’t been that successful: there had been several times when I’d been so upset or frustrated that I’d popped a lightbulb overhead, caused a stack of firewood to topple (I assumed that had been me), and made a framed picture drop off the wall.

Those were the kinds of things that had scared me about Morgan and her powers—the whole idea of her being out of control. But it hadn’t been her, and I had to live with that part of me. I needed to get it together. The weird thing was, by the time the third thing had happened (I was almost screaming in frustration after doing a whole set of sigils perfectly—but backward), Hunter and his dad started to find it funny. Funny! Stuff that had made me quit Kithic and run a mile from Morgan—made me dislike her, mistrust her. Now, after spending so many hours with me in this house, they had started making a big show of throwing out their hands to catch things—vases, lamps, mugs—every time I even raised my voice. It was like that scene in Mary Poppins where the admiral sets off his cannon and everyone runs to their posts.

“Look at yourselves,” I said, not meanly. “You guys can hardly eat, hardly sleep. The dark wave coming is draining you. I’m the picture of health next to you. This is still a good plan. Which means you still have to teach me.”

Looking defeated, Mr. Niall stood up, and we both faced west with our arms out.

“Give me the words,” he said.

Concentrating, I tried to let the spell come to me instead of reaching out to grab it. “ An de allaigh, ne rith la ,” I half sang. “ Bant ne tier gan, ne rith la .” And so on it went, the words of limitation that were the second part of the spell. After one more phrase Mr. Niall and I started moving together, like synchronized swimmers. My right hand came out and traced three runes, then a sigil, a rune, and two more sigils. These would focus the spell and add power. Each rune stood not only for itself, but also for a word that began with its sound. Each word had meaning and added to the spell.

I crossed my arms over my chest, palms down, each hand on a shoulder. Standing tall, I continued, “ Sgothrain, tal nac, nal nithrac, bogread, ne rith la .”

Ten minutes later I sounded the last part of the second stage of the spell. I wanted to drop onto the floor and sleep right there for the rest of my life. But when I looked up and saw admiration on Hunter’s face and a reserved approval on Mr. Niall’s, I felt a rush of energy.