Cate Tiernan - Seeker

As soon as I sank onto the couch, two cats of undistinguished breed approached me and determinedly climbed into my lap, curling up, kneading my legs with their paws, trying to both fit into a limited space. I stroked their soft, winter-thick fur and again picked up nothing except well-fed contentment, health, safety.

“Here we go,” said Justine, coming in with a laden tea tray. There was a pot of steaming Darjeeling tea, some sliced cake, some fruit, and a small plate of cut sandwiches. After the past week of my doing all the cooking, it was nice to have someone feed me for a change.

Holding my tea over the cats on my lap, I said, “Obviously you know why I’m here. The council sent you a letter that you didn’t respond to. Do you want to tell me what’s going on, in your own words?”

Her brown eyes regarded me frankly over her Belleek teacup. “Now that I look at you, you seem quite young for a Seeker. Is this your first job?”

“No,” I said, unable to keep the weariness out of my voice. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, in your own words?” Witches tended to prevaricate and avoid a Seeker’s questions. I had seen it before.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I assume you’re here because I collect the true names of things.” She took a sip of tea, then curled one leg underneath her on her chair.

“Yes. Every witch uses them to some degree, but I hear you’re collecting the names of living beings and writing them down. Is that true?”

“You know it’s true,” she said with easy humor, “or you wouldn’t be here.”

I took a bite of sandwich: cucumber and country butter on white bread. My mouth was very happy. I swallowed and looked up at her. “Talk to me, Ms. Courceau. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Justine, please.” She shrugged. “I collect the true names of things. I write them down because to learn and remember all of them would take me a lifetime. I don’t do anything with them; I don’t misuse them. It’s knowledge. I’m Rowanwand. We gather knowledge. Of any kind. Of every kind. This is what I’m focusing on right now, but it’s only one of many areas that interest me. Frankly, it doesn’t seem like the council’s business.” She leaned back in her chair, and another cat leaped up on the back of it and rubbed its head against her red hair.

I was aware that there was, if not exactly a lie, then a half-truth in what she had just told me. I continued to question her, to explore her motives.

“Many clans gather knowledge,” I said mildly, breaking off a piece of cake with my fingers. “It’s the very nature of a witch to gather knowledge. As Feargus the Bright said, ‘To know something is to shed light on darkness.’ But it makes a difference what kind of knowledge you collect.”

“But it doesn’t, don’t you see?” Justine asked earnestly, leaning forward. “Knowledge in and of itself cannot be inherently evil. It’s only what a person chooses to do with that knowledge that makes it part of good or evil. Do we want to take the chance that something precious and beautiful will be lost forever? I don’t have children. What if I never have children? How will I impart what I’ve learned? Who knows what later generations might be able to do with it? Knowledge is just knowledge: it’s pure; it’s neutral. I know that I won’t misuse it; I know that what I’m doing is going to be hugely beneficial one day.”

Again I had just the slightest twinge of something on the edge of my consciousness about what she had said, but I would look at it later. Anyway, I could see her point of view so far. Many witches would agree with her. It wasn’t my job to agree or disagree with her.

We talked for another hour. Sometimes Justine pressed her beliefs, sometimes we just chatted, learning about each other, sizing each other up. At the end of my visit I knew that Justine was very bright, extremely well educated (which she would be: I had recognized her mother’s name as one of the foremost modern scholars of the craft), funny, self-deprecating, and strong. She was wary; she didn’t trust me any more than I trusted her. But she wanted to trust me; she wanted me to understand. I felt all that.

Finally, almost reluctantly, I needed to go. It had been a nice afternoon and such a great change from the hellish disappointment the last week had been. It was nice to talk to an ordinary witch instead of someone hell-bent on his own destruction, someone mired in grief and pain.

“I’d like to meet with you again before I make my report to the council,” I said. I carefully dislodged the cats in my lap and stood, brushing fur off my jeans. Justine watched me with amusement, making no apologies.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” she said. “There aren’t any other witches around here for me to talk to. It’s nice to have company I can really be myself with.” She had a nice smile, with full lips and straight white teeth. I put on my coat.

“Right, then, I’ll be in touch,” I said, opening the front door. As I started down the stone path, I became suddenly aware of Justine’s strong interest in me. I was surprised; she hadn’t given a sign of it inside. But now I felt it: her physical attraction to me, the fact that she liked me and felt comfortable with me. I didn’t acknowledge it but got into my car, started the engine, and waved a casual good-bye.

The Seeker arrived yesterday. I don't know how to describe my reaction-he's an invader, and I should resent him being here, yet he is so… interesting. He is an Englishman, young, scarcely even twenty. Yet he carries himself with a confidence, a maturity that makes me think he has great potential. I do sense turmoil in him-whether it is a result of this assignment or a personal problem, I can't say. Still, he is so attractive to me, so stimulating to talk to, I find myself wondering if I could win his heart.

Of course, I haven't been able to do any research since I sensed him coming. I've stripped the library of any traces of magick and have performed endless purification rituals to keep him from sensing the taint of the other side. I miss my work and my friends in the shadow world more than I can express, but I can be patient. The Courceaus know much about patience, hiding our time, waiting until the right moment to make our intentions known.

Goddess, help me to keep my focus and remember that it is my work that is most important-more important than any temporary attraction I might have. If only there were some way to make him understand. If only I could get his true name…

— J.C.

This morning I spent time in Foxton proper, hanging out at the local bookstore, the coffee shop, the library. It’s a bigger town than Saint Jérôme du Lac and has more resources. Basically I was casting my senses, trying to listen for gossip about Justine. Unlike my father, no one here seems to have identified her as a witch, though quite a few people knew who she was. I mentioned her name in a few places, and people had only good things to say about her. The previous autumn she’d led a fund drive for the library, and it had been their most successful ever. One woman told me how Justine had helped when her dog was ill—she’d been a godsend. The general impression was that she was something of a loner but friendly and helpful when needed. They thought of her as a good neighbor.

The way Kennet had talked about her, I had been prepared for another Selene Belltower—an amoral, ruthless user who felt she was above the council laws. Justine didn’t seem that way at all. Though, of course, appearances can be deceiving.

Back at the bed-and-breakfast, Da was doing a lot of lying around, staring at the walls. I had brought several books to read, and I offered them to him. If he knew about the watch sigil or the spelled door, he didn’t mention them. Mostly he seemed incredibly depressed, hopeless, uninterested in anything. I wanted to jolt him out of his stupor but wasn’t sure how. I wished there was a healer around.