Cate Tiernan - Seeker

“Justine,” I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I shouldn’t have kissed you, for several different reasons. I don’t know what came over me. But I apologize.”

She laughed—a light, musical sound—and tried to pull me close again. “Don’t apologize,” she said, her voice drawing me in without a spell. “I told you, I’ve been wanting to kiss you. I want you.” Her eyes took on more intent, and she stepped closer to me so we were touching from chest to knees. I felt her full breasts pillow against me and the width of her hips against mine. It felt terrific, and I felt awful, guilty.

“I’m sorry, Justine,” I said again, stepping back. I crossed the room with big strides and grabbed my coat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Then I was out the door like a dog turned loose and rushing toward my car.

I was back at the bed-and-breakfast hours before I had expected to be. All I wanted was to lie on my bed and figure out what the hell had just happened. I knew I loved Morgan sincerely and truly, and I knew I was intensely attracted to her. The fact that we hadn’t slept together didn’t seem to have any bearing on this—I was sure we would, when it was right. No, this was a freak occurrence, and I needed to figure it out so I could make sure it never happened again. I also just needed to get my head clear about the council and my father. A daunting task.

Groaning to myself, I turned my key in the lock and tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. I tried the key a couple of times, then realized that the damned door was spelled from the inside! Working as quickly as I could, I dismantled all the blocking spells, then crashed into the room. Da was on the floor, hastily brushing a white substance under his bed. I lunged for it, dabbed my fingers in it, and tasted it. Salt.

“What have you been doing?” I demanded while he got up and sat on his bed, brushing off his hands. He was silent, and I looked around the room. Now I saw a small section of the concentric circles of power he had drawn on the floor with salt, and I also found a book, written in Gaelic. Written Gaelic is a struggle for me, but I could read enough to decipher that there was a chapter on creating a sort of artificial bith dearc , far from a power sink. I wanted to throw the book across the room.

“Did Justine give you this, or did you take it?” I demanded, holding the book out to him.

He looked at me. “I took it,” he said without remorse.

I shook my head. “Why am I even surprised?” I asked no one. Suddenly feeling angry seemed pointless. Instead a deep sadness came over me as I accepted the fact that I wasn’t enough of a reason for Da to want to live. I flopped down on my bed and looked at the ceiling. “Why am I disappointed? You don’t want to stop contacting Mum. You don’t care that it hurts her, that it hurts you, that it hurts me. You don’t care that you’re going to take away the only parent Alwyn and I have left. I just—I don’t know what to do. You need a father, a father of your own. I’m not up to it.”

“Son, you don’t understand,” Da began.

“So you say,” I interrupted him, turning on my side, my back to him. “No one understands how you feel. No one has ever lost anyone they cared about, except you. No one has felt your kind of pain, except you. You’re so bloody special. ” I didn’t try to hide my bitterness. I hated the fact that I cared enough to be disappointed. I hated Da for being who he was, and who he wasn’t.

“No, I mean you don’t understand what I was doing,” Da said, a stronger tone in his voice. “I was trying to help you.”

“Help me?” I laughed dryly. “When have I ever mattered enough for you to want to help? I know I’m nothing to you. The only good thing about me is that I’m half Mum.”

Silence dropped over the room like a curtain. My father was so still and quiet that I turned over to see if he was still there. He was. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at me, a stunned, confused expression on his face. “You are,” he whispered. “You are half Fiona. You, and Alwyn both. Fiona lives on in you.”

I sighed. “Forget it, Da. I’m not going to hassle you anymore. I’m giving up.”

“Wait, Hunter,” he said, using my common name. “I know you won’t believe this, but you, Linden, and Alwyn were the most precious things in my life, after your mother. You three were our love personified. In you I saw my strength, my stubbornness, my wall of reserve. But I also saw your mother’s capacity for joy, her ability to love deeply and give freely. I had forgotten all that. Until just now.”

I rolled over to face him. He looked old, beaten, but there was something about him, as if he’d been infused with new blood. I felt a more alive sense coming from him.

“I liked being a father, Gìomanach,” he said, looking at his hands resting on his knees. “I know it may not have seemed like it. I didn’t want to spoil you, make you soft. My job was to teach you. Your mother’s job was to nurture you. But I was happy being a father. I failed Cal and left him to be poisoned by Selene. You and your brother and sister were my chance to make that up. But then I left you, too. Not a day has gone by since then that I haven’t regretted not being there to watch my children grow up, see your initiations. I missed you.” He gave a short laugh. “You were a bright lad, a bulldog, like I said. You were fast to catch on, but you had a spark of fire in you. Remember that poor cat you spelled to make the other kids laugh? I was angry, you misusing magick like that. But that night, telling Fiona about it, I could hardly stop laughing. That poor cat, batting the air.” Another tiny chuckle escaped, and I stared at him. Was this my father?

“Anyway,” Da said. “I’m sorry, son. I’m a disappointment to you. I know that. That’s bitter to me. But this seems to be where my life has brought me. This is the spell I’ve written.”

“Maybe so, up till now,” I said, sitting up and swinging my feet to the floor. “But you can change. You have that power. The spell isn’t finished yet.”

He shook his head once, then shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’ve always been sorry. But—you make me want to try.” These last words were said so softly, I could hardly hear them.

“I want you to try, too, Da,” I said. “That’s why I’m so disappointed today.” I gestured at the circles, smudged on the floor, the salt crunching underfoot.

“I really was trying to help you,” he said. “I didn’t trust Justine. How is she acquiring the true names of living beings? Of people?”

I frowned. “She told me she inherited some of them from her mother. Others she found by accident. Two names have been contributed by their owners, in the interest of her research.”

“Maybe so,” said Da, not sounding convinced. “But she also gets a lot from the shadow world.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t contacting Fiona this time,” Da explained. “I have no wish to harm her further. But the shadow world does have its uses. One of them is that people on the other side have access to knowledge that not many can get otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, afraid of where this was going.

“Justine acquires many of the true names of living beings, including people, from sources in the shadow world,” Da explained.

I blinked. “How do you know this?”

“Sources in the shadow world. Reliable sources.”

I was quiet for several minutes, thinking it all through. Obviously if Da’s sources were correct, I had to come up with a whole new game plan. The situation had developed a new weight, a new seriousness that would require all my skill as a Seeker. Da had gotten this information for me. He had risked his own health—not to mention the irresistible temptation of calling my mother—in order to help me in this case.