Cate Tiernan - Seeker

“I won’t make you promise because I know your true name,” I said solemnly. “I have control over you—absolute, unshakable control—for the rest of your life.”

Racking sobs shook her, and if I hadn’t been a Seeker, I would have folded her into my arms.

“That’s the danger of true names,” I said. “That’s the kind of control you have over everything and everyone on your list. Is that good? Are you glad I know your true name? Does it seem neutral, like pure knowledge? Or does it seem a little. . dark?”

“ You seem like a complete bastard,” she said, still crying. Her cat was squirming to get away, but Justine held it closely, her tears wetting its fur.

“You know what? I seem like a complete bastard because I know your true name.”

She had nothing to say to that.

I hate him. He's gone now, and I'm still shaking with fury. I can't believe Hunter Niall just took my life apart. First I fell for him, hard, but couldn't get him, even with a spelled kiss. Then his insulting, asinine, pointless report to the idiot council. Reeducated! I'm more educated than any member of the council! I cant' believe Hunter, who had such promise, would be so pedestrian, so short-sighted. What a disappointment-though I still held out hope that he would see my point of view. But today, oh, I put Hunter on my list-not the list of true names, but the list of people who have wronged me and my family. He is now at the top.

How did he learn my true name? I have never written it down. How could he possibly have that knowledge? If someone told it to him, then that person knows it, too. I feel completely exposed. I don't want to move from here, this cottage is perfect. But now I know that at least two people-maybe more-know my true name. How will I ever sleep peacefully again?

My house still smells like smoke. Hunter ad I performed the spell that would allow the list to be destroyed. Then I burned the list in the fireplace, crying as I watched the flames lick along the edges, making the parchment curl. It was beautiful, and I had worked so hard on it, with the gold leaf and the calligraphy. Hunter stood by, his arms across his chest, that hard chest that I felt. His face was lit by the fire, and the awful thing was that I could tell that regretted destroying something so beautiful. Seeing that on his face was incredibly irritating, because it only showed me again how much possibility existed within him, how close he was to being exactly what I needed him to be.

I do know this. I haven't seen the last of Hunter Niall, nor he of me. Now I have work to do.

— J.C.

I felt better once we were fifty miles away from Justine. That last scene had left me with bitter feelings, all sorts of conflicting emotions. But I was glad the list had been destroyed and glad I’d had the presence of mind to also check her computer. There wasn’t much there—just a few files she had to purge. I’d have to make an addendum to my report.

Da had little to say about the whole thing—if he had an opinion, he was keeping it to himself. On the drive back to his town he seemed thoughtful, preoccupied.

In Saint Jérôme du Lac, I stopped at the liquor store and picked up several cardboard boxes. Then, back at the cabin, I helped Da pack his few belongings worth saving—some books, a wool shawl of Mum’s, her notebooks and papers. He had almost no clothes; none of the furniture was fit for anything but the bin; he had no art or knickknacks. It took us barely half an hour, but even that half hour made me nervous. The longer we were there, the twitchier Da seemed to become. He kept glancing at the front door as if he would bolt. I threw his stuff into the boot of my car and hustled him out to it, leaped into my seat, and motored out of there as fast as I could without causing my entire exhaust system to fall off.

After we had been on the road for six hours, I felt calmer. Da had curled miserably in his seat, as though the act of leaving that area was physically and emotionally painful.

“We’ll be stopping soon,” I told him, the first words either of us had spoken in hours. “We can get a room for tonight, then tomorrow be back in Widow’s Vale by late afternoon. I think you’ll like it there. It’s an old town, so it has some character. I’ll have to call Sky and get her back from France. You’ll be so surprised when you see her. Remember how she was kind of a pudge? She’s quite thin and tall now.”

I was chattering, completely unlike myself, trying to fill the silence. Something occurred to me, something I needed to say. “Da. I wanted to tell you. I was having a hard time with Justine back there, but knowing her true name tipped the balance. I don’t know what she would have done if I hadn’t been able to use it. So thanks.”

Da nodded. “Once upon a time, I was a strong witch,” he muttered, almost to himself. He reached down on the floor by his seat and picked up a somewhat battered, black-cloth-bound book. Its spine was unraveling, and black threads hung off it like whiskers.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I took this from Justine’s library,” he said.

“You what ?” I said. “You snatched another book from her?”

“I. . confiscated it,” he said. “This is a memoir of the witch who first created the dark wave, back in 1682.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It talks about the Burning Times and the War Between the Clans. . ”

“What was his name?” I broke in, glancing away from the road to look at the book’s cover again.

“Whose name?”

“The name of the witch who created the dark wave.” I sighed. It was a terrible, terrible legacy—the creation of a weapon of mass destruction. Ever since that time blood witches had been living in fear. Get on the wrong side of a powerful witch who practices dark magick, and you might be the next victim of the dark wave.

Daniel opened the book and frowned. “Not a he, a she. Let me see here. Her name was—” He frowned. “Rose MacEwan.”

"MacEwan,” I whispered.

Like Ciaran MacEwan. Morgan’s father.

“She lived in a small town in Scotland,” Daniel told me. “I didn’t have time to read much of it, but as the book begins, she’s just a teenager.”

Part of Morgan’s family was from Scotland. “Do you think— is it possible that she’s an ancestor of Ciaran MacEwan?”

Daniel’s face clouded over. He looked over at me. “It’s possible. Even likely, I suppose. Same name, same country, even.” He frowned. “That would make her an ancestor also to your—Mary?”

“Morgan.” Dammit, he’d barely even been listening to me.

Daniel nodded. “Not surprising.” I turned to him, startled— what was he trying to say? — and he continued gravely. “To be Ciaran MacEwan’s daughter—it’s a dark inheritance. I wouldn’t trust her so easily.”

Anger flared in me. Who was he to talk about trust? I had to struggle to keep myself under control. Remember what he’s been through, I kept telling myself. He’s been on the run from Amyranth for eleven years. Of course he would be skittish about Ciaran. . and anyone related to Ciaran. Once Da meets Morgan, he’ll be fine, I told myself. And until then, hopefully I could keep from throttling him whenever her name was mentioned.

“But I do trust her, Da. I have every reason to. She’s proved herself to me again and again.” I glanced over at him, but I found it hard to gauge his reaction. His expression hadn’t changed.

“Well, that’s your decision, lad.” Da’s gaze turned back to the book. “In any case, Justine never should have kept such an important piece of history from the council. Who knows how useful it could be in possibly defeating the dark wave? The council should see this right away.”