Seeker s-10 Page 3

  “Oh my God,” she breathed, moving so I could touch her more.

  “Yes,” I said, lost, leaning in to kiss her neck.

  “Hunter,” she whispered back. “Yes.”

  “This is so right,” I muttered, kissing her. “You’re everything to me.”

  She made an indistinguishable reply and hooked one leg over my side, curling around me. I never dreamed my last night here would end so perfectly, I thought dimly. Morgan’s eyes were closed; the only sounds she was making were anxious little “mm, mm, mms.” Tonight we were going to make love.

  I couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that Morgan had decided she was ready. What timing—this would be the perfect memory to have when I was far away in. . uh, far away in. . Canada.

  Morgan clutched my arm hard and pushed herself against me, and I thought, Yes, this is going to work, this is fantastic. . I will miss this so much when I am. . in Canada. Far away in Canada. Tomorrow. Uh. . I quickly tried to push away those bothersome thoughts. Focus, I ordered myself. Concentrate. You have Morgan close to naked in your bed. Get it together. You’re almost home.

  “I’ll think about this the whole time you’re gone,” said my love’s voice, and I felt her breath against my cheek.

  The whole time you’re gone. “Mmm,” I breathed as I felt her tongue tickling my ear. Goddess, this was fun, this was perfect; I was here with Morgan, Morgan, whom I loved and wanted so much. So much for having an early night—I wanted to do this all night long until the sun came up and—

  Oh, bloody hell. When the sun came up, I would be taking off. I didn’t know how long I would be gone. I didn’t know what I was going to find. I could find something that would change my life forever. My parents had been on the run from Amyranth for eleven years. I could be heading into serious danger. Or I could be heading into having a family for the first time in eleven years. A family I wouldn’t want to leave.

  And then where would I be? Away from Morgan. And who would I be? Someone who slept with his girlfriend right before leaving her.

  Damnation.

  “Hunter?” She sounded worried, and I looked down and touched her face.

  “It’s nothing,” I told myself as much as her. I closed my eyes and kissed her again, feeling how right it was, how incredible. What was I doing? Should I be doing this? Was this a good idea?

  It was a fantastic idea, and I pulled her against me more tightly, feeling sweat break out on my forehead. Morgan had thought about this, had decided she was ready, and Goddess knew I was. We were going to do this tonight. How could I possibly stop now?

  I couldn’t; there was just no way. Tonight was all about Morgan and me. Morgan, who trusted me. Trusted me not to hurt her. Oh, no. No. I pulled my weight back onto my arm. Morgan’s eyes were wide. “Did I—is something wrong?”

  The insecurity in her voice made me jerk my head down to look at her. “No!” I said strongly, holding her closer. “No, of course not.”

  “Then what’s going on?” She snuggled closer to me, and once again I had to fight a vicious battle between the top half of my body and the lower half. The top half, which included my barely functioning brain, won, but only by a minuscule margin.

  I sighed. “Morgan—I’m wondering. . is this the best idea?” The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out, feeling like I should be awarded a big medal for valor and chivalry.

  “Whaaat?” she said, drawing back from me. I felt her aura, her vibrations instantly change. They had been incredibly strong, vibrant, involved, excited. Now they were cooling, stilling rapidly as she retreated. No, no, no, I wanted to howl.

  Talk fast, Niall. “Morgan,” I said, still trying to hold her close. “Listen—I want to make love with you practically more than I want to breathe at this very moment. But is this really the best thing? I mean, I’m leaving tomorrow; I don’t know when I’ll be back; I don’t know what I’ll find or what will happen to me while I’m there. I’m saying my future is somewhat up in the air at the moment. It seems—irresponsible for me to make love with you now.”

  “Irresponsible?”

  I winced at the cool tone in her voice, and she pulled away from me physically and emotionally while I swore to myself in four different languages, including Middle Gaelic, which isn’t easy.

  “Love, this is killing me,” I said with complete sincerity. “I want this very much. And here you are, giving yourself to me, and it’s our first time, and it’s incredible. I absolutely don’t want to hurt you. But—what if something happens that keeps us apart? I don’t want to do this just once and then forget about it. I want our first time to be only the first in a long, long series of us being together.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Wait—stop.” She had scooted to the side of the bed, and the sight of her bare, beautiful back, stiff with anger and hurt, pained me almost as much as the athame she had once sent into my neck a long time ago. “Please, Morgan, wait. Hear me out.” I lunged and grabbed her around the hips, my cheek pressed against her back as she tried unsuccessfully to get up. “I’m dying to sleep with you!” I said. “I’m mad with wanting you! There’s nothing more that I want than to be in bed, making love, all night long!”

  “Except to be responsible.”

  “Morgan! Just think for a minute. Do you really think that the night before I leave for Goddess knows how long is the best time for us to sleep together for the first time? I mean, if we had been sleeping together for a while, this would be fine. But this is our first time together. It should be perfect. It shouldn’t be part of a good-bye.”

  Her jaw barely moved. “In your opinion.” Icicles dripping. She took advantage of my momentary appalled shock to leap out of bed. I scrambled after her, wondering where the hell I had thrown my underwear. In seconds she had pulled on her camisole with the lace and was reaching for her sweater and socks.

  “Morgan, Morgan,” I said, looking desperately around the floor. “This isn’t my decision alone. We need to agree on this. I mean, I hate this. All I want to do is make love with you. But can you try to see where I’m coming from, a little bit?”

  The look she gave me was distant, and my heart dropped down to my bare knees. She shrugged and sat on the bed to pull on her socks. “I don’t get it. You want to, but you won’t. You love me, but you won’t sleep with me. I feel like a leper.”

  I ditched all thoughts of underwear and pulled on my jeans, being careful with the zipper. “Morgan, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my whole life. And I’m ecstatic that you feel ready for us to go to bed. That’s what I’ve wanted ever since I met you.” I knelt down in front of her and looked up into her eyes, her shuttered face. “I love you. I’m so attracted to you. Please believe me. I mean, you felt it. This has nothing, nothing to do with how much I want you or how sexy you are. It’s just about timing.”

  “Timing.” She sighed and lifted her long hair away from her neck, then let it fall. I thought of it spread over my sheets, over my pillows, and began to think I was completely mad.

  “Morgan, I don’t want to hurt you. But either option is bad: if I ask you to wait for the next time we can be together, it hurts your feelings and makes you think I don’t want you. Which isn’t true. But if we go to bed tonight and then something happens and we’re apart for a long time, would that be better?”

  She glanced away, seeming for the first time to examine the state of my room. Great. I saw her gaze trace the bare floor, the gutted candles on my desk, the boxes still unpacked. With no warning, an image of Cal Blaire’s bedroom came to mind. I had seen it when I’d been in Selene’s house, undoing spells, setting other spells. Cal’s bedroom had been huge, quirky, and romantic. His bed had been an antique, hung with mosquito netting. Everything in that room had been beautiful, luxurious, interesting, seductive. Feeling bleak, I rested my face on my outstretched arm, wondering if I had just buggered things up in a really huge way.

  “Morgan, please,” I said. When I rai
sed my head, she was examining me calmly, and I damned her ability to rein in her strongest emotions. I covered her hand with one of mine, and she didn’t flinch. “Please don’t be angry with me or hurt. Please don’t leave like this. Please let’s have tonight be a good thing for both of us. I don’t want this to be the moment we both look back on while I’m gone.”

  My words seemed to reach her, and I felt the sharp edges of her anger soften. A tiny bit. Then her face crumpled, and she said, “Hunter, you’re leaving tomorrow. I want us to be joined together in a real way before you go. Here I am, I’m seventeen”—she threw out her arm in a disgusted, disbelieving gesture—“and you’re nineteen and can be with anyone you want, and I want you to feel connected to me!” Her voice broke and she clenched her fists, looking embarrassed and angry with herself for seeming weak.

  Her words completely threw me, and I gaped at her. One of my favorite Tynan Flannery quotes came back to me: “Women are impossible, witches are worse, and women who are powerful witches are going to be the death of me.”

  I reached up and enfolded her in my arms, resting my head against her chest just under her chin. “Love, we are joined together in a real way because I love you, and you love me. We’re mùirn beatha dàns,” I said quietly. “You say I can be with anyone I want—well, you can be with anyone you want, too. I choose to be with you. Who do you choose?” I tilted my head back and looked up at her.

  “I choose you,” she muttered ungraciously, and I wanted to laugh but had enough sense left not to.

  “I feel connected to you,” I went on. “And it doesn’t have anything to do with us having sex. Not that I don’t want to have sex!” I added hastily. “I definitely want to have sex! Make no mistake! The second I come back, I’m going to jump you, wherever you are, and initiate you into the sublime joys of womanhood.”

  She burst into laughter, and I grinned. “My mother will be thrilled,” she said dryly.

  “Me too,” I promised with intense sincerity, and she laughed again.

  We sat there, hugging, for a long time. I hoped that we had somewhat mended our earlier rift, and I again started to question whether or not I should just go for it. Hell, Morgan wanted to, I wanted to, it would make us happy. . for the next couple of hours. What about after that? I was conducting a debate within myself when Morgan gently disengaged from me.

  “It’s late. I better go.”

  “Uh. .”

  She kissed me, holding my face in her strong hands. “Drive carefully tomorrow. Call me when you can. I’ll be thinking about you.”

  Then she stood up and left, her clogs loud on the stairs. I trotted after her, still trying to figure out what I wanted. She turned and gave me a last, wistful smile, and then she was gone. I sat down on the steps, unsure of what had happened between us, unsure if I had done the right thing, unsure about everything.

  4. The Journey

  February 1992

  Today the world seems like a different place than it did yesterday. I’ve always loved the winters here, but now the sky seems cold an pitiless. The beauty of our world seems to have dimmed a little. Yesterday Mama and I were calm and sage, secure in our lives and mist especially in our magick. But last night Mama got a witch message from Aunt Celine. A Seeker had come to «investigate» her library, and he found some dark spells she had written-a weather spell and a spell for bending another's will, spells Mama says she never even used. But according to the council-the idiot council, Mama calls them-just writing these spells shows a leaning toward dark magick that can't be tolerated. And Aunt Celine committed what Mama calls the cardinal sin: she argued with the Seeker, tried to make it seem like the spells aren't all that dangerous. Mama says the Seeker couldn't accept another point of views, he thought it was dangerous. And Aunt Celine was stripped of her powers today.

  Oh, Goddess, it is such a horrible ceremony, but Mama insisted that we scry to watch it all. She says that I am old enough to see such things, that I have a duty to make myself aware of abuses of power that are committed in our world. Aunt Celine cried and shook, and when she was finally stripped, she looked like a broken bird: no longer able to fly, only half the person that she was before. Mama says that the council is corrupt and stupid, that they don’t understand the value of knowledge. I don't know what to believe. I only know that what happened to Celine was terrifying. I can't imagine anything she could have done to deserve such a terrible fate.

  — J.C.

  After Morgan left, I felt sad and wished I could have the whole evening to live over again. When would I ever learn?

  I awoke at six in the morning, in the dark and inhospitable dawn. The house seemed empty and too quiet, and once again I missed Sky’s presence. I hoped she was feeling better in France.

  A hot shower revived me, and I finished loading the car, seeing my breath come out in dragon puffs. I decided to have breakfast on the road and set off for the highway. Just before leaving Widow’s Vale, I pulled over and performed one last spell, sending it out into the world, knowing it would come to fruition about twenty-four hours from now.

  Then I headed north, toward Canada and my parents.

  “A room!” I bellowed into the barely functional intercom. “Do you have a room!”

  I rubbed my bleary eyes and waited for the crackly response, hoping they spoke English. For the last sixty miles every sign had been in French. I don’t speak French—not well, anyway. I was forty minutes away from Quebec City, had been driving for hours, and was starting to nod with tiredness, though it wasn’t much past seven. I needed food, another hot shower, and a bed.

  My parents’ town, Saint Jérôme du Lac, was only about four hours away, and the temptation to press on was strong. But that would involve crafting wake-up spells for myself or drinking a hell of a lot of coffee, and it meant I would get to my parents’ house after ten o’clock at night. A worrying thing—I had been unable to reach them by phone or scrying or witch message. I doubted they knew I was coming. If I was going to show up unannounced after eleven years, it should probably be in the daytime.

  The intercom crackled back at me, and I took the garbled response to be an affirmative. Twenty minutes later I was tucking into some jambon and oeufs, washing them down with bière, in the tiny restaurant next door. Half an hour after that, I was facedown on the bedspread in my small, cinder-block room, dead out. I didn’t wake up till nine the next morning.

  On Sunday the first thought I had, after “Where the hell am I?” was about Morgan. I pictured her slowly coming to recognize the spell I’d crafted before I left. I pictured her eyes widening, a smile softening her mouth. It had been hardly more than a day, but I missed her, ached for her, and felt lonely without her.

  But today was the day. I was within four hours of seeing my parents, and the thought shook me to my very bones. This was the day I had been waiting for for more than eleven years. My heart sped up in anticipation.

  I leaped up, showered, and hit the road by ten. I’d bought a road map of Quebec Province back in New York. Now it led me up Highway 40, around Quebec City, then off to a smaller, two-lane highway, number 175, that would take me north to Lac Saint Jean, a big lake. Saint Jérôme du Lac was about forty minutes from there, from what I could tell.

  This far north, any signs of approaching spring were wiped out. Trees were still bare and skeletal, patches of crusted snow lay everywhere in shade; no crocuses or snowdrops bloomed anywhere. Spring’s warm tendrils had not yet touched this country and wouldn’t for some weeks, it appeared.

  Following my map carefully, I turned off onto Highway 169, still heading north. I knew I had to go about 120 kilometers to reach Saint Jérôme du Lac and, with any luck, could do it in about an hour. Now that I was so close to my parents’ home, a strange, quivery feeling was beginning in my stomach. My hands felt sweaty on the steering wheel; my pulse quickened; my gaze darted around the scenery surrounding me, attuned to any movement. I was nervous. I hadn’t seen my parents in eleven years. What would they be lik
e?

  Eleven years ago, I had barely come up to my da’s breastbone. Now I was probably as tall as he. The last image I had of my father was that he was big, stern, and invincible. He hadn’t been scared of anything. Sometimes I had seen a deep sadness in his eyes, and when I had asked about it, he’d replied that he’d been thinking about the past. I didn’t understand it then but now knew that he’d probably been thinking about his life before he married Fiona, my mum. He’d been married before, to Selene Belltower, a fact that still stunned me. He’d had another son, a few months older than I, whom he’d abandoned. That had been Cal Blaire. Now both Cal and Selene were dead, and people were glad of it. I wondered if Da knew. Probably not.

  My mum was Da’s perfect counterpart: soft, smiling, feminine, with a ready laugh, a sense of mischief that delighted us kids, and an easy, immediate ability to show emotion. It was Mum who explained Da’s moods, Mum who comforted us, cheered us on, encouraged us, loved us openly. I had been desperate to please both of them, for different reasons. Childishly, as I drove closer to them with every mile, I felt a barrage of different emotions—loss, anger that they had been gone, a quickening sense of anticipation. Would I, when I saw them, be once again able to lean on my da, to rely on his strength? Would I feel that he would protect me still, though I was now grown and come into my full powers? Hell, I was a Seeker for the council—the youngest ever. Yet I was still a nineteen-year-old kid, and the thought that I could abandon the weight of being a Seeker, even if just for a short while, was very seductive.

  They would have changed in the past eleven years, I knew. Of course I knew it. I had changed, too. But we were still family, blood family, still father and mother and son. Somehow we would make those relationships fit us once more. And soon I would contact Alwyn, too, and the four of us could be a true family again.

  The small turnoff road to Saint Jérôme du Lac was clearly marked. Suddenly I was bumping down a road that hadn’t been retarmacked in what looked like twenty years. Huge potholes caught me off guard, and I bottomed out twice before I wised up, dropped down to about twenty miles an hour, and drove like an old lady.