Cate Tiernan - Changeling

"What power sink?" I asked, and he perked up and began to lead us through the overgrown brush to the actual graveyard.

"You know about power leys?" he asked. At our blank faces, he went on. "All around the earth, like strings wrapped around a ball, there are ancient lines of power that were created when the world was made. If a witch stands on one, works magick on one, their magick will be enhanced, more powerful. Anytime two or more of these leys intersect, the inherent power is even greater. Right in this cemetery is a huge power sink, probably five or more lines crossed together."

It was somehow demoralizing that my party-guy, irresponsible, devil-may-care half brother was so much more knowledgeable than I was. Then we were standing in front of the stone sarcophagus that Cirrus had used as an altar on Samhain. The marker read Jacob Henry Moore, 1845–1871.

"Right here!" Killian said enthusiastically. "This is an incredible power sink."

Bree met my eyes, and the other Kithic members were quiet. Cal had brought us here several times. Obviously he'd been aware it was a power sink and had used it to his advantage. And none of us had known.

It occurred to me that of course Hunter knew about it also. He must have felt it when he was here with Cal. The power sink might even be the reason my holding spells had worked so well when I'd used them to stop Hunter and Cal from fighting. But Hunter hadn't told me.

"Is a power sink important?" Bree asked.

"Oh, yes," said Killian. "It's like turbo charging your magick—for both good and bad. I mean sometimes magick shouldn't be turbocharged. Know what I mean?"

"No," Robbie said.

"I mean, some spells need to be gentle and shallow," Killian explained.

While he was talking, I felt paranoia creeping into my veins. Quickly I cast my senses out strongly, sweeping the area for any kind of danger, anything out of the ordinary. Killian looked at me, his brows knit together, but I didn't stop until I was sure there was nothing unusual going on. Then I met his gaze calmly, and he cocked his head to the side.

"Watch this," he said, and held out his left arm. He wore a thick suede glove on his hand and pulled the heavy wool tweed of his coat over his wrist. Then he opened his mouth and began to sing into the setting of the afternoon light. It was an odd, unholy song, in a voice nothing like his own It sounded inhuman but also frighteningly, hauntingly beautiful. The notes rose and fell and waxed and waned, and all the time my half brother, Ciaran's son, watched the sky. I realized he was repeating the song over and over again, and we all started to watch the sky also.

Slowly, in the deepening twilight, I became aware of a large bird wheeling above us, dropping down toward us in reluctant spirals of grace.

"Uh-oh," Ethan breathed, and Sharon moved closer to him.

I could see now that the bird was a large red-tailed hawk, big enough to pick up a small dog in it's talons. It dipped and swayed above us, descending ever slower as if being reeled in on a kite string.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"I know it's true name," Killian said. "It can't resist me."

We all stepped back as the large, powerful predator dropped the last eight feet, wings beating, to land on Killian's arm, I couldn't breathe. This wasn't a zoo bird, wings clipped so it couldn't fly. This was a raw piece of nature, a killing machine, with eyes the color of liquid gold and a beak designed for ripping open rabbits' stomachs like silk. Its talons gripped Killian's coat sleeve, but if it hurt, he didn't show it.

"So beautiful," Jenna whispered, looking mesmerized.

The bird was clearly nervous and afraid, not comprehending why it was here, so against its will, against its nature. I could smell fear coming off it, an acrid fragrance overlaid by anger and humiliation.

"That's one fine bird," Ethan said in awe.

"Incredible," said Bree.

"Let it go," I said with clenched teeth. "Let it go now."

Killian looked at me in surprise—the killjoy—then spoke some words. Instantly, as if released from a prison, the hawk took off. Its powerful wings beat the air with a sound like a helicopter's rotors. Within seconds it was a dark speck in the sky, leaving us behind.

"Well," Killian began.

"It hated being here," I said impatiently. "It hated it. It was afraid."

Killian looked intrigued. "How do you know?"

"I felt it!" I said. "Just like you must have."

"How did you do that?" Raven asked, interrupting us.

Killian turned to her, as if he had forgotten his audience. "I know its true name. The song I sang was its true name, the name it was born with. Everything has a true name that's irrevocable and individual and unmistakable. If you know something's true name, you have power over it."

"Is a true name like a coven name?" Matt asked.

Shaking his head, Killian said, "No, no one can give something else its true name. It's part of the thing or the person, like eye color or skin color or the size of your hands, You're born with it, you die with it.

"Do you have a true name?" Raven asked.

He laughed, showing the smooth column of his neck. "Of course. Blood witches learn their true name during initiation. Everyone has one, every person, every rock, every tree, every fish or bird or mammal. Crystals, metals—anything natural. They all have a true name. And if you know it, you own them."

I watched Killian intently. Own them? There was a difference between owning a living being versus a crystal or even a plant. I wondered what my true name was. A chill went down my spine as I considered what might happen if somebody else were to know it. If there was one thing I had learned over the last few months, it was that there were plenty of people out there who would love to be able to own me and my power.

"Does anyone else know your true name?" Robbie asked Killian. "Like your parents?"

"Oh, Goddess, no!" Killian looked appalled at the thought. "It gives someone power over you if they know your true name."

"You don't want your parents to know?" Robbie asked.

"And give them power over me? Never. I'd rather be dead." All his humor was gone, and his face was closed and set. He glanced at the empty, darkening sky. "It's getting late. We'd better go."

As we walked back to the cars, I thought about what Killian had just done. It had been beautiful; beautiful, painful magick. He had forced a living thing to do act against his nature, and he had done it lightly, capriciously, and solely to impress. He had broken about a hundred council rules with this one stunt. If every witch were like this, it would be a disaster. I began to comprehend the role the council played in the order of witches.

I was almost to Das Boot when Killian took my arm gently. He leaned close to whisper in my ear: "Speaking of parents… I heard from Da, He's coming to see us."

10. Blood Ties

Brother Colin, my battles are usually of the spirit, but today I had one of the flesh. On the road home from Atherton to Barra Head, I saw three roadside bandits set upon Nuala Riordan.

I commanded them to unhand her, and two of them immediately set upon me. God forgive me, Brother Colin, but it was as if I were a lad once more, wrestling with you and Derwin. You'll remember that I always trounced you both at wrestling and I trounced both those sorry louts today. As for the third, he fell into some sort of fit; with no warning he fell to the ground, writhing in pain. At last he fainted, and Nuala and I left with all haste.

Thanks be to God, she was unharmed. When I suggested that perhaps she should not leave the village, she looked at me oddly. Then boldly she told me she had no husband, nor a lover either.

My cheeks burned at her frankness, Brother Colin, I admit is. Then, as soft as a dove's wing, she said my name—Sinestus—and it was as if her very voice was weaving a spell around me. I left her as quickly as I could, for to speak the truth, I feared the temptation of sin.

It is time for vespers, Brother Colin, and then Brother Edmond is taking the post. I must finish this letter another time.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, September 1768

"Well, I'm fine," I told Aunt Eileen the next day. So far. I checked her name off my list of phone calls.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Why don't you come spend the weekend here?"

"Oh that's okay," I said. "I'm just going to stay home and study. I need to pull up some grades."

"You? Pull up them up to what? What's past an A?"

I laughed nervously. We chatted for a few more minutes, then hung up.

Next I called Mary K. at Jaycee's. It turned out that Jaycee's parents were taking the girls skiing for the weekend. I felt relief. I'd spent most of the night lying awake, dreading Ciaran's arrival. I wanted Mary K. away from here—I didn't want her associated with whatever happened between me and my blood father. I told her to be careful and not to break her leg and asked if she needed money, which she didn't. She was a chronic baby-sitter and consequently as rich as Midas.

"Take care," I told her. "Use your good manners."

She laughed at my Mom imitation.

Next on my phone list was Hunter. "I haven't heard from Killian yet," I reported. "I don't know when Ciaran's coming in."

"All right. Listen, I just got a cell phone. Write down this number."

I did.

"Now I need you to come to my house. Eoife is here, and we need to talk to you about plans and also teach you some spells you'll need to deal with Ciaran."

I sighed. So much for hitting the books today. "Okay," I said. I'll be there soon."

"Try to hurry."

"All right." We said our good-byes, and I went to take a shower.

Hunter let me in half an hour later. When I saw Eoife perched on the couch in the living room, my mood darkened. She looked paler, more fragile than the last time I had seen her, as if she were carrying a heavier weight. She gave me a faint smile.

"So you where successful," she told me.

"Well, Killian say's he's coming. We'll have to see if he does or not." I said.

"He'll come," said Hunter, already pouring tea. "Now, tell us again everything Killian has told you."

I did. I drank my tea, feeling its warmth slide down my throat, soothing me from the inside out. I told them about Killian finding the power sink at the cemetery and met Hunter's eyes. His expression betrayed nothing. I told them any snippets of conversation I had remembered, anything he had mentioned about his family. I felt disloyal to Killian, doing this, yet that had been the plan. That was that I signed up for.

"Anything else?" Hunter said, his eyes on me.

I thought about the hawk spell and closed my mind to Hunter. I didn't even know why, except I didn't want to get Killian in trouble. He didn't seem evil to me—just irresponsible. I wondered if he even understood the abuses that knowing someone's true name might lead to. When I looked up, Eoife's eyes seemed to look right through me, and I prayed I didn't blush. I wasn't fooling either one of them. Was I already the inherent test in all this, my choosing good over evil not just sometimes, but every time? I felt so inadequate.