Cate Tiernan - Changeling

I closed my eyes and sank quickly into a deep meditation. I focused in a healing white light and imagined myself grabbing a ribbon of this light out of the air. Then, opening my eyes, I brought my hand to Jenna’s back and pressed my palm flat against her thin amethyst sweater. I breathed out, willing the light into Jenna, letting it flow into her lungs, feeling her constricted airways relaxing and opening, all her thirsty cells soaking up the oxygen. After just a minute I took my hand away.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Jenna said, breathing deeply. “That works so much better than my inhaler.”

“You could also wear an amber bead on a silver chain around your neck,” Matt surprised us by saying. Seven heads swiveled to look at him. Since he’d cheated on Jenna with Raven, he’d been very quiet and kept a low profile. He always came to circles, always completed the assignments Hunter gave us, but he never participated beyond what was required. He looked embarrassed by the attention. “I’ve been doing some reading,” he mumbled. “Amber is good for breathing. So’s silver.”

Jenna looked at him solemnly, at the boy she’s loved for four years until he’s betrayed her. She gave a little nod, and then the morning bell rang. Time to get to class.

I sucked down the last of my Diet Coke an pitched the can into the recycling bin. Our group split up, and Bree and I headed toward our eleventh-grade homeroom. I wished I could tell her about Eoife McNabb and Ciaran and Hunter and everything I was facing. But thought I hadn’t been officially sworn to secrecy, I knew there was too much at stake to tell anyone who wasn’t involved. Not even Bree or Robbie.

“Have you been doing any readings lately?” I asked. Bree had been studying the tarot.

“Uh-huh.” Gracefully she swung her black leather backpack onto her shoulder. Bree was gorgeous. That was the first—and sometimes the only—thing anyone noticed about her. She was taller than me, slender, with a perfect figure. No zit ever dared to mar her skin, her eyes were large, coffee colored, and expressive, and she’s been born with a gift for choosing prefect clothes and makeup. Next to her I usually looked like I ought to have a tool belt strapped around my waist.

“Alyce helped me find another book at Practical Magick that has variant readings of some of the cards. It’s so interesting, the whole history of the cards and what they’ve meant according to what time period they were being read in. It’s the first thing in Wicca that I feel I can really relate to.”

“That’s great,” I said. Bree wasn’t a blood witch, so while Wicca and magick flowed so naturally to me, it didn’t always make it to her. I was glad she’d found something that felt meaningful.

It was hard to go to classes all day, being taught subjects like calc and American history, when I was wondering if my friends were going to be killed by a dark wave soon. It made it difficult to concentrate or to take what the teacher was saying seriously. I tried to keep myself mentally in classes, but I floated through the day, my mind on other things.

I caught up with Bree on the way to the parking lot after the last bell.

“Your dad out of town again?”

“As usual. I think it’s the same women, in Connecticut. So this makes a record for him—two months with the same person.”

Since her mother had run off with a younger man when Bree was twelve, Mr. Warren really hadn’t had a serious relationship.

“How do you feel about it?” I asked. We pushed through the heavy doors, feeling the force of the cold wind smack us in the face.

“I don’t know,” said Bree. “I don’t think it would affect my life that much. Unless, God forbid, she took an interest in me.”

She pretended to shudder and I couldn’t help laughing—the first time in days.

“Oi, Morgan,” said a voice, and a chill hit me that had nothing to do with the weather. Killian, my half brother, was sitting on a stone bench at the edge of school property. Our eyes met, and he grinned at me, his attractive, somewhat feral grin. “You rang? It was you, right?”

Bree glanced at me, and I realized she didn’t know I had called Killian here. I had told her about my experiences in New York: that Ciaran was my father, Killian my half brother, and why that meant I had to break up with Hunter. Bree had been incredibly supportive over the last few days, but I knew Killian’s presence must have been a shock to her. Hell, it was a shock to me. Somehow I’d thought I would have more time to prepare. With him here, the wheels had to be set into motion, and I felt afraid.

I drew in a deep breath. “Hey, Killian,” I said. “I was hoping to talk to you again.”

“At your disposal.” He spread his arms wide. His English accent was adorable. I hadn’t seen him since I’d learned we were half siblings, and now I stared at him, trying to see some resemblance.

“Killian!” called Raven.

I groaned inwardly as she hurried over to us. In New York she had flirted with Killian hard an heavy and in front of Sky, who had not been amused. Somehow I hadn’t factored Raven into the scheme of things when I had agreed to be part of Eoife’s plan.

“Hey, baby!” she said enthusiastically, leaning down to kiss him on both cheeks. Killian looked happy to see another of him many admirers, and he pulled her down to sit next to him.

“I was nearby, thought I’d drop in,” said Killian, giving me a glance. He knew that I was a blood witch and that the others weren’t, and he seemed to be gauging what to say. Amusement lit his eyes.

“I’m so glad you did,” purred Raven. “I thought we’d never see you again.”

“Yet here I am,” he said magnanimously. He smiled at her. and thought I felt exasperated—Go away, Raven—I also couldn’t help being amused, even a little proud. Killian was definitely fun to be around—but even more, I felt a sort kinship to him. I understood his humor, and his party-guy act didn’t bother me like it did so many of the others. Maybe that’s what blood ties really felt like.

“And there you are,” he said to Bree, checking her out in a way that was so outrageous, it was funny. She gave him a skeptical smile, then turned away.

“I’m starving,” she said, turning her gaze to me. “Want to go get something to eat?”

I bit my lip. Now that Killian was here, it was time to bond with him—time to gain his trust, ask about Ciaran, and hopefully get Ciaran out here. “Um, actually…Killian and I need to catch up.”

Bree looked surprised. “Oh.” She glanced over at Killian, who seemed absorbed with Raven, and then whispered to me, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry, Bree. I just need time to talk to Killian.”

Bree nodded slowly. “You’ll be all right alone with him?” she whispered.

I nodded quickly and circled my thumb and forefinger in the “okay” sign.

Bree nodded again, but her eyes still shone with concern. “All right,” she said, loud enough for Killian and Raven to hear.

“Well, I’m going to head home. See you guys.”

“Oh, yes, you certainly will.” Killian turned and grinned suggestively, and Bree smiled in a sort of confused way as she headed off.

“Well, I’m up for anything, as always,” Killian said, standing up and turning to me so that Raven’s leg was pushed to the side.

“Though I should mention that I’m rather famished myself.”

“I know a diner we could go to.”

“Perfect!” Killian flashed his trademark grin and turned to Raven. “How about you, love? Care to join us?”

“I can’t,” Raven said, frowning. “Mom’s suing Dad again and I have to meet with the lawyers.” She rolled her eyes. “They are such losers.”

“Oh, too bad,” I said, relieved, as Killian and I headed for Das Boot. I wasn’t sure if she meant the lawyers or her parents—probably both—and I didn’t care. Killian waved behind him as we walked off.

“Cool car,” he said as he climbed in, putting his arm across the back of the bench seat. “I love huge American cars. Gasguzzlers.” He smiles. “What year?”

“Nineteen seventy-one,” I said, pulling out into the street and heading toward the highway. Despite having called him, I was still rattled by Killian’s presence, and the weight of my mission pressed in on my chest, making me feel like I had drunk a couple of double espressos. “Listen, Killian,” I added quickly, “do you know who I am?” Might as well plunge right in.

“Sure. The witch from New York. With the friends, at the club.” He slouched comfortably against the seat, unconcerned that he was in a car with a virtual stranger going to a place he didn’t know, in a town he had just shown up in. He seemed like a leaf, a colorful autumn leaf, tossed about by the wind and content to go where it took him.

I took a deep breath. “Ciaran MacEwan is your father.”

He straightened a little bit, and I felt tension entering his body. He took a longer look at me, and I felt him cast his senses towards me, trying to figure out if I was friend or foe. I blocked his scan easily, not letting him in, and saw him straighten more.

“Yeah,” he said warily. “You knew that. So?”

My throat constricted as I turned onto the access road to Highway 9. Somehow I just couldn’t get the words out, and suddenly the diner was there in front of us. I pulled in and parked, and we didn’t speak again until we had ordered.

The waitress brought our drinks. We sat across from each other in the back booth of a fifties-retro diner. Killian took the paper off his straw, stuck it in his chocolate milk shake, and sipped—all without taking his eyes off me. I watched him, unable to decide what my next move should be.

“So, what do you want with Ciaran? Is your Seeker boyfriend looking for him?” Killian finally said lightly, but his face didn’t match his voice.

I fought to hide my surprise at his question. “The Seeker is not my boyfriend,” I said, looking him in the eye. “I found out Ciaran MacEwan is my father, too.”

Killian sat back as if he’d been slapped. His eyes open wide, he scanned me again, looking at my hair, my eyes, my face.

“I realized it in New York,” I explained awkwardly. “I didn’t know until then. But—Ciaran and my mother had an affair, and my mother had me.” And they were mùirn beatha dàns, soul mates, and then Ciaran killed her. And a short while ago he tried to kill me. I wondered if Killian had any idea what had happened to me in New York. I figured the odds were against it—he had told me that he and Ciaran weren’t all that close. Appearing out of nowhere, the waitress clanked our plates onto the table in front of us. Killian and I both jumped. After she left, he continued to look at me, stroking his chin.

“What was her name?” he asked finally. “Your mother.”

“Maeve Riordan, of Belwicket.”

I might as well have said Joan of Arc or Queen Elizabeth. He stared at me as if I’d suddenly grown two heads.

“I know that name,” he said faintly. Then, seeming to come back to himself, he shook his head and looked down at his hamburger. “American hamburgers.” He sighed happily. “I’m so sick of mad cow disease.” He picked it up with both hands and took a big bite, closing his eyes in pleasure.