[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

grown up with---my real dad. My real dad was sweet, vague,
and slow to anger. My mom usually takes care of the money,
the insurance, anything complicated. Ciaran seemed like he
was always in charge, always knew the answer, could always
come through. It would have been quite different, growing up
with him. Not better, I knew, though we did seem to have a
connection. Just different.
Ciaran and Killian were drinking a wine that was a deep,
dark purple-red. I detected a scent of crushed grapes and
oranges and some kind of spice I couldn't identify. My mouth
watered, and I wished I could have some, but I had sworn
never to drink again for the rest of my life. I could almost taste
the full, heavy flavor.
The waiter brought over their appetizers and my cheesecake
at the same time, and we al began to eat. How could I make
this meeting work for me? I needed information. Thinking
about this, I took a bite of cheesecake and smothered a
moan. It was incredibly rich, incredibly dense, with notes of
sour cream riddled with streams of sweet, smooth coffee
and dark chocolate. It was the most perfect thing I had ever
eaten, and took tiny bites to make it last longer.
"Tel me about growing up here," said Ciaran. "In America,
without knowing your heritage."
I hesitated. I needed to share enough to make him feel that I
trusted him, yet also protect myself from giving him any
knowledge he could use against me. Then it occurred to me
that he was so powerful, he could use anything against me
and my being on guard was a waste of time.
"When I was growing up, I didn't know I was adopted. So I
believed my heritage was Irish, al the way through. Catholic.
All my relatives are, al the people at my church. I was just one
more."
"Did you feel like you belonged?" Ciaran had a way of
cutting into the heart of a matter, slicing through smoke and
details to get at the very core of the meaning.
"No," I said softly, and took another sip of the tea. It was light
and delicate. I took another sip.
"You wouldn't have fit in any better in my vil age," Kil ian
broke in. His face looked rough and handsome in the dim
light of the restaurant, his hair shot through with gold and
wine-colored strands. He didn't have Ciaran's grace or
sophistication or palpable power, but he was friendly and
charming. "It was a whole town of vil age idiots."
I was startled into laughter, and he went on. "There wasn't a
normal person among us. Every single soul was some odd
character that other people had to watch out for. Old Sven
Thorgard was a Vikroth who had settled in our town,
Goddess knows why. The only magick he worked was on
goats. Healing goats, finding goats, making goats fertile,
increasing goats'
milk."
"Real y?" I laughed nervously. As hard as Killian was trying to
entertain us, Ciaran was stil watching us both with a
suspicious, dark expression. I wondered whether that was
his response to Kil ian or just evidence that he was actually
planning to do away with both of us.
"Real y," Killian said. "Goddess, he was weird. And Tacy
Humbert---"
At the mention of that name, Ciaran broke into a smile and
shook his head. He drank some wine and poured a tiny drop
more in Killian's glass. I relaxed a bit.
"Tacy Humbert was love starved," Killian said in a loud
whisper. "I mean starved. And she wasn't bad looking. But
she was such a shrew that no one would take her out more
than once. So she'd put love spel s on the poor sap.
Ciaran chuckled. "Her aim wasn't perfect."
"Perfect!" Killian exclaimed. "Goddess, Da, do you
remember the time she zapped old Floss?
I had that dog climbing all over me for a week!"
We all laughed, but I thought I detected a warning glance
exchanged between Ciaran and Killian. I wondered what
Ciaran's problem was. I loved hearing about the very
different life Killian had lived in Scotland. "Here, top us up,
Da." Kil ian said, holding out his wineglass.
With narrowed eyes Ciaran fil ed it half ful , then put the bottle
on the other side of the table.
Killian gave Ciaran a challenging look, but being ignored, he
sighed and drained his glass.
"Were there many Woodbane in your vil age?" I asked.
Killian nodded, his mouth full. He swallowed and said,
"Mostly Woodbanes. A couple of others. People on the
outside of the village or who had married into families. My
Ma's family has been there longer than folks can remember,
and they're Woodbanes back to the beginning."
At the mention of Kil ian's mother, a shadow passed over
Ciaran's face. He toyed with the last of his salad and didn't
look at Kil ian.
"It must have been nice, being surrounded by people like
you. Feeling like you fit in, like you belong," I said. "Al
celebrating the same holidays." Like Imbolic.
"It is nice to have an all-Woodbane community," Ciaran put in
smoothly. "Particularly because of the commonly held view
that most witches have about us. If it were up to them, we
would be broken up and disbanded."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean, Woodbanes are like any other cultural or ethnic
group who has been forcibly dispersed. The Romany in
Europe. The Native Indians here. The aboriginals in
Australia.
These were intact cultures that other cultures found
threatening and so were killed, separated, dispersed, exiled.
Within the Wiccan culture, Woodbanes have been cast in
that role. The other clans fear us and so must destroy us."
"How do you fight that?" I asked.
"Any way I can," he said. "I protect myself and my own. I've
joined with other Woodbanes who feel the same way."
"Amyranth," I said.
"Yes." His gaze rested on me for a moment.
"Tel me about them," I said, trying to sound casual. "What is
it like to have an al -Woodbane coven?"
"It's powerful," said Ciaran. "It makes us feel less vulnerable.
Like American pioneers, circling their wagons at night to
keep intruders out."
"I see." I nodded, I hoped not too enthusiastically. Maybe this
was my chance, I realized.
Ciaran was opening up. Talking about Woodbane heritage
seemed to animate him, to make him less suspicious. I
remembered the sigil and thought if I could just touch his arm,
in a loving, daughterly gesture, I might be able to quickly
trace the sigil on his sleeve...
"I'm glad to hear you say that," I said confidently, shifting my
chair closer. "Woodbanes are persecuted, so it's only natural
that we'd try to protect ourselves, right?" I smiled, and Ciaran
only regarded me curiously. It was impossible to read that
expression. Did he trust me?
Trying to keep my had from shaking, I lifted from my lap. I will
touch his hand and say thank you, I thought. Thank you for tel
ing me that I shouldn't be ashamed of my heritage. I reached
out to touch him. "Th---"
"Excuse me for a moment," Ciaran broke in, rising. He
headed towards the back of the restaurant, and Kil ian and I
were left alone. I was stunned. I moved my hand back to my
lap.
What was he doing? Had I been too obvious? Was he calling
Amyranth to get help in capturing me again?
Ciaran had left his suit jacket folded over the back of his
chair, and my eyes lit on it. If I could put the watch sigil on his
jacket... But Kil ian's bright gaze stopped me.
"Do you have plans for Imbolic?" I asked quickly.
Killian shrugged, giving me an almost amused expression.
Had he seen what I was thinking?
"I'll hook up with a coven somewhere. I love Imbolic. Maybe I
could sit in with Kithic?"
"Maybe," I said evasively, wondering what Hunter's plans
were for our celebration.
Ciaran was back in a few minutes and paid the check. I
didn't sense any anger in his demeanor. He put on his jacket,
and I regretted not tracing the sigil on it. What to do now?
Should I press him for more information? Goddess, I was
bad at this.
"Morgan, can you come to the house where Killian's
staying?" Ciaran asked as we left Pepperino's. "It's the
house of a friend who's currently out of the country. She's
been kind enough to let him stay there."
As I looked at Ciaran, trying to remain calm, terror gripped at [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

glaz.keep.pl