Changeling
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"I will," Hunter promised.
I stared into the bottom of my dark mug. "I feel like such a failure. I haven't learned anything about the time of the dark wave, or the spell, or anything. I've sentenced Alyce and Starlocket to death." My eyes stung, and I knew tears would come later.
"No, Morgan," Hunter said, rubbing my knee through the blanket. "You got Killian here, and Ciaran. They know we're here and that we're on high alert. And you have to remembered, you did incredibly well just not to have been killed."
"Oh, God." I groaned and shook my head. "At least I planted the watch sigil on him."
"What? You did?" Hunter looked incredulous. "When?"
"Right as we were turning, shifting. I breathed it into his fur and traced the sigil on his neck. Actually, that was probably useless, too. Once he changes back—"
"It will still be on him," Hunter said, his face breaking into a huge grin. "Oh, Goddess, Morgan! The council is going to be ecstatic to hear it. That's the best news I've had in a long time." He leaned and kissed my cheek and my forehead. "Morgan, I think your mission was a smashing success. You planted the watch sigil on Ciaran, and we're both still alive, unhurt…" Hunter took my free hand and kissed it, looking at me encouragingly. I didn't know how to respond.
The truth was, his joy didn't affect me that much. I had planted a betraying sigil on my biological father. And he had given me such a gift… For a moment I remembered running through the woods on all fours, and I closed my eyes.
And then I remembered… I had learned his true name. Something that could give me complete power over my father, one of the darkest witches the world had ever know. The thought of using it against him made my stomach clench. For now, I thought, I would guard this as my secret. I wouldn't tell the council—wouldn't even tell Hunter. If it became necessary, I could use it. But I didn't want to give anyone else the power to destroy my natural father. I couldn't.
"He wanted you to kill me," he said softly, as though he was reading my mind. He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt his warmth seeping through the blanket. "If you had killed, it would have been one less Seeker—and you'd have lost your m`uirn beatha d`an. It would have bound you to him in a way that love alone never could."
I shuddered at the thought of losing Hunter. "I was starting to care for him," I admitted.
"I know," said Hunter. "How could you not? He's your birth father. And I believe that his feelings for you were sincere also. Despite everything, I believe that's true."
Then I began to cry again, tears leaking silently out of my eyes and running hotly down my cheeks. I didn't have the energy to sob, and it would have hurt too much, anyway.
"I have you," Hunter said, holding me close. "I have you. You're safe. It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."
"There's no way anything will ever be all right again," I said shakily, and he began kissing the tears away from my cheeks.
"That's not true," he said.
I looked into his green eyes, the eyes that had stared me down when I was a wolf. And I knew then: I knew in my heart that I was good.
"I love you so much," I said.
He gave me a half smile and leaned closer, blotting out my vision of the fire. He's going to kiss me, I thought, but by then his lips were already against mine. Tentatively at first, then with increasing pressure as I responded. Gradually I felt light growing all around us, bathing us in a silvery white glow. I reached one arm up to curl it around his neck, and then we had our arms around each other. We kissed deeply an more deeply, trying to fuse together after being apart too long. Then suddenly it was just like the day at Bree's house with Killian: flowers, all different kinds and colors and sizes, showering down upon us, petal soft. I broke away for a moment, gazing around me, and started to laugh. Hunter followed my gaze, looking up at the shower of petals, and his face transformed into a huge smile. He kissed me again, and his body pressed against mine, comforting me to my very soul. I held him to me as tightly as I could, all my muscles screaming in pain as I moved. I didn't care. I was back in Hunter's arms and he was in mine, and everything was going to be all right.
My parents came home the next day, while I was home "sick." I felt their car come up the driveway and quickly ran my hands over my ears, checking to make sure they were still round and naked instead of pointy and furry. Moving gingerly downstairs, I met them at the front door.
"Hi, honey!" My mom said, giving me a big hug. I tried not to moan in pain; every cell in my body still hurt. She glanced at her watch and looked at my face more closely.
"Morgan!" Dad said, struggling through the door with two suitcases. "Are you sick?"
"You look awful," Mom said, putting her hand to my cheek. "Do you have a fever?"
"I think so," I said. "I thought I'd better stay home today. It's the only day I've missed."
"Poor thing," Mom said, and I felt a maternal mantle of comfort settle around me. "You go get back into bed. I'll bring you some Tylenol and a ginger ale."
I almost wept with happiness. "I'm glad you're home," I choked out, then headed back upstairs to my waiting bed. Ciaran was gone, Killian hadn't been heard from since our father disappeared, Hunter and I were back together (I thought), and my parents were home. It was a whole new day.
"Today is the feast of lights," said Eoife at our circle two days later. She raised a white candle high. "Today is for new beginnings, for purification, for renewal of spirit, body, hearth, and home. We give blessed thanks to the Goddess for the past year and dedicate ourselves anew to our studies and devotions."
Next to her Alyce Fernbrake ignited her candle from Eoife's, and the two women smiled at each other before Alyce turned and bent to light Suzanna Mearis's candle. Suzanna was now in a wheelchair. Around the circle went the flame, from candle to candle, witch to witch.
"Blessed thanks," we said when the last candle was lit. Then, moving deasil around Hunter and Sky's large circle room, we each sprinkled a small handful of salt on the floor around us. It crunched under our feet. I looked around at the many softly lit faces. It was Saturday night, Imbolic, February 2. For this joyful celebration, one of the four major Wiccan Sabbats, Kithic had joined forces with Starlocket, and there were twenty-six of us purifying ourselves, this room, this year.