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who's around, that kind of thing, then yeah, I guess I usual y
cast my senses."
She poured the tea into two delicate cups with saucers.
"Who taught you how to do that?"
"No one it just came to me." I circled my left hand over my
tea, widdershins, and thought, Cool the firee. Now the tea
was the perfect temperature, and I took a long sip. Aaahh.
Frowning, not angrily but as if perplexed, Eoife looked at me
from across the table. "You cooled your tea."
"Uh-huh. It's great. Thanks for making it," Another big
swallow, hoping this tea had caffeine in it. I couldn't tel .
"Morgan---" Eoife began, but then she shook her head.
"Never mind."
I took a packet of Pop-Tarts out of my backpack and opened
it. They're better toasted but perfectly edible cold if
necessary. I offered one to Eoife and thought I detected a
faint shudder as she refused.
Holding her teacup with both hands, Eoife said, "I'm sorry to
tel you, Morgan, that Suzanna Mearis is still in a coma,"
I looked at Eoife, and sudden guilt crashed down on me. The
truth was, I had barely though of Suzanna in the last couple of
days. I had been there to see her fall, I had witnessed the
taibhs, I knew that her coven was destined for destruction,
yet I had spent the last two days partying and abusing my
power. What kind of witch was I? "Has anything else
happened?"
"Not as of this morning, thank the Goddess." She put down
her cup and gazed at me. "Has Killian spoken to Ciaran?"
"Not yet," I admitted. "He said I'm more eager to see him
Ciaran than he is. I guess Ciaran is angry at him, and Killian
wants to delay having to deal with it." I looked up at Eoife's
chestnut-colored eyes, remembering again Suzanna's warm
house and serene expression.
"I feel like I should press harder," I admitted. "I know that you
said not to make Kil ian suspicious , but Imbolic is getting
closer and closer. Maybe if I told Killian I was desperate to
meet my father again..."
I felt tension tightening Eoife's slight body. "No, Morgan," she
said, leaning over the table.
Her eyes burned in her porcelain face. "We have to tread
cautiously. I know that this is difficult, but we mustn't destroy
the mission by acting in haste."
I nodded slowly and looked deep into my teacup. "Okay," I
murmured. "I'l keep working.
Ciaran wil come ere, and I'l get information out of him."
Eoife sat back in her chair, her eyes stil on me. "I'm sorry,"
she said again. "You make it easy to forget that you're young
an uninitiated."
"I can do this," I said firmly, pushing aside my tea. Looking
vaguely sympathetic, Eoife nodded back at me, and I picked
up my coat and left.
School seemed more surreal then usual that morning since I
had just come from a meeting with Eoife. I felt schizophrenic:
high school student by day, undercover ICOW agent by night.
In my first period I had barely sat down when my American
history teacher, Mr. Powell, pulled out an ominous sheaf of
papers. "As I mentioned last Friday," he said, starting to
hand them out, "this is a test on what we've learned since the
winter holiday's."
I stared at him in horror, then mental y said every bad word I
could think of. Tara Wil iams handed the pile of papers back
to me, and I took one and passed the rest to Jeff Goldstein.
Just this morning I had worried about my life being out of
control. Here was my proof. My grades had been slipping,
and in three months I had gone from a straight-A student to s
straight-B student with maybe a couple if Cs, which my
parents were going to freak about.
Now I was about to get a big fat F on this test.
Unless...
Unless. I thought about Killian, about his charm, his skil , the
easy comfort with which he did things. Life had not come
pleasantly for my half brother, but he'd gone a long way to
making it easier and more fun. What would he do in this
situation?
I looked up at Mr. Powel . All it would take was a simple spell
that would make Mr. Powell forget he'd intended to give us
this test. Or to think this one was the wrong test , and he'd
bring another one tomorrow. Or to think we were supposed
to have the test next week.
I bit my lip. What was I thinking? This was exactly what Hunter
always talked about: making the wrong decision, making the
decision that benefits only yourself, making the decision that
doesn't take other people into account. He always said that
was why the council had introduced regulations and
guidelines back in the early 1800s. Because it's so easy to
make the wrong small decision. And once you do, it's even
easier to make the wrong big decision.
And then, boom. You're part of the darkness.
I made choices every day, all day long. I needed to be more
aware of al of them, needed to consciously try to make the
right decision, a decision for good. I resigned myself to the
fact that the only thing I would get right on this test was my
own name.
When Killian wasn't waiting for me after school, I felt relief as
wel as disappointment. I could try sending him a witch
message, I knew---but maybe that would make him
suspicious. After al , we had seen each other almost
everyday this week. Would I seem to clingy if I cal ed him
today, too?
"Want to come hang out?" Bree asked as I walked toward
Das Boot. "Robbie and I are going to my house for a while."
"Thanks," I said. "But I've been letting a lot of things slide. I
better go home and crank."
"Okay. See you later."
I started my car and turned the heater up. I wondered where
Bree and Robbie were in their relationship and how it was
going. Although I had been seeing my friends every day this
week, I felt oddly disconnected from them. Being with Kil ian
had meant only fun and magick.
Unfortunately for my mission, it hadn't meant real y talking to
each other, sharing our feelings, getting closer.
Okay. Now I was all touchy-feely. This was getting me
nowhere. I had to focus: concentrate on getting Killian to cal
Ciaran, getting closer to both of them, saving Starlocket.
There wasn't any time to think about my own problems. And
probably, I thought as my heart sank into my stomach, that
was a good thing.
When I got home, I cleaned the kitchen, loaded the
dishwasher for the first time since my parents have left, fed
Dagda and cleaned his litter box, and called Aunt Eileen.
"Yep, everything is fine," I told her, trying to sound like that
was true. "No---no coed sleepovers. At least not yet. Ha ha."
After we hung up, I headed upstairs to my room and
determinedly sat down at my desk. I would study for a while,
then send a witch message to Killian, asking him about
Ciaran.
I started with American history, reviewing chapters and
making notes. I hoped that I could undo some of the damage
of today's test with extra credit. Dagda came and settled
himself on my desk right under the heat of the lamp.
"You have it good," I told him. "No school, no parents, no
choices between good and evil. No history test."
Ugh. If only I could do a tàth meànma brach with Mr. Powel
and just absorb al his knowledge. Then I could ace this class.
A couple of hours later I ate an apple with peanut butter for
dinner and got ready to send a witch message to Kil ian. I
was just calming my thoughts to do it when my senses
tingled: Hunter was coming up the walk. I stil seemed to be
able to pick up on his vibrations more easily than I could
almost anyone else's.
It occurred to me that the last time I saw him, I'd been
throwing up my guts. So I felt real y lovely and feminine,
waiting for him to come to the door. At least this time my face
was clean.
"Hi," I said as he stepped onto the porch.
"Hi." His green eyes swept me from head to foot. "How are
you feeling?"
"Fine. Thanks for your help the other night," I said, not looking
at him.
"You're welcome," he said, just as cool y. "I'm here to receive
your report. Can we go inside?"
What report? I wondered. I'd given my report to Eoife this
morning. Had he not heard it from her? Or was there some
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