"Must be the dates are off," Sky suggested quietly.
"Yes," Morgan said firmly, standing up. "This is one thing you don't have to worry about, Moira, I promise you. You're definitely Colm's daughter." Her mother kissed her and smiled into her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know you've had a lot of shocks lately. But believe me, you were Colm's daughter and mine, and you made our lives complete. Your dad loved you more than anything. Okay?"
Moira forced a nod, but she felt as if her internal organs were collapsing in on themselves, as if, in moments, she would be a puddle on the floor. Her mother sounded so sure, so confident-but Moira had a terrible, horrifying feeling that she was wrong.
12. Morgan
After Moira left, Morgan sat at the table, her tea getting cold. It was as if someone had taken her life, put it in a kaleidoscope, and given it a quick shake. Everything was skewed, changed, off. There were so many questions piling up inside her that soon enough they would start to spill out. Was Hunter really alive? Was he sending her messages from the dead or was someone else? Hunter would never, ever hurt her-that black smoke couldn't have been from him. But it had happened at the same time as all the other signs, so there had to be a connection, didn't there?
And then there was everything Moira had just said. Goddess, was there any possibility that Moira was Hunter's…
No, she's Colm's daughter, Morgan told herself. Colm's and mine. Moira's dream… it had to mean something else. It had to be connected to all these other strange visions and dreams.
"I know what you're thinking," Sky finally said, breaking the silence that hung between them. "But Morgan, we can't just sit and wait for answers. We have to act. And I think the first thing we need to do is clean up your house. Having all those sigils and hexes around here can't be helping any of us think clearly. They were probably spelled so that you-or members of your coven, specifically-couldn't find them, because when I looked, they were popping out at me without too much trouble."
"That would make sense," Morgan said. She shook her head. "It's what I would do."
"If you were the type of person who went around spelling people to break their necks," Sky agreed. "Let's sort it all out right now."
"Yes," said Morgan, trying to shake off the weighty grayness that made her shoulders and neck ache. She needed to think clearly. "That would be a start."
Morgan fetched the Riordan athame, the ancient knife carved with generations of her family's initials. When she became high priestess, her initials would be added. She and Sky went outside, and one by one Sky showed her the hexes, spells, and sigils that she'd found sprinkled liberally everywhere. Working with Sky, Morgan passed the athame over the sigils and saw the sigils glow faintly silver or red. It was off alone that she saw nothing, but as she and Sky worked, Morgan began to sense the spells more easily.
"This is unbelievable," Morgan breathed as their number grew. "I just went over the house. I can't believe this is happening." A wave of nausea overcame her, and she had to sit down. So many years she'd lived peacefully, without the thought of dark magick. And now it was surrounding her and Moira, with someone out there waiting to use it to strangle them both. "Like I said, they were spelled to keep you from finding them. Someone wishes you harm," Sky said with characteristic understatement. She held up a small glass bottle full of nails, pins, needles, and vinegar. "How's your stomach been lately? Any ulcers?"
"No," Morgan said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Goddess. I'm just so grateful that Moira hasn't been hurt."
"These people must be just astounded every day," Sky said, "when they read the paper and don't find an article about how your roof caved in or your brakes gave out or you slipped on your walk and broke your hip. You're stronger than they think. Or else their magick is pathetic." She looked at the pouch with distaste, then added it to the small pile in the corner of the yard.
"Katrina and I have been doing a lot of protection spells," said Morgan. "This house itself is built on an ancient power ley, and we tap into that."
"Oh, yes, the legend about the local power ley. Didn't know anyone knew where it was. Good. That's the only explanation I have for the fact that you're still standing. That and you're Morgan of Belwicket," Sky said. "Some of this stuff has been nasty."
All of a sudden Morgan felt as if she couldn't bear it. She collapsed to the ground. "Sky," she began. "I thought I was done with all this."
"I know," Sky said. "And you should be. You've been through enough." Her black eyes became thoughtful. "But you're no ordinary witch. You're Morgan of Belwicket. Maeve's daughter. Ciaran's daughter. You are the sgiurs dan."
Morgan's eyes opened wider. The sgiurs dan-the Destroyer. Ciaran had told her that years ago, as part of his explanation for wanting her dead. Every several generations within the Woodbane clan a Destroyer was born. A witch who would change the course of Woodbane history. "But didn't I already change Woodbane history, by helping to destroy Amyranth? By removing Ciaran from power? And now by leading Belwicket in a new direction?"
"I certainly thought so," Sky said wryly. "But maybe the wheel has something more for you to do."
The wheel of life. Fate. Karma. Morgan felt oddly inadequate for what the wheel kept dishing out. "Sky… I just don't know if I can fight anymore, not like I did back then."
Sky's gaze was calm and sure. "Morgan. You are stronger than you know. How strange that you still don't realize that."
Then she turned and began to set up what they would need to undo all the dark spells. It was harder to undo magick than to do it. They had to work backward, unraveling what had been wrought. It was easier working together, Morgan thought. If she'd had to do this alone, one step at a time, it would have taken so much longer. And unspoken between them was the same constant thought of where this could all lead, a reason to work as quickly and thoroughly as possible-Hunter.
By two o'clock that afternoon the house and yard had been cleared. The actual physical embodiments of the hexes and spells would be buried in the sand, down by the sea, where time and salt water would slowly purify them. Morgan and Sky began to relay new circles of protection. It was a shame there wouldn't be a full moon that night, but they had to work with what they had. They couldn't afford to wait even a moment. They worked from the inside out. Starting in the northeast corner, which was in the guest room, Morgan and Sky lit small brushes of dried sage. These they waved in every corner, in the closet, around the windows. Their smudgy, herbal smoke would help purify the energy and rid the house of evil intentions. They chanted protection spells in each room, sprinkled salt on every floor, and washed each window so that evil would be reflected and healing energy could flow through. Morgan drew sigils of protection on the walls above every door frame and window frame. In each corner of every room she put a small chunk of pure iron, surrounded by a circle of salt.
Outside, Morgan and Sky walked the perimeter of the property, carrying lit candles and burning sagebrush. They gathered handfuls of willow twigs and lightly slapped them all around the low stone walls that surrounded the house and yard. Again Morgan drew sigils of protection above every door and window, drawing them first with silver paint, then overlaying them with invisible lines, marked with her own witch's sign.
They traced Xs across each door and window with Morgan's athame and sprinkled salt in a solid line on the inside of the stone walls.
"You're going to look out your window and find your yard full of deer," Sky said dryly as they sprinkled salt.
"As long as they're not evil Ealltuinn deer, that's okay," Morgan said.
"So you still think this is coming from them?"