Unblinking, Sky said, "I think so, too."
"But I don't know where. Sky, we have to find him." Morgan propped herself up on her elbows. "He's on a beach, which narrows it down to tens of thousands of miles of shorelines around the world."
Sky was silent, thinking. Morgan racked her brain, still muddled from the shock. What could they do?
Then Moira took a deep breath and said, "I have an idea."
It was as if Finnegan had started talking. Morgan and Sky just stared at her.
"What?" Morgan asked.
15. Moira
With Sky driving and Moira navigating, the three reached Lilith Delaney's cottage in fifteen minutes.
"What exactly did you see?" Morgan asked for the third time.
"It was him," said Moira, from the backseat. "Turn left up here, at the second lane. I didn't recognize him before because the Hunter in my dream was young and looked really different. But the one I saw in Lilith's crystal was the same person I saw in the silver ball."
"Are you quite sure?" Sky asked, her long, bony fingers tight on the steering wheel.
Moira nodded to herself and said, "Yes. If that was Hunter we saw tonight, then I saw him in Lilith's crystal last night. Do you… do you really think he's alive?" Hunter had looked horrible. Moira thought about Colm, how neat and cheerful and ordinary he had looked. So comforting, reassuring. Like a dad.
"If it's the same person from the silver ball, then yes," Moira's mum said, her voice constrained.
Moira had been trying to suppress her fear this whole time, but now it was threatening to break through. She had no idea what to expect from Lilith Delaney now that it seemed like her mum had been right about her all along. "Here!" she said, peering into the darkness, recognizing the huge oak trees that lined the small road where Ian’s cottage was.
Just six hours ago he had been so comforting on the headland, when she'd felt like she was losing her mind. Had all of that really been an act? Was he using her, trying to gain her trust the way Cal had used her mum? It seemed hard to believe he wasn't now.
But something in her was still praying that somehow Ian had nothing to do with his mother. She just couldn't reconcile her image of him, so kind, so caring, with another image of him actively working with his mother to harm them. Please let it not be true. Not Ian. Please, please, just not Ian.
The house wasn't dark, despite the late hour. A light was on in one upstairs room, and several rooms were lit downstairs. The three witches got out of the car, and Moira noticed that Sky was watching Morgan intently. A wave of light fell on her mother's face as they approached the house, and Moira almost gasped aloud. Her mum looked older, harder-stronger, and almost nothing like her mother the softhearted healer. Was this what she had looked like long ago, when she'd had to fight Ciaran and the dark wave?
They strode toward the house, and about ten feet from the front door Moira suddenly felt like she was trying to walk through gelatin. The air itself felt thick: it had weight and a heavy texture.
"What is this?" she asked in a low tone.
"Spells to keep unfriendly people out," Morgan said grimly, pushing through it as if it were wet tissue paper. Next to her Sky was murmuring under her breath, and Moira saw that her mum was tracing sigils in the air in front of her.
The door opened before they got to it. Ian stood there, still in his muddy clothes from before. "Moira?" he asked, astonished. "Are you all right? What's going on?" He sounded sincere. Moira would have given anything for him to really care, but she couldn't risk him fooling her for another minute. She turned away, not meeting his gaze.
"Where's your mother, Ian?" Morgan asked in a voice like a brick.
"What's wrong?" he answered, his voice sounding formal, less friendly. Just hearing the change of his tone made Moira's heart sink. What had she been thinking? Lilith was his mother. Moira, Moira, how stupid are you?
"What's this about?" Ian crossed his arms and stood in the doorway. They were on opposite sides, had been all along, but she had refused to see it. Her heart felt crushed, bruised. "Moira?" Ian asked, looking over their heads at her, standing behind them in the dark. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she said shortly, more confused than ever.
Then a thickset figure appeared behind him, outlined by the light spilling out onto the lawn. "Morgan Byrne," Lilith Delaney said. "I confess to surprise. What could possibly make you think you have the right to show up here and harass my son?"
"For your sake, I hope Ian isn't involved," Morgan replied sharply. A shiver crept up Moira's spine at her mother's tone. Morgan's voice conjured up images of glaciers, scraping their way inexorably across a landscape of rock. "Let me see," her mum continued. "I could have come to return a boxful of pathetic, amateurish hexes, ill-luck charms, and injury fetishes that you've littered about my house and yard."
Lilith Delaney blinked and pushed ahead of Ian. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, sounding bored.
Morgan laughed thinly, and Moira winced. "Please," her mum said. "Bottles full of nails, needles, and vinegar? Let's see… I think most children learn that in about the third form. Not very impressive-for a high priestess."
Moira knew that the hexes and spells put on the house and yard had been much more serious than that, with dangerously dark intentions and a great deal of thought and power put into them. Mum was obviously trying to goad Lilith by making it sound like a slow-witted child had created them. Moira could feel the coil of anger starting in Lilith's stomach.
"Are you done?" Lilith asked. "It's late, and the children have school tomorrow. Moira's already interrupted Ian’s studies enough for one day."
Ian frowned and glanced at his mother.
"But then I guess she was upset, finding out she was a bastard daughter, just like her mother," Lilith continued.
Oh, Goddess. Ian had told Lilith about Ciaran and Hunter and everything. Moira took in a breath, then let it out, trying to release the raw sting of betrayal. She deliberately refused to look at Ian.
"You are so mistaken, Morgan," Lilith sneered. "You're ashamed of your father, who was one of the greatest witches to ever live. But you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You are weak, uncommitted, unfocused-you belong to a coven of dog-witches who have milquetoast circles where you all celebrate someone having a good day. Ciaran MacEwan! His blood should be celebrated, his memory revered, his lessons learned by every witch! But no-you think him evil. Your vision, your knowledge, is so small, so pedestrian, that you can't begin to encompass what a leader he was! You shouldn't be allowed to live, much less work your pointless and juvenile magick."
"We have different views," Morgan said, her face like stone. "But we have some things in common. Hunter Niall. I want to know what you know."
"Never heard of him," Lilith said, shrugging. "Now quit wasting my time." She stepped back into the doorway.
"You do know him!" Moira cried, rushing forward. "You were looking at him in your crystal the first day I came by!"
Lilith's eyebrows raised slightly, then she rolled her eyes and started to shut the door, refusing even to acknowledge Moira's words. In the next second she froze almost comically, as if suddenly pretending to be a statue. Her hand was on the door, but her back stiffened and the only thing she moved were her eyes, which widened and focused on Morgan.
Moira saw that her mother's right hand was stretched out, palm facing Lilith, and as Moira watched, Morgan slowly began to close the fingers of that hand.
Lilith Delaney whimpered, and Moira stepped back and brought her hand up to her mouth. She'd never seen anything like this. Never seen her mother do anything like this. Morgan kept her hand outstretched, but the more she closed her fingers, the more Lilith seemed to crumple against the door. It was clear that Lilith was striving not to look afraid, but Moira could feel the prickles of fear emanating from her, the way she had felt her anger a minute ago. "You will tell me," Morgan said, her voice low and terrible to hear, hardly human. Mum? It was hard to keep from panicking-things were spinning out of control so fast that nothing made sense anymore. How could her mum be so cruel, so deadly? Moira's legs felt weak, and she struggled not to fall to the ground.