Cate Tiernan - Changeling

• Название: Changeling
• Автор: Cate Tiernan
• Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика

When Morgan receives a shocking revelation about her family, she's thrown into a moral tailspin, believing that her essential nature is evil. Is her dark heritage too powerful to overcome?

---

“Killian, I wanted to ask you—” I began.

“I love this song!” Killian shouted as the jukebox started another number. “Come on!” Clambering out of the booth, he grabbed Bree’s hand, who grabbed Robbie’s hand, who grabbed my hand, and then we were all dancing together on the tiny dance floor with sawdust slipping under our feet. And my opportunity was lost.

I’ve never been a big partier, and I hate dancing in public. The thing about whiskey sours, though, is they make you mind that kind of stuff less. Back at the table, Sharon and Ethan were actually bickering. When Ethan grabbed a beer off the waitress’s tray, Sharon’s face set like cement, and she grabbed her purse. I saw her ask Matt to take her home, and he agreed, shooting Ethan a glance.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Jenna said, and though I couldn’t hear the word physically, I heard them in my mind. Sharon shrugged, looking upset, and Jenna got her coat and followed Sharon and Matt.

Ethan was sucking down his beer, watching Sharon angrily, but he didn’t stop her from leaving. In moments he had finished the first beer and started on another.

“What was that about?” I asked Robbie. He and I had edged away from the crowd and were now leaning against a back wall that felt sticky. I felt hot and out of breath, and a third whiskey sour felt fabulous going down my throat.

“Ethan had stopped drinking,” Robbie told me, not looking happy. “I didn’t think it was a great idea for him to come here.”

“Oh, crap,” I said, my head feeling light.

Robbie shrugged. At the table, Ethan’s second beer was empty. He signaled for another, but the waitress tapped her watch.

“Good,” I said, setting my empty glass on top of the jukebox. "It's closing time. They'll cut him off, and we can go home." I staggered a bit when I pushed myself off the wall, and that seemed amusing. It took forever for us to get our coats and scarves and pay our check, which was a stunning amount. Bree put it on her credit card, and we all promised to pay her back.

The shock of the night air took my breath away. "Oh, it's beautiful out," I said, gesturing to the wide expanse of sky. The night seemed darker than usual, the start brighter. But looking up made me lose my balance, and I would have fallen over if I hadn't crashed into Killian.

Laughing, he held me up until I was steady, and I blinked at him as the realization slowly came to me: I was wasted.

Robbie was loading Bree and Ethan into Breezy, and they were both feeling no pain. Raven was plastering herself to Killian, kissing him good-bye, and he wasn't resisting.

"Take me home," she said softly, holding his face between her hands. I rolled my eyes and started pawing through my fanny pack for my keys. Do not go home with her, I thought. Sky will kill you. And I need to talk to you alone. With a sudden pang, I wished Hunter were here. He would know what to do. He would help me. I would feel so much better.

"Raven, come with us," Robbie said. My hero. "You live close to Ethan, and I can drop off. Morgan takes another exit."

"I want to come home with you," Raven told Killian. She pressed her hips against him and smiled. "And you want me to."

He laughed and disengaged himself easily. "Not tonight, Raven. I'll take a rain check."

For a moment Raven couldn't decide whether to be angry or to pout, but in the end she was too drunk for either and fell backward into the backseat of Bree's car. Robbie sighed and slammed the door shut. Bree's fine dark hair was pressed against her window, and I saw her eyes were closed. With a wave good-bye, Robbie started Breezy and drove off.

"Fun people, your friends," said Killian. His words came out with puffs of condensation.

I looked at him for a moment until I understood the actual words. "Uh-huh," I said stupidly.

Killian grinned with delight and brushed my damp hair off my neck. "Little sister, are you tipsy?"

"I'm a mess," I said, feeling like my tongue needed to lie down and rest. Then two more synapses fired. "Oh, crap!" I said. "We're both drunk. Who's going to drive? We'll have to call a taxi."

"Oh, love, you're so concerned with what's right and wrong," Killian said soothingly. "It'll be fine. You know these roads. That car's a tank. No worries."

I was so drunk that I almost believed him. Then I shook my head, which felt loose and floppy. "No. We can't drive drunk," I slurred. "That would be bad."

His dark eyes glinted in the night.

I'm related to him, I thought in a daze. We share the same blood, I have a brother.

Slowly Killian reached out again and spread his hand on the side of my head, pushing his fingers beneath my hair. Smiling down at me, he whispered some words in Gaelic that I didn't know but somehow understood the meaning of. I started to feel strange and closed my eyes. When he quit speaking, I waited till he had moved his hand, then opened my eyes. I felt stone cold sober.

I looked around. I felt completely normal. I could walk, talk, and think. Killian saw the comprehension on my face and laughed again, his white teeth gleaming against his lips.

"Okay, I can drive," I said.

We got into Das Boot, my brain clinking away efficiently. I was sober; Killian was plastered. And I was going to find out where he was staying. There were possibilities here. I might get some information from him after all.

I drove slowly back down old Highway 60. Killian was leaning against his door, his head against the window. Eyes closed, he was singing under his breath.

"How did you get home last night?" I asked. "I ran after you to offer you a ride home, but you were already gone. How did you do it?"

Killian was looking out the window, not at me, but I could still sense his mischievous smile. "Oh, didn't you see, love?" he asked. "I had my portable broomstick in my pocket."

All right, I thought. I took that as something that I shouldn't press further. Let's try a new tactic.

"Where am I taking you now? Where are you staying?"

"Oh, ah…" Killian peered out the window, as if trying to figure out himself. "I don't really know the names of the roads here. I'll just have to tell you where to turn. You stay on this road for a while."

Okay. "You and Ciaran don't seem that much alike," I said, keeping my eyes on the road.

He blinked sleepily, giving me a sweet smile. I could see how he would be popular anywhere he went. He was fun, undemanding, flexible, and not at all mean-spirited.

“No,” he agreed. “We’re not.”

“Is that because he just wasn’t around that much when you were little?”

Killian thought. “Maybe. Partly. But it’s the whole nature-and-nurture thing. Even if he’d been around all the time, signing my school mark report, It’s probably still be pretty different from him.”

“Why?” Note to self: Do not become a lawyer. Your interrogation skills suck.

He shrugged. “Don’t know.” He sat up in his seat. “Take a left here.”

So he wasn’t Mr. Introspection. Okay. New tactic. “What are your brother and sister like?”

“They’re different from him, too. I don’t know.” Killian looked out the window into the dark woods on his side of the car. There was no moon tonight; the sky was laden with heavy clouds that seemed almost to touch the treetops. “It’s just—Da is very ambitious, you know? He married Mum so he could lead her mother’s coven. He just wants power, no matter what. It’s more important than family or…” His voice trailed off, and I wondered if he thought he’d said too much. He still seemed very drunk—his words were thick and seemed to take a lot of thought.

“Is your mom like that, too?”

Killian gave a short bark of a laugh. “Goddess, no. Which is why Da inherited her coven, not her. She should be really strong, it’s in her blood, but she just pisses it all away, you know? Ma’s a housewife, a princess, really. Always complaining about her lot in life. I think she loved Da, but he loved her inheritance. Plus she was pregnant with my older brother when they got married.”

This picture of Ciaran’s life seemed so different that what I’d imagined, reading the romantic, agonized entries in Maeve’s BOS.

“Anyway—if he loved your ma, then maybe that explains why he couldn’t stand any of us.” There was a bewildered hurt in his voice that I didn’t think would’ve been there without all the Jell-O shots.

“I’m sorry Killian,” I said, and meant it. In his own way, he was another of Ciaran’s victims. Did everyone Ciaran touched pay a price for it? Did I have the same effect?

“Yeah well,” Killian gave a smile. “I don’t lose sleep over it. But I don’t want you to think you’re inheriting Mr. and Mrs. Lovely. Our family’s kind of different.” He gave what seemed like a bitter chuckle and leaned his head against the window again.

“But they’re still your family,” I said. “They’re yours. They belong to you and you to them. That’s something.” I wasn’t aware of the tense catch in my throat until the final word and didn’t turn around when I felt my half brother’s eyes on me.

“Stop here a minute,” he said.

“Here?” I looked out at the deserted road. We were in the middle of the woods; I couldn’t see any houses anywhere. Why did he want me to stop?

“Right here.” I stopped the car, and Killian leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. It was very gentle and grape flavored. “Now you belong to us, little sister.”

To avoid bursting into unexpected tears, I opened my door and got out, standing next to Das Boot in the dark night. Killian got out also, clumsily hanging on the door to avoid falling down. He started laughing at himself, and I smiled.

“Look, sis,” he said, gesturing at the sky. He looked at me with mischief glittering in his eyes. “Repeat after me: grenlach altair dan, buren nitha sentac.” Watching his face, I repeated the words, imitating his pronunciation as best I could. They sounded much better with his accent, but when he went on, I followed, feeling the thin coil of magick awakening in me. What were we doing?

He was watching the sky, and I was, too, not knowing what to look for. Then Killian waved his right hand in a smooth, sweeping gesture, oddly graceful, and I saw the heavy clouds overhead parting reluctantly to reveal the clear, star-speckled sky behind them. My mouth went slack as I realized what he had done.

“Now you.” He tapped my hand, and disbelieving, I moved it in a gentle circle before me. The clouds above me moved at my command, and with a broader movement I pushed the huge billows aside. All was clear above us. Weather magick was forbidden; it was considered an assault on nature and could have far-reaching, devastating effects. So I had just worked forbidden magick. And I had loved it.

My heart was pounding with excitement, and I looked at Killian, my eyes wide and shining. He laughed at my expression.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he said. “I gave you the stars. Good night, little sister.”

He started walking away, weaving slightly down the dark road.

“Good night? Where are you going?” I yelled. “This is the middle of nowhere!”

He turned and gave me a mock-severe look. “Everyplace is somewhere. I want to walk from here.” He turned and began to walk away.

“But—” I started at him, feeling something close to panic. “Killian! Wait!”

He turned again from the woods and looked at me. I took a deep breath. “I want to see Ciaran again. Can you ask him to come here, to see me?” There. It was out. I had said it.

For a moment Killian was silent, then his faint laughter floated to me just as a glowing sliver of moon appeared in the clouds’ clearing. “I’ll think about it,” he called back. Then he was gone, into the nothingness, and I was left alone in the cold, wondering whether I had actually succeeded in my mission—or whether Killian was just playing with me the same way he played with the clouds.

7. Witch Fire

Brother Thomas’s wound continues to fester. He is near delirium, and I fear he will lose the leg. Brother Colin, I must set this letter aside; Father Benedict has motioned to me. I will finish later.

The Lord works in mysterious ways. Father Benedict came to me in all gravity and voiced his concern about brother Thomas. He commanded me to go seek help from a village granny-wife. I asked if that was not like asking for help from the devil, to which he replied that God judges what is good or evil, not man.

In the village no granny-wife would see me, but Nuala Riordan come with me and is still with Brother Thomas. I tremble in fear for out very souls: she is chanting devil’s words over him, fixing him foul teas, applying seaweed poultices to his wound. To my mind it would be better if he died rather then have the devil heal him.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, June 1768.

I pulled into our dark driveway and felt Das Boot's big engine stop with a tremble. What a night. It had been incredible. Now I had to go in and steel myself to call Eoife, to tell her I had asked Killian to call Ciaran.

I was almost to my front door, keys in hand, when suddenly every bit of alcohol I had drunk flooded back into my brain with a whoosh. I staggered on the walk, dumbfounded. Oh my god. Killian's spell had worn off—what if it had worn off while I was driving? Now I was completely polluted again.

Inside the house, I dumped my stuff on the floor and literally clawed upstairs to my room. How much had I drunk? More than I ever had in my life. My stomach felt iffy, and I began to regret downing those whiskey sours.

Ten minutes later I lay in my bed with the spins, wanting to cry. The room was rocking back and forth as if I were on a ship, my stomach felt extremely fragile, and I had to get up to go to school in about six hours.

A moment after that I realized that the dull, heavy pounding I felt in my head was really someone banging on my front door. Jesus who could that be? I tried to focus my senses to cast them but couldn't concentrate. I was all over the place and started to panic. Then I heard the front door open—had I locked it? — and footsteps thudding up the stairs.

"Morgan!" Hunter yelled, right before he opened the door to my room. I looked at him stupidly while he stormed over to loom above me in my bed. "Where the hell have you been? I sent you a witch message, I've been calling your house. Do you think this is a game? Do you think—"

"I tried to call you earlier!" I said, my voice sounding thick. "Your phone was busy!" Then, with a sickening rush, my stomach gave notice that it was about to rebel. I stared at Hunter in horror, then lunged towards the bathroom I shared with Mary K. I just barely made it to the toilet before everything I had eaten and drunk that evening came back up.

Throwing up is the most disgusting thing I can think of. I flushed the toilet after the first time, but then I vomited again and again, my stomach muscled heaving. I felt the little blood vessels around my eyes burst and I wanted to cry but couldn't yet.