A/N Thank you everyone! Your reviews are like a beam of sunlight through a dark cloud. Please excuse the wacky responses and blame them on the amount of sugar and caffeine I have consumed. Just be glad I didn't write this the other night or it would be more of a comedy story (my friends and I were very hyper- some because they had too much sugar but one of my friends, bless her, couldn't find any sugar and was just plain hyper. The closest thing to sugar she had was a scone. It is therefore proven that hyper-ness is a contagious disease.)
Wake Robin- Hmm... the climax. I haven't written it yet, and to tell you the truth I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen. I guess I have a rough, ultimate plan but I'm being fairly spontaneous. Well anyhow I'm doing my best.
Sweetsoutherngal- Don't worry- lots of people are lost! I hope it'll all make sense soon bites lip.
Witches Kat- I know she says crap but I say shit and I get so confused. I'm just going to pretend it's part of the character change. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
Unknown Reason- I know it's different but I like you I think it's cool. I could learn to live with the look if her personality went back to normal, she's acting to much like Bree. Suddenly remembers she has complete control over what happens I'll have to consider that. I'll see what I can do.
Witchyliz- I hope they get back together as well. It would be so nice. Looks back at previous note and slaps forehead Well I don't want to give too much away or embarrass myself further so I'll shut up now.
I dedicate this chapter to my Aunt Fiona who passed away this week, in the hope that she can walk and talk in heaven where she never could on earth. Can you believe that two people who are close to me have died while I've been writing this story?
Morgan's POV:-
So this was Ireland. I took a deep breath as I trailed my suitcase out of the airport, absently humming a tune I had heard on the radio that morning. The air felt muggy. Not humid, just wet, and as if to answer my unspoken question, fat raindrops began to plummet from the sky.
A dozen umbrellas were shoved over people's heads, as they moved more quickly than before in an attempt to stay dry. I felt a ripple of power, and turned to see a man approaching, his face lost under a deep, black umbrella.
"Ms Riordan?" I frowned at both the formality and use of my mother's name, and then smiled. What harm could it do? Why was I ashamed of my heritage? I nodded and he picked up my suitcase as though it didn't weigh half as much as it did. He stopped beside a large, flash car and my hopes sprung up. I hadn't expected a car like this, it didn't seem to fit with his slightly shabby appearance. His coat, once smart, was patched and darned. His trousers stopped an inch above his scuffed shoes, and there was a brief flash of a scar curling down from his cheek. No, whatever I had been expecting it wasn't this.
He paused to fish into deep pockets for the keys and then stepped on. He put the key into the lock of the next car. A small, deep blue contraption which looked as though it had seen better years. I struggled to hide my disappointment, not sure whether he would pick up on it or not. He seemed to have some blood heritage, yet it was as if it was diluted. Compared to the raw power of some people I knew, including myself, this man was weak. Even Alisa had more power than him, and she was only half-witch.
"Mr MacEwan asked me to pick you up. Understandably he was unable to collect you himself. He wishes for you to visit him immediately if you will permit it, and asks that you go to your hotel afterwards." I digested this slowly.
"Of course. Are you an acquaintance, perhaps through business? Or are you an employee?" I met his eyes in the mirror, and probed into his aura, without my usual subtlety.
"I have served him on many occasions, and I was attending a function which brought me to the area." He answered in his clipped accent. He obviously didn't want to talk. Well if that was the case then so be it. We sat in stony silence for the rest of the journey, me watching the vibrant green fields rush past, him concentrating his efforts on driving.
He stopped the car and turned to face me. "We're here." He hopped out of the car and walked briskly round to my door to hold it open for me.
"I'd never have guessed," I muttered as he slammed the door, barely giving me time to get out. "Let me carry that." I offered, but he snatched it away from me, shaking his head furiously.
"No, I'll take it. I can manage." Then I got it. He didn't want it to look as if he couldn't cope. Not in front of Ciaran. He was scared of my father. I relented, and let him heave my suitcase while I skipped in with my travel bag.
The centre was not quite how I had pictured it. It was like a Mediterranean villa, with two floors and a terracotta tiled roof. Lush green plants were littered around the path (once again neat terracotta tiles), their dark green pots glistening with moisture. There were a few stairs up to the large door with eight glass panels framed in the light wood and a sweeping ramp at either side for wheelchairs. Gazing back along the winding drive, I saw the lines of trees swaying with the wind.
It was more like a holiday house than a rest centre, I decided. It was beautiful though. Seeing that the man was standing at the top of the stairs, I took a last, lingering look and ran lightly up the stairs and through the door.
The room we came into was a good size, and light filtered through from the windows and the panels in the door. The walls were a sensible cream colour and the floor was a gleaming wooden floor. The reception desk was angular, and tied in well with the modern feel of the room. A few cream armchairs were positioned in one corner, around the coffee table on which several glossy magazines were scattered.
I strode up to the receptionist, a young woman with her dark hair scraped back into a bun. Her face was severe, and even her cold, grey eyes seemed to pierce through my very skin. "I'm here to see Ciaran MacEwan." She looked at me for an instant, and I straightened, feeling as though I was being inspected.
"Are you a relative?" Her voice was sharp, controlled. For an moment I wanted to defy her in some way, ask her who she was. But the moment passed and I took a deep breath before smiling broadly.
"I'm his daughter." Her lips pursed into a thin line and she tapped something into her computer. "And who are you exactly?" Her head snapped up. My smile stretched even further, a smirk that showed I viewed myself as a superior being.
"I'm the head psychiatrist here." Bugger. I smiled as if that wasn't satisfactory. "Elizabeth Little." She extended her hand, a bitter look on her face. "You are not from around here." I rolled my eyes.
"Neither are you." It was a statement, not a question. "I'm from America, Widow's Vale in the state of New York."
"Cool. I love New York." I grinned at the girl who had just appeared, and she looked as though she was about to talk more when she glanced at Elizabeth. She visibly stiffened and smoothed her knee-length skirt. It was pink suede and I made a mental note to ask her where she'd got it later. Her black boots stopped a few inches below the skirt, revealing slim legs in sheer tights. A silver necklace hung above the neckline of her white, three-quarter length shirt which had an open collar. She looked very feminine, and very scared.
"Where have you been Natalie? Your shift starts at nine o'clock and it is now quarter past nine. That is the second time this week you have been late. I had to cancel an appointment to cover for you. This is your last warning." With that Elizabeth strode away and Natalie's eyes darted back to me. She reddened with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry you had to see that. She can be a bitch." I looked at her with sympathy. "It's not like she had to cover for me. Nobody comes in at this time in the morning. I only got stuck in fucking traffic."
"It seems to me that she is a bitch, no question about it. Now tell me, where did you get that skirt." Her face lit up as she described the shop she'd bought it from. As she finished her story she seemed to realise that there was obviously another reason I was here, and blushed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go on. I get carried away. What can I help you with?" She asked, her face turning a deep crimson.
"I'm here to see my father Ciaran MacEwan." She nodded absently, and the looked at me. Her pupils dilated and I cursed my heritage for ruining another friendship.
Hunter's POV:-
Since the previous day I hadn't seen Ciaran MacEwan. I had so many questions I wanted to ask. Questions about my past, my relationship with him. I wanted to find out everything he could possibly tell me. I pulled off my T-shirt and flung it onto the chair. From my wardrobe I selected a pale blue shirt and dark jeans and I dressed quickly.
The curtains were still shut and I crossed the room to open them. Sunlight streamed in and I could see flecks of dust dancing as they fluttered to the ground. The fields were laid out below like patchwork, spreading into the horizon. It was so nice to be seeing typical British countryside again. I opened the window to let in some fresh air. There was a small garden at the back of the centre which bordered a forest, but I couldn't see the from my window.
Wait. I had just remembered something. I hadn't been in Britain. Where had I been before that? In Europe or further afield. I sighed as I felt the familiar frustration and weariness. It was coming back to me. One day I would find out more. One day...
A car drew up the long, winding drive and I craned my neck to see the passengers who climbed out. There were only two. A shabbily dressed man and a girl in a black woollen coat. The girl looked around her and I found myself biting my lip gently, watching her carefully. She didn't seem to notice the man dragging her suitcase up the stairs, and only turned to follow him once she had examined everything. I leaned on the windowsill and allowed my thoughts to billow out over the fields.
After a while I closed the window quietly and looked at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair was tousled, and I tried to pat it down to little avail. My eyes didn't seem to sparkle like Iona's did, instead they were brimming with sadness. How could she love someone with sorrow shining in their eyes?
The phone went and I lunged for it. "Hello Iona. How are you this morning?" She let out a shrill laugh and I shivered with pleasure hearing her voice.
"I am well Hunter, I am well. We are still meeting tomorrow?" Her voice was tinged with nerves. No, it couldn't be. Iona nervous?
"Of course. Why would I cancel a date with such a beautiful lady." She breathed a sigh of relief. "I met your father yesterday." She caught her breath.
"You what?" There was an icy silence. "What did he say to you? I hope he didn't scare you off." She was clearly trying to compose herself, and regain her natural chirpiness. Or was it natural? I hastily pushed that thought away.
"Not at all. We only met in passing." I tried to reassure her but the tension lingered in the air like thick smoke. We sat in uncomfortable silence once more.
"I must be getting on. I will see you tomorrow at four o'clock." I nodded and then replied before hanging up the phone awkwardly.
My stomach rumbled and I decided to get some breakfast before I starved. I walked briskly downstairs and passed Natalie in the hall. She waved and I grinned at her. Over the past couple of weeks, we had become united through her fear of Elizabeth. I had stood up for her once or twice, when Elizabeth had commented on her being a slow worker, or snapped that she was not capable of doing her job properly.
The most surprising discovery I had made was that Natalie was naturally very perky, and was an efficient receptionist. I had a sneaking suspicion that Elizabeth was jealous of her effortless beauty and ease around people she barely knew. A man marched up to her, demanding her attention and as our eyes met over his shoulder I mouthed that I would speak to her later. I was too hungry to talk now anyway.
Taking a tray from the pile, I joined the queue behind a dishevelled man with quivering hands and watery blue eyes who I'd seen around the centre a few times. "Hello there." His eyes darted up to examine me, and I smiled nervously.
"Who are you?" He demanded, and I could see traces of a stubborn man with a strong temper behind the mask of nerves. His thin lips were pursed, and I wondered what had happened to make him like this.
"I'm Hunter." I extended a hand which he regarded with suspicion before shaking it warily. His grip was weak, and his fingers were long and gnarled.
"Peter. Peter Miller." He was barely civil this time, and turned away as though disinterested. I shrugged inwardly and took a step forward as the queue moved an inch. A slight, blonde woman was talking animatedly to a large man with broad shoulders, who towered above her. She touched his arm flirtatiously, but he didn't seem to notice, and I rolled my eyes at his ignorance.
I listened to their conversation as the queue progressed. By the time I reached the food counter, I had learned that the man was called Tom and the girl Caroline. They were visiting Caroline's mother, but from the sounds of things she hadn't wanted to come. Tom had forced her to. She complained for five solid minutes before sulking miserably, a pout playing across her lips. I raised my eyes at Tom, and he raised his hands like she was his charge and he couldn't control her.
Finally I sat down at a small, secluded table behind a large, leafy green plant which hid me from prying eyes. I began to eat my cereal and drink my tea. I probed gently with my senses, analysing the power and emotions of the other people in the room.
Arrogance pulsed from Caroline, whereas Tom had a much more laid back character. Elizabeth was glaring stonily at a small group of people who were chattering happily. I picked up on jealousy and hatred. I nearly dropped my spoon as I tested the depth of this hatred. Who could she feel this strongly about? I tried to find out, subtly peering between the leaves of the plant.
In the centre, sat Iona, surrounded by an adoring crowd. Ciaran was nowhere is sight, but I could see that Iona was basking in the attention, and did not intend to leave. I hadn't realised she was here, and glanced at my watch. True enough, it was nearly midday. She had probably arrived early and didn't want to disturb Ciaran. Never the less, I felt a stab of suspicion.
I watched her with interest, barely looking at Elizabeth, who's eyes had not moved. There was a handsome man with tanned skin and golden eyes, who looked familiar, and yet I could not remember where I had seem him before. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and he flicked it back into place. He laughed, and picked up a grape which he tenderly fed to Iona. She laughed, and as I looked at her my vision seemed to blur slightly. I looked back at the man, and it cleared.
Puzzled, I glanced at Iona out of the corner of my eye. She looked different somehow. Her hair wasn't it's usual chestnut brown, instead it was a mousy colour which hung limply around her face which seemed fuller. Her skin was chapped, and her eyes were a cold, steely grey. This couldn't be Iona, and yet... and yet when I looked at her properly, she looked beautiful and well presented.
Then it hit me. The man took her hand and I realised that they appeared to be a gorgeous couple. They both shone with a beauty that couldn't be matched by any other in the room. They were both well groomed and elegant, their tailored clothes clinging to their frames perfectly. A sour taste rose into my mouth. This wasn't the real Iona.
She was under a spell to make her beautiful. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry and all thoughts of eating were forgotten. I watched them flirt, and with each moment my heart dropped a little further. How could I have been so stupid? I wasn't handsome enough to compete with this man. He was stunning. Iona had lied to me, but it would end here. I would confront her when she arrived and end our relationship. How could I have trusted her.
I hurt to look at her, so I watched the man instead. I felt her eyes flick up, and dart around. She slipped a hand into her suit pocket, a suit that looked wrong on her stout figure. Her hand grasped something hidden within her pocket, and I smiled at her, love for her burning in my heart. She was beautiful, perfect. The man beside her smiled a friendly smile at her, and I stood up to leave. She saw me and flashed me a smile that melted my heart.
I smiled back and practically skipped upstairs, barely noticing Natalie in my refreshed happiness.
A/N Wow! Long chapter! I think it's the longest yet. I enjoyed writing it so I might have got a bit carried away. If you're confused then don't worry- you're probably not alone. Just bear in mind that lots of spells have been cast, and if the end as got you all in a pickle then remember what we learn about love spells in book 11 (Origins). Hint: think about what Rose uses to cast the spell. Anyways, if you have any ideas, suggestions etc. then please share them! Bye for now. Oh yeah, please review smiles hopefully!!!