Page 48 of Which Witch is Willing?
“Yes,” Nick said. “We are.”
22
“Thank the Goddess!” Tierra rushed Moira, enveloping her comforting, brooding warmth. “We were so worried about you.”
Her sisters had been waiting.
A simple walk it was meant to be. Moira taking a quick turn to the dock and back with Cheeto along for protection.
Moira had had no way to call. No way to explain she would be arriving late. Cell phone service had been one of the many things the Apocalypse had readily claimed as of late.
“I ran into Uncle Sal,” she said.
“Did you?” Aerin favored her with a knowing smile.
“He went back to his boat,” Moira said. “He wasn’t much feeling like company tonight.”
“I think wrestling with Lucifer took it out of him,” Nick reported.
“Lucy?” Claire shot to her feet, a sudden movement that had Dru patting himself down for weapons. “How? Where?”
“Main Street,” Moira said. “We were comin’ home from Sirens when she attacked. Apparently she’s downgraded from humans to woodland critters.”
“Sirens,” Tierra sighed, rubbing the globe of her belly. “I’d sell my soul for some fish and chips right about now.”
“You might not want to say that out loud,” Aerin advised. “All things considered.”
“Do you think she knows?” Claire asked. “About the prophecy?”
“Without a doubt,” Nick confirmed. “All the more reason to fulfill it as soon as possible.” He squeezed Moira’s hip in silent encouragement.
“There’s something we need to discuss.” Julian rose from the chaise longue, his face grave. “About the prophecy.”
“We’ve already worked that out.” Nick’s impatience bristled behind Moira as he spoke. “I’m good. She’s good. Everyone’s good. In fact, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll get working on it with all due haste and expediency,” he said, nudging her toward that stairs.
“I’m afraid it isn’t so simple,” Julian said. “There’s a ritual. Well, two rituals actually. One to summon the Bringer of Light. The other, The Dark One. Before anything can happen, we need to know which entity you and Miss de Moray might potentially be—” he cleared his throat, casting about for the least offensive word “—conceiving.”
“The Dark One.” The sound of her own voice surprised her. Moira hadn’t known she knew that.
Because she didn’t know it.
But Lucy did.
And had somehow passed it along when she bit her.
“I knew it!” Tierra leapt as well as someone as heavily knocked up as she was could. “I knew I was having the light one.”
“But Tierra got knocked up without a ritual,” Moira pointed out. “How do you figure that happened?”
“If I had to wager a guess,” Julian said, his tone suggesting that he’d never guessed at anything in his life, “it would be that because the Goddess had already departed from this plane, the other Miss de Moray conceived her replacement by default. But because Lucifer yet inhabits this planet, a willful and specific displacement will be required.”
“Wait just a damn minute.” Moira took a step toward Julian, memory washing her in the scent of parchment and port wine. “I thought you said that this wasn’t about good and evil?”
“It isn’t.”
“But you’re saying that Lucy was the Dark One or whatever you called it. And she’s more evil than wool knickers on an August afternoon.”
“Correct.” A strange sadness darkened Julian’s glacier blue eyes. “Just because she’s evil now doesn’t mean she began that way. With patience, kindness, and proper guidance, perhaps the next Ceann Dorcha, wouldn’t go so far afield from the intended purpose.”
