Changeling
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It was somehow demoralizing that my party-guy, irresponsible, devil-may-care half brother was so much more knowledgeable than I was. Then we were standing in front of the stone sarcophagus that Cirrus had used as an altar on Samhain. The marker read Jacob Henry Moore, 1845–1871.
"Right here!" Killian said enthusiastically. "This is an incredible power sink."
Bree met my eyes, and the other Kithic members were quiet. Cal had brought us here several times. Obviously he'd been aware it was a power sink and had used it to his advantage. And none of us had known.
It occurred to me that of course Hunter knew about it also. He must have felt it when he was here with Cal. The power sink might even be the reason my holding spells had worked so well when I'd used them to stop Hunter and Cal from fighting. But Hunter hadn't told me.
"Is a power sink important?" Bree asked.
"Oh, yes," said Killian. "It's like turbo charging your magick—for both good and bad. I mean sometimes magick shouldn't be turbocharged. Know what I mean?"
"No," Robbie said.
"I mean, some spells need to be gentle and shallow," Killian explained.
While he was talking, I felt paranoia creeping into my veins. Quickly I cast my senses out strongly, sweeping the area for any kind of danger, anything out of the ordinary. Killian looked at me, his brows knit together, but I didn't stop until I was sure there was nothing unusual going on. Then I met his gaze calmly, and he cocked his head to the side.
"Watch this," he said, and held out his left arm. He wore a thick suede glove on his hand and pulled the heavy wool tweed of his coat over his wrist. Then he opened his mouth and began to sing into the setting of the afternoon light. It was an odd, unholy song, in a voice nothing like his own It sounded inhuman but also frighteningly, hauntingly beautiful. The notes rose and fell and waxed and waned, and all the time my half brother, Ciaran's son, watched the sky. I realized he was repeating the song over and over again, and we all started to watch the sky also.
Slowly, in the deepening twilight, I became aware of a large bird wheeling above us, dropping down toward us in reluctant spirals of grace.
"Uh-oh," Ethan breathed, and Sharon moved closer to him.
I could see now that the bird was a large red-tailed hawk, big enough to pick up a small dog in it's talons. It dipped and swayed above us, descending ever slower as if being reeled in on a kite string.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"I know it's true name," Killian said. "It can't resist me."
We all stepped back as the large, powerful predator dropped the last eight feet, wings beating, to land on Killian's arm, I couldn't breathe. This wasn't a zoo bird, wings clipped so it couldn't fly. This was a raw piece of nature, a killing machine, with eyes the color of liquid gold and a beak designed for ripping open rabbits' stomachs like silk. Its talons gripped Killian's coat sleeve, but if it hurt, he didn't show it.
"So beautiful," Jenna whispered, looking mesmerized.
The bird was clearly nervous and afraid, not comprehending why it was here, so against its will, against its nature. I could smell fear coming off it, an acrid fragrance overlaid by anger and humiliation.
"That's one fine bird," Ethan said in awe.
"Incredible," said Bree.
"Let it go," I said with clenched teeth. "Let it go now."
Killian looked at me in surprise—the killjoy—then spoke some words. Instantly, as if released from a prison, the hawk took off. Its powerful wings beat the air with a sound like a helicopter's rotors. Within seconds it was a dark speck in the sky, leaving us behind.
"Well," Killian began.
"It hated being here," I said impatiently. "It hated it. It was afraid."
Killian looked intrigued. "How do you know?"
"I felt it!" I said. "Just like you must have."
"How did you do that?" Raven asked, interrupting us.
Killian turned to her, as if he had forgotten his audience. "I know its true name. The song I sang was its true name, the name it was born with. Everything has a true name that's irrevocable and individual and unmistakable. If you know something's true name, you have power over it."
"Is a true name like a coven name?" Matt asked.
Shaking his head, Killian said, "No, no one can give something else its true name. It's part of the thing or the person, like eye color or skin color or the size of your hands, You're born with it, you die with it.
"Do you have a true name?" Raven asked.
He laughed, showing the smooth column of his neck. "Of course. Blood witches learn their true name during initiation. Everyone has one, every person, every rock, every tree, every fish or bird or mammal. Crystals, metals—anything natural. They all have a true name. And if you know it, you own them."
I watched Killian intently. Own them? There was a difference between owning a living being versus a crystal or even a plant. I wondered what my true name was. A chill went down my spine as I considered what might happen if somebody else were to know it. If there was one thing I had learned over the last few months, it was that there were plenty of people out there who would love to be able to own me and my power.
"Does anyone else know your true name?" Robbie asked Killian. "Like your parents?"
"Oh, Goddess, no!" Killian looked appalled at the thought. "It gives someone power over you if they know your true name."
"You don't want your parents to know?" Robbie asked.
"And give them power over me? Never. I'd rather be dead." All his humor was gone, and his face was closed and set. He glanced at the empty, darkening sky. "It's getting late. We'd better go."
As we walked back to the cars, I thought about what Killian had just done. It had been beautiful; beautiful, painful magick. He had forced a living thing to do act against his nature, and he had done it lightly, capriciously, and solely to impress. He had broken about a hundred council rules with this one stunt. If every witch were like this, it would be a disaster. I began to comprehend the role the council played in the order of witches.