Free The Calling by Cate Tiernan

Riordan yesterday. She was not among those who welcomed our boat. She was off gathering moss for a poultice and didn’t come back into the village until we were in a meeting with Belwicket’s elders. We were in the house of Mackenna, their high priestess, beginning to ask those questions whose answers would determine Belwicket’s fate, though they didn’t realize it, poor sods. And in walks Mackenna’s daughter, a girl of nineteen with a mud-streaked skirt and a basket overflowing with drippy moss.
    I had the strangest sensation that I’d waited twenty-two years to see her. It was as though my life were slightly unreal until that moment. She seemed fey—a luminous creature—and at the same time utterly familiar, as if I’d known and loved her my whole life.
    Everything about Maeve enchants me. The light that dances in her eyes, the rhythm of her speech, the sound of her laughter, the grace of her hands, and, of course, the magick that sparkles around her. She has a great deal of raw power—as much as Selene, I think. Selene was a different package, though. She’d been honing her magick for years, had studied, sacrificed, undergone a Great Trial, even. In Maeve it’s simply a matter of her birthright. She takes it for granted, doesn’t yet realize how much power courses through her.
    Of course, there is the matter of Belwicket having forsworn the old Woodbane ways. Still, I’m certain we’ll get past that. She feels the same way about me that I do about her—I can see it in her eyes. I will show Maeve how to realize her true power. I’ll convince her that my way is the right one.
    So this is what love feels like, the love that lasts for all time. When it happens, there are no questions, no doubts. I know that now. And I know the dress on the line…it can only have been hers.
    â€”Neimhidh
    Friday morning, I woke to unfamiliar sounds filtering through the guest room door—Mr. Warren making coffee while having a heated phone conversation about depositions.
    On the mattress next to me Bree stretched and opened her eyes. “Sleep well?” she asked with a drowsy smile.
    I blushed. “Yeah. How about you?”
    She shrugged. “Fine,” she said in a neutral voice.
    Raven’s eyes shot open, ringed with black eye makeup she hadn’t washed off. “What time is it?” she demanded.
    â€œJust after nine-thirty,” Bree answered. “We should get moving. I want to go to Diva’s this morning. It’s in SoHo. You guys should come, too—they’ve got great clothes, and they’re really cheap.”
    I could feel that Hunter and Sky weren’t in the apartment; they must have already left for their meeting with the mysterious contact Hunter had met last night. “Uh—okay,” I agreed. Maybe I could find an outfit that was slightly more appropriate for the city.
    Raven shook her head. “I’ll pass. Not my kind of place,” she said.
    â€œOkay.” Bree got up, took her robe from its hook, and went out into the kitchen.
    Raven rubbed her temples. “I feel like hell. I need a shower,” she said, and padded off to the bathroom.
    I got dressed, my thoughts on Hunter and how good it had felt to be with him last night, how I wished it could have lasted longer.
    I quickly plaited my hair into a braid and glanced in the mirror on the closet door. In a black turtleneck and jeans, I was presentable. I went out into the living room, where I found Robbie folding up the sofa bed. He was dressed in jeans and a blue plaid flannel shirt, and his hair was still mussed from sleep.
    â€œMorning,” Robbie said. “Hunter left a note for you.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.
    Morgan—
    I’ll meet you back at the apartment by 10:30.
    â€”Hunter
    Of course, the thing that I noticed was that he’d signed it Hunter. Not: Love, Hunter