Hooked [Complete]

24. I Commit My Mortal Soul

Author's Note: Okay, folks this is a LONG CHAPTER! So much fun to write! I hope you enjoy.

Song for this Chapter: Goddess by Cobi. This was the ONLY song I considered. Dru is in love with Sean's voice, if you'll recall. Listen to this song, and you'll understand why. This is how I imagine Sean's "private" voice...reasonant, and moving easily from powerful to expressive. YUM!

Cerridwen, I humbly beseech your presence.

Gracious Goddess , I beg for an audience.

Lady of the Moon, I cry out for your protection.

He circled within the ring of candles, repeating the words of the prayer with each circuit. The full moon shown overhead, and the sounds of campus were remote, even though he was in the dead center of Weirville--atop Lugh Hall, the place he had chosen to set his ritual. It was the middle of the night atop the highest building on campus—breaking into it, and breaking out onto the rooftop provided him a completely private refuge. And put him as high under the moon as he could get.

The place was an homage to Cerridwen. The moon was her solace.

He was shirtless within the circle, but the March night felt still and soft. The candles barely flickered. Perhaps that was because he had raised a circle of protection, calling the quarters, visualizing the sphere of energy rising around him, like he'd been taught as a child.

He didn't really need the circle. He would have to lower it, to let her inside. He supposed it was just comforting. A ritual from his childhood. A bedtime prayer. Raising a protective circle could be powerful, protective, certainly strong enough to keep a few candles alight, even for someone as unpracticed as he. Despite his non-magical lifestyle for the past seven years, he knew the secret of magic. Magic was about belief. And Dru had made him believe again.

He repeated the prayer for the third time. Cerridwen would hear him, she would come. He believed it. She would come.

As he paced, he kept his eyes on the alter he had set. The offerings of food and wine, the chalice, the athame. He had followed his mother's instructions to the letter. Today, when he'd told her of Lana's dedication at the last new moon, she had sworn that no son of hers would give himself as Lana MacBane had—so casually, without preparation, without proper commitment, with only a tattoo as a symbol. She'd made him swear to do it right.

Surprisingly, the whole ceremony had come together easily.

He hadn't forgotten the lessons of his childhood. He had been good at it, then—the rituals, the ceremony. His mother always said he'd be the leader of the coven, but there had never been a male witch in Mystic Mountain. Mystic mountain witches only gave birth to daughters in the six generations since they had settled in the mountains—until his mother had him. Despite his mother's Sight, things hadn't gone well for him, within the coven. Leaving Mystic Mountain at twelve years old had been a blessing to him. Even returning to Sabit, he'd never expected to return to this...rituals, magic, pagan yearning. But he yearned, even before his mother's command...he yearned because of Dru. Because of the magic she possessed, that she didn't understand.

He understood. The magic had burned him too, before his mother bound it.

He jerked abruptly, his heart suddenly pounding in protest at Carrie's appearance. He chastised himself for his nervousness. She looked exactly like she always did, and she had not appeared supernaturally, but out the access doorway. Still, the fact that she had come, proved it.

Carrie was Cerridwen, Goddess of Transformation. He'd prayed for her presence, and she had come.

Her copper hair darkened and her eyes lightened as she took in the scene—him, the candles, the alter. She put one hand on her skinny-jeaned hip and turned her booted foot out to the side.