—Brother Sinestus Tor, to his brother Colin, November 1767

Hours later I lay in bed, watching the interplay of shadows on my recently painted bedroom walls. I'd thought I was exhausted, but sleep hadn't come. Now I let my senses float out into the house. Mary K., separated from me by a bathroom, was deeply asleep. She's come home shortly after my parents had, completely excited by the prospect of eleven days at her friend Jaycee's house: an uninterrupted slumber party. Her three suitcases were already packed and by the front door.

My parents, too, where asleep: my mother lightly, fitfully, my dad more deeply. They where nervous about the trip, about being away from us.

I turned on my side. Tonight I'd made objects levitate. It had been amazing and even a little frightening. If I weren't so distraught, it would have been joyful, beautiful. Well, that was Wicca: light and dark at the same time and part of the same thing. Day turning into night. Beauty and ugliness, good and bad. The rose and the thorn.

Morgan. As the voice echoed in my head, I blinked, sending my senses out more strongly. Oh my God, Hunter was right outside the front door: It was one-thirty in the morning. I had two thoughts: I can't face him. And: I hope he doesn't wake my parents.

Morgan. I bit my lip and got of bed, knowing I had no choice. Despite my unhappiness, my traitorous heart skipped a beat in anticipation of seeing Hunter. Very quietly I pushed my feet into my bear claw slippers and padded downstairs as silently as I could.

He stood there, his fine hair glinting with winter moonlight. His face was in darkness, but I saw the hard line of his jaw, the sculpted curve of his cheekbone. It had been only a few days, but I longed for him with a physical ache.

"Hi," I said, looking away from him. My hair was unbrushed, and my face felt tired and drawn.

"You missed a circle," he said evenly, tilting his head back to see me. The cold January air made his words come out like a dragon's breath. "Why?"

Experienced witches can lie and deceive each other fairly successfully. But if I lied to Hunter, he would know it. "I didn't want to see you." I tried to sounds strong, but I'm sure my body language was screaming anguish.

"Why?" His expression didn't change, but I could sense the hurt and anger I caused him. "Am I repellent now?"

I shook my head. "Of course not," I said. "But I wanted more time alone since we just broke up."

"Part of Wicca is making the commitment to observe the turning of the Wheel," Hunter said. "The weekly circle is just as important as your personal life."

Count to ten before you speak, I reminded myself. He made it sound like I missed the circle because I had a zit. But he had seen how upset and shocked and freaked out I had been after what had happened in New York—after finding out that my father wasn't gentle Angus Bramson, the man who had loved and lived with my mother for several years, but Ciaran MacEwan, the evil and destructive witch who had eventually killed her. Hunter had seen for himself how ruthless Ciaran was, so much a pure Woodbane, dedicated to acquiring power at any costs. With a father like that, did I have a chance of turning out okay? I was pure Woodbane myself. Was it just a matter of time before I was lured by dark magick? And how could I stand to see the look on Hunter's face if and when I finally went bad? His horror and disillusionment?

"I know the circle is important," I said stiffly. "But I wanted some time alone."

"I guess it's a matter of priorities," he said in a tone he knew infuriated me.

Knowing that he was trying to goad me didn't stop me from reacting as if he had thrown a match onto a puddle of gasoline.

"My priorities are to keep you and everyone else in Kithic away from a potentially evil influence!" I hissed into the night air.

"Funny how you can decide what's best for us all." Hunter, of all people, knew exactly how to get to me. "You'd do well to remember just how little training you have. Perhaps we can make our own decisions about who we want to associate with. Who we want to make magick with."

I looked at Hunter, trying to control my anger. I knew that he was angry with me for missing the circle, but it was infuriating that he could ignore what had happened between us so easily—that my being a powerful witch meant I wasn't allowed to have human emotions. I had spent the last few days in absolute misery; how could I just go back to the circle like nothing had happened to me?

"Plus there's the fact that I don't love you," I said finally, praying for the conversation to end. "That had something to do with it."

Hunter's green eyes were shaded gray by the pale light. But they seemed to look right through my eyes into me psyche, into the innermost me. He knew I was lying.

"We should be together." His words sounded like they cost him.

"We can't." My throat felt thick.

He looked up at the night sky. "You should come to the circles. If not with Kithic, then with another coven.

My heart hurt. I wanted so much to tell him about my levitating experience. But it was better for him if I didn't share myself with him at all. Suddenly exhausted, I turned to the front door: