I took a moment to examine them with ingrained Seeker thoroughness. They both had relatively weak energy patterns-they were blood witches, but not powerhouses.

The older woman stepped forward. "I'm Celia Evans," she said in a smooth, modulated voice. She held out her hand, and I rose to shake it. Her grip was firm but not aggressive. "And this is Robin Goodacre." She gestured to her companion, who then stepped forward. Where Celia projected calm and confidence, Robin projected a fluttery distraction that I instinctively felt came from insecurity, or nonacceptance of herself.

I shook Robin's hand. "Hello," she said, in a nervous, breathless voice. I wondered what her relationship was to Celia.

"Hello," I said. There were a couple of unmatched chairs in the corner, and I pulled them over, then sat down again at my table. I gestured for the two women to sit, and they did.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Well, we've heard about you as a…ah…" Robin began, then seemed to get stymied by self-consciousness.

Celia took over. "We've come to see you because we've heard that you're-experienced with good magick and with…dark magick."

Hmmm. I nodded and waited for her to go on.

"Like the dark wave, for instance," Celia continued, beginning to seem slightly uncomfortable. "Or perhaps other kinds of dark magick."

Oh. Of course. "You need a Seeker?" I asked, and Robin visibly pulled back.

Celia looked alarmed. "We need…someone to help us. Someone who would recognize what might be dark magick. And maybe know what to do about it."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I no longer work for the council. I could put you in touch with someone, though."

"Actually," Celia said slowly, "we hadn't realized you were a Seeker. We wouldn't have come if we'd known. It's much better for us that you're not a Seeker, not part of the council. Honestly, we need help, and we don't know where to find it."

Robin's plump hands fluttered around her skirt, playing with its folds. "It has to be the right kind of help," she said earnestly. "We can't make matters worse. But we don't know what to do." She twisted her hands together, her chunky rings clicking. "We heard you had experience with all kinds of things. We heard…you could be trusted."

That was interesting. I looked from Robin's round, earnest face, the distress in her brown eyes, to Celia's barely concealed tension.

"Can I ask who referred you to me?"

"Joanna Silversmith," said Celia. "Of Knotworthy. We went to school together."

Her name sounded familiar, but I didn't think I knew her personally. Knotworthy was a coven back in England, so maybe I had run across her there.

"Can you tell me a few more specifics about your problem?" I asked gently. "Then if I can't help you, maybe I'll know someone who can."

"It's our coven leader," Celia said, and took a deep breath. "We think she may be involved with dark magick."

As I had done hundreds of times before, I parked my beloved Valiant, Das Boot, at the curb by my best friend Bree Warren's house and walked up the stone path to the double front doors. I rang the bell, and the door was opened almost instantly by Thalia Cutter, one of the other coven members. Our coven, Kithic, had the ideal number ofmembers, thirteen: our leader and my boyfriend, Hunter Niall, Bree, Robbie Gurevitch, Sharon Goodfine, Ethan Sharp, Simon Bakehouse, Thalia, Jenna Ruiz, Raven Meltzer, Alisa Soto (our youngest member), Hunter's cousin, Sky, who was in England right now, Matt Adler, and me. I had known most of these people my whole life. Bree and Robbie had been my best friends since first grade. Sharon, Jenna, Matt, Ethan, and Alisa all went to my high school. Thalia and Simon went to the other high school in town.

"Hi," said Thalia. Her long, wavy hair hung almost to her waist, and her oval face was smooth and serene. "Come on in. Bree's in the kitchen. We're setting up in the pool house."

"Okay." From experience we'd found that at Bree's, the slate patio in her pool's enclosure was best for channeling energy. I headed for the kitchen and passed Ethan carrying a talk pillar candle. Bree called after him, "Wait-take a paper plate to put it on. If we get wax on the slate, we'll never get it off."

Ethan took the plate from her, smiled a greeting at me,and went out.

"Hi," I called, walking into the Warrens' huge kitchen. Bree, looking beautiful as usual, was arranging some cut fruit on a plate. Her fine, mink-dark hair had grown out a bit and fell in feathery layers past her shoulders. I sighed. It wasn't easy being best friends with someone who looked like a model. We're talking high cheekbones, fabulous body, the works. Always impossibly, sophisticatedly hip, she was wearing an Indian-print cotton skirt that hung several inches below her belly button and a white peasant top that showed perfect, ivory skin both above and below.

I tried not to look down at my own ensemble of jeans and T-shirt. I was just about to start feeling bummed when I remembered Hunter- incredibly hot and irresistible Hunter-and the fact that he didn't seem able to keep his hands off me.

"Look-Bree's making food from scratch," said Robbie, cutting up fresh pineapple at one end of the Corian counter.

"Oh, so witty," said Bree, but she smiled at him, and he smiled back. It was obvious how strongly the felt about each other. She went back to artistically placing strawberries on the platter.

"That looks great," I said, inhaling the topical scent of pineapple, heavy in the air. Now that spring had finally sprung, I was relishing the lighter clothes, the warmer weather, the longer days. It had been a long, dark winter, in more ways than one. I was looking forward to being in the light again.

"Hi," said Alisa, entering the kitchen. Her wavy, caramel-streaked hair was pulled back off her face, emphasizing her huge dark eyes. "Can I help with anything?"

"Thanks, I think we're about ready," Bree said. "As soon as everyone's here, we can start."

Alisa and I trailed out of the kitchen. We'd had kind of an up-and- down relationship in the months since Kithic had formed. Things had been difficult for Alisa lately. She had recently found out that she was half blood witch on her mother's side, which had really freaked her out. A few weeks ago she'd run away, partly to find her late mother's family in Gloucester, a family of full blood witches. The trip had wrecked havoc on her home life-her dad had had a fit-but in some way it seemed that she had found what she was looking for. These days she seemed happier, more centered. I don't know whether she was doing dances of joy over being a blood witch, but she seemed to have accepted it.

"How's it going?" I asked her in the hallway. The last circle that Alisa had attended had been a little strange. She had Bern stressed out, and since she had trouble controlling her powers, that stress had made all of the faucets in Hunter's house spew uncontrollably. Eventually his house had practically flooded. She had been really upset.

"Not too bad," she said. "Things are a tiny bit better at home-Hilary's stopped barfing, so that's good. And get this-she's quit calling me the flower girl. I'm now a real bridesmaid."

"Way to go," I said, and we both grinned. Her father was marrying his pregnant girlfriend soon. Hilary was only about ten years older than Alisa, and they'd had a really rocky start. But it sounded like her stepmother-to-be was getting more "At least she's trying," Alisa said, "and I've been trying, too. Not that it's easy. But she agreed to alter my dress so I won't have that huge bow across my butt anymore."

"Excellent," I said. We'd stopped beneath a weird abstract oil painting right outside Mr. Warren's home office. "What about your room?"