Practical Magick smelled like steam and tea and candles burning. I stepped in and felt myself relax for the first time since I had pried myself out of bed this morning.

For a moment I stood just inside the door, warming up, feeling my chest expand and my fingers thaw. My hair was slightly damp from the snow, and I shook it out so it would dry. David looked up from the checkout counter and regarded me with his full attention. He didn't smile but somehow he conveyed the impression of being glad to see me. Maybe I was finally used to him, because it felt like seeing an old friend. I hadn't felt an immediate connection with him as I had with Alyce, and I wasn't sure why. But maybe I was getting over it.

"Hello, Morgan," he said. "How are you?"

I thought for a moment, then shook my head with a tired smile. "I don't know."

David nodded, then stepped through a curtained door in back of the counter, revealing a small, cluttered room. I saw a tiny, battered table with three chairs, a rusty apartment-size fridge, and a two-burner hot plate. A teakettle was already starting to whistle there. Strange, I thought. Had he somehow known I was coming?

"You look like you could use some tea," he called.

"Tea would be great," I said sincerely, deciding to accept the friendship he seemed to be offering. "Thanks." I stuffed my gloves into my pockets and looked around the store. No one else was here. "Slow day?" I asked.

"We had some people in this morning," David replied from behind the curtain. "But it's been quiet this afternoon. I like it this way."

I wondered if they made any money doing this.

"Um, who owns this store?" I asked.

"My aunt Rose, actually," said David. "But she's very old now, and doesn't come in much anymore. I've been working here for years—on and off since right after college." I heard some clinking of spoons in mugs, and then he ducked back through the curtain, carrying two steaming cups. He handed one to me. I took it gratefully, inhaling its unusual fragrance.

"Thanks. What kind of tea is this?"

David grinned and sipped his own. "You tell me."

I looked at him uncertainly, and he just waited. Was this a test? Feeling self-conscious, I closed my eyes and sniffed deeply. The tea had several scents: they blended together into a sweet whole, and I couldn't identify any of them.

"I don't know."I said

"You do," David encouraged quietly. "Just listen to it."

Once again I closed my eyes and inhaled, and this time I let go of the knowledge that this was tea in a mug. I focused on the oder, on the qualities carried by the water's steam. Slowly I breathed in and out, stilling my thoughts, relaxing my tension. The more still I became, the more I felt part of the tea. In my mind's eye I saw the gentle steam rising and swaying before me, dissolving in the slightest breath of air.

Speak to me, I thought. Show me your nature.

Then, as I watched inside my mind, the steam coiled and separated into four streams, like a fine thread unraveling, With my next breath I was alone in a meadow. It was sunny and warm, and I reached out to touch a perfect, rounded pink blossom. It's heavy aroma tickled my nose and bathed me in its beauty.

"Rose," I whispered.

David was quiet.

I turned to the next steam thread and followed it, saw it being dug from the ground, black dirt clinging to its rough skin. It was washed and peeled, and when its pink flesh was grated, a sharp tang was released.

"Oh, ginger," I listed, nodding.

The third strand drifted from rows and rows of low-growing, silver-green plants covered with purple flowers. More bees than I had ever seen buzzed over the plants, creating a vibrant, living mantle of insects. Hot sun, black earth, and the incessant drone filled me with a drowsy contentment.

"Lavender."

The last thread was a woodier scent, less familiar and also less pretty. It was a low-growing, crinkle-leafed plant, with slender stalks of miniature flowers. I crushed some of the leaves in my hand and smelled them. It was earthy and different, almost unpleasant. But intertwined with the other three scents, it made a beautifully balanced whole: it added strength to their sweetness and tempered the pungent odor of the ginger.

"I want to say skullcap," I said tentatively. "But I'm not sure what that is."

I opened my eyes to find David watching me.

"Very good," he said with a nod. "Very good indeed. Skullcap is a perennial. Its flowering stems help diminish tension."

By now the tea had cooled a bit, and I took a sip. I didn't notice the actual flavors so much; I was more aware of drinking the different essences, allowing them to warm me and infuse me with their qualities of healing, soothing, and calming. I perched on a stool next to the counter. But then, without warning, all the unsettled aspects of my life crept up and made me feel like I was suffocating again. Matt and Jenna, Sky and Bree and Raven, Hunter, being Woodbane, Mary K. and Bakker… it was overwhelming. The only thing that was going right was Cal.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't know anything," I heard myself blurt out. "I just want things to be straightforward. But things and people have all these different layers. As soon as you learn one, then another pops up, and you have to start all over again."

"The more you learn, the more you need to learn," David agreed calmly. "That's what life is. That's what Wicca is. That's what you are."

I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"You thought you knew yourself, and then you found out one thing and then another thing. It changes the whole way you see yourself and see others in relation to you." He sounded very matter-of-fact.

"You mean, one does these things or me in particular?" I asked carefully.

Outside, the weak afternoon sun gave up its struggle and faded behind a bank of gray clouds. I could make out the hulking shape of Das Boot, parked in front of the store entrance, and I saw that it was already covered by at least an inch of snow and tiny rocks of ice.

"Everyone is like that," he said with a smile, "but I was speaking of you in particular."

I blinked, not quite understanding. David had once said that I was a witch who pretended not to be a witch.

"Do you still think I pretend that I'm not a witch?" I asked.

He didn't seem concerned that I knew what he had said. "No." He hesitated, forming his thoughts. He looked up at me, his dark eyes steady. "It's more that you don't present yourself clearly because you aren't yet sure who you are, what you are. I've known I'm a witch my whole life— thirty-two years. And I've also always known—" He paused again, as if making up his mind. Then he said quietly, "I'm a Burnhide. It's not only who I am, it's what I am. I'm the same thing on the inside as I am on the outside. You're different in that you've only recently discovered—"

"That I'm Woodbane?" I interrupted.

He gazed at me. "I was about to say, discovered you're a witch at all. But now you know you're Woodbane. You've hardly begun to discover what this means to you, so it's almost impossible for you to project what it should mean to others."

I nodded. He was beginning to make sense. "Alyce once told me that you and she were both blood witches, but you didn't know your clans. But you're a Burnhide?"

"Yes. The Burnhides settled mostly in Germany. My family was from there. We've always been Burnhides. Among most blood witches your clan is considered a private matter. So many people lost all knowledge of their house that nowadays most people say they don't know their clan until they know someone well enough."

I felt pleased that he had trusted me. "Well, I'm Woodbane," I said awkwardly.

David grinned without prejudice. "It's good to know what you are," he said. "The more you know, the more you know."