What do you want to know? the fire whispered to me. Its voice was raspy and sibilant—seductive yet fleeting, fading way in acrid curls of smoke.

I don't understand anything, I answered. My face was serene, but my silent voice cried out in frustration. I don't understand anything.

Then in the fire a curtain of flame was drawn back. I saw Cal, walking through a field of wheat as golden as his eyes. He swept out his hand, looking beautiful and godlike, and it felt like he was offering the entire field to me as a gift. Then Hunter and Sky came up behind him, hand in hand. Their pale, bleached elegance was beautiful in its own way, but I felt a terrible sense of danger suddenly. I closed my eyes as if that might blot it out.

When I opened them again, I found myself walking through a forest so thickly grown that barely any light reached the ground. My bare feet were silent on the rotting leaves. Soon I saw figures standing in the woods, hidden among the trees. One of them was Sky again, and she turned and smiled at me, her white-blond hair glowing like an angel's halo around her. Then she turned to the person behind her: it was Raven, dressed all in black. Sky leaned over and kissed Raven gently, and I blinked in surprise.

Many disjointed images flowed over each over next, sliding across my consciousness, hard to follow. Robbie kissing Bree…my parents watching me walk away, tears running down their faces…Aunt Eileen holding a baby.

And then, as if that movie were over and a new reel began, I saw a smell, white clapboard house, set back on a slight rise among the trees. Curtains fluttered from the open windows. A neat, tended garden of holly bushes and mums lined the front of the house.

Off to one side was Maeve Riordan. My birth mother.

I drew in my breath. I remembered her from another vision I'd had, a vision of her holding me when I was an infant. She smiled and beckoned to me, looking young and goofy in her 1980s clothes. Behind her was a large square garden of herbs and vegetables, bursting with health. She turned and headed toward the house. I followed her— around the side, where a narrow walk separated the house from the lawn. Turning to face me again, she knelt and gestured underneath the house, pointing.

Confusion came over me. What was this? Then a phone began ringing from far away. Although I tried to keep concentrating, the scene began to fade, and my last image was of my birth mother, impossibly young and lovely, waving good-bye.

I blinked, my breathing ragged.

The sound of a phone still filled my ears. What was going on? Several seconds passed before I realized that it was our phone, not a phone in my vision. The images were all gone now. I was alone in our house again—and somebody was calling.

September 4, 1998

Uncle Beck hit me last night. Today I have a shiner and a split lip. It looks really impressive, and I'm going to tell people I got it defending what's left of Athar's honor.

Two years ago, on the dawn after my initiation, Uncle Beck told me why Mum and Dad disappeared. How Mum had seen the dark cloud coming when she was scrying, and how it had nearly killed her, right through the vision. And how, right after they escaped and went into hiding, their coven was wiped out. I remember all the witches in the coven, how they were like aunts and uncles to me. Then they were dead, and Linden and Alwyn and I came to live with Beck and Shelagh and Ather and Maris and Siobhan.

Since then I've been trying to find out about the dark wave, the force of evil that destroyed my parent's coven and made them go into hiding. I know it's got something to do with Woodbanes. Dad is—or was—Woodbane. The last time I was in London, I went to all the old bookshop where they sell occult books. I visited the circle of Morath, where they keep a lot of the old writings. I've been reading and searching for two years. Finally last night, Linden and I were going to try to call on the dark side, to get information. Since Linden's initiation last month, he's been pestering me to let him help, and I had to say yes, because they were his parents too. Maybe in two years, when Alwyn's initiated, she'll want to work with us. I don't know.

Anyways, Uncle Beck found us in the marshes a mile from the house. We hadn't even got far in the rite, and suddenly Uncle was storming up, looking huge and terrible and furious. He broke through our circle, kicked out our candles and our fire, and knocked the athame from my hand. I've never seen him so angry, and he hauled me up by my collar as if I was a dog and not sixteen and as tall as him.

"Call on the blackness, will you?" he growled, while Linden jumped to his feet. "You bloody bastard! For eight years I've fed you and taught you and you've slept under my roof, and you're out here dealing with blackness and leading your young brother astray?" Then he punched me, knocking me down, and I hit the ground like an unstrung puppet. The man has a fist like a ham—only harder.

We had words, we thrashed it out, and at the end, he understood what I wanted, and I understood that he'd rather kill me than let me do it, and that if I involved Linden again I would need to find another place to live. He's a good man, my uncle, and a good witch, though we ofter clash. Mum is his sister and I know now that he desires to right the wrong done to her as much as I. The difference is that I was willing to cross the line to do it, and Beck isn't.

— Giomanach

"Hello?" I said into the receiver. I realized that I had no sense of who it was, even though I usually did before I picked up the phone.

Silence.

"Hello?" I said again.

Click. Drone of dial tone.

Okay, I knew, of course, that people get wrong numbers all the time. But for some reason, maybe because I was still caught up in images, emotions, and sensations from the fire, this silent phone call unnerved me. Every spooky movie I had ever seen came back to haunt me: Scream, Halloween, The Exorcist, Fatal Attraction, Blair Witch. My only thought was: Someone was checking to see if I was home. And I was. Alone.

I punched in star sixty-nine. Nothing happened. Finally a computerized female voice told me that the number I was trying to reach was blocked.

Feeling tense, I slammed the phone down on the hook. Then I began to race around the house, locking the front and back doors, the basement door, locking windows that had never been locked in my memory. Was I being stupid? It didn't matter. Better stupid and safe than smart and dead. I turned on all the outside lights instead of just the dim yellow glow of the front porch fixture.

I didn't know why I felt so afraid, but my first sense of alarm was rapidly growing into pure terror. So I retrieved my trusty baseball bat from the mudroom, locked that door, scooped up Dagda, and scampered upstairs to my room, glancing over my shoulder. Maybe it was still the aftermath of the accident, but my hands were clammy. My breath came quickly. I locked my bedroom door, then locked the door that led from the bathroom to Mary K.'s room.

I sat down on my bed, clenching and unclenching my fists. Cal, was all I could think. Cal, help me. I need you. Come to me.

I sent the witch message out into the night. Cal would get it. Cal would save me.

But the minutes ticked by, and he didn't come. He didn't even call to say he was on his way. I thought about calling him, but then I remembered what he'd said about not answering the phone during the circle.

Didn't he get my message? I wondered frantically. Where is he?

I tried to calm myself down. Mom and Dad would be home soon. So would Mary K. Anyway, it was just a phone call. A wrong number. Maybe it was Bree calling to apologize, and she'd lost her nerve.