"I want to be strong," Cal whispered.

"I want to be a good person," said Robbie—and I thought, But you are.

I was last. I could feel the seconds ticking by. I still didn't know what I needed to work on the most. Yet words seemed to explode from my mouth, as if by their own accord. They hung on the air like smoke from a bog fire.

"I want to realize my power."

As soon as I said it, a current ran through the circle, like a wind whipping a rope. It was electric: it charged me, so that I felt I could fly or dance above the earth.

A chant came to my lips, one I didn't remember ever hearing or reading. I had no idea what it meant, but I let it flow from me, as my wish had flowed from me.

An di allaigh an di aigh

An di allaigh an di ne ullah

An di ullah be nith rah

Cair di na ulla nith rah

Cair feal ti theo nith rah

An di allaigh an di aigh.

I chanted it by myself, very softly at first—then more loudly, hearing my voice weaving a beautiful pattern in the air. The words sounded Gaelic and ancient. Someone was speaking through me. I lost myself, but I wasn't frightened. I was exhilarated. I threw my arms up in the air and swirled in circles within our circle. Together the coven spun in orbit; they were planets around a shining star—and the shining star was me. Silver rain was sprinkling down on my head, making me a goddess. My hair came undone from its tidy braid and whirled in a stream, catching the firelight. I was all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing—a goddess indeed. It came to me that the words must have been a spell, an ancient spell, one that called power.

It had called power to me tonight.

"Let's take it down."

The voice belonged to Cal. Again his words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. In answer to his bidding I slowed my whirling and let myself come to a wavering stop. I was as old as time itself; I was every woman who had ever danced for magick under the moon, every goddess who had celebrated life and death and the joy and sorrow in between.

Hunter Niall's face suddenly flashed into my mind, his superior, contemptuous smirk. Look at me, Hunter! I wanted to shout. Look at my power! I am a match for you or any witch!

Then, all at once, with no warning, I felt frightened, no longer in control. Without Cal telling me, I immediately lay face down on Jenna's wooden floor—with my hands flat by my shoulders to ground my energy. The wood was warm and smooth beneath my cheek, and energy flowed over and around me like water.

Slowly, very slowly, my breathing returned to normal. The fear fluttered, weakening. I became aware that someone was taking my right hand.

I blinked and glanced up. It was Jenna.

"Please," she said, placing my hand on her breastbone. I knew that she wanted me to help her. A week ago I had sent energy into her and eased her asthma. But I didn't think I had the power left now to do anything. Still, I closed my eyes and concentrated on light… white, healing light. I gathered it within me and sent it coursing down my arm, through my hand, into Jenna's constricted lungs. She breathed deeply, exclaiming slightly at the warmth.

"Thank you," she murmured.

I was lying on my side now. Suddenly I noticed that everyone was staring at me. Once again I was the center of attention. Self-consciously I pulled my hand away, wondering why a minute ago it was so natural to dance alone in front of everyone while now I felt embarrassed and shy. Why couldn't I hold on to those wonderful feelings of strength?

Matt put his hands on Jenna's shoulders, the most attention he'd shown her since he'd arrived. He was panting slightly from the effort of the dance.

"Did Morgan help your breathing?" he asked.

Jenna nodded, a blissful smile on her lips.

Cal crouched by my side, his hand on my hip.

"Everything all right?" he asked. He sounded excited, breathless.

"Uh… yeah," I murmured.

"Where did the chant come from?" he asked, brushing my hair off my shoulder. "What did it do?"

"I don't know where it came from, but it seemed to call power to me," I said.

"It was so beautiful," said Jenna.

"Pretty witchy," said Sharon.

"It was really cool," said Ethan.

I looked at Robbie, and he gazed calmly back at me, warm satisfaction on his face. I smiled at him. At that moment I was perfectly content—but the mood was abruptly broken when I felt nails on the back of my legs.

"Ow!" I muttered.

Half sitting up, I looked over to see the fuzzy, triangular head of a tiny gray kitten.

It mewed in greeting, and I laughed.

Jenna grinned. "Oh, sorry. One of our cats had kittens two months ago. We're trying to get rid of them. Anyone want a cat?" she joked.

I picked him up. He looked back at me intently, a world of feline wisdom in his baby blue eyes. He was solid gray, shorthaired, with a fat baby's belly and a short spiky tail that stuck straight up like an exclamation mark. He mewed in my face again and reached out a paw to pat my cheek.

"Hello," I said, remembering Maeve's kitten from her Book of Shadows. His name had been Dagda. I gazed at Jenna's cat in wonder, suddenly knowing that he was meant for me, that this was a perfect way to end the evening.

"Hi," I said softly. "Your name is Dagda, and you're going to come home and live with me. All right?"

He mewed once more, and I fell in love.

Imbolc, 1993

A seeker is here. He came two days ago and took a room above the pub on Goose Lane. A talked with Uncle Beck a good while yesterday. Uncle Beck says he'll talk with everyone and that we all have to be honest. But I don't like the man. His skin is white and he doesn't smile, and when he looks at me, his eyes are like two black holes. He makes me feel cold as frost.

— Giomanach

"A rat!" Mary K. screeched the next morning, right in my face. Not the best way to wake up. "Oh God, Morgan, there's a rat! Don't move!"

Of course by now I was stirring in my bed, and little Dagda was, too. He huddled next to me, small ears flat, body hunkered down. But he summoned enough courage to give Mary K. a good hiss. I wrapped my hand around him protectively.

Mom and Dad ran into my room, wide-eyed.

"It isn't a rat," I croaked, clearing sleep out of my throat.

"It isn't?" Dad asked.

I sat up. "It's a kitten," I said, stating the obvious. "Jenna's cat had kittens, and they were trying to get rid of them, so I took one. Can I keep him? I'll pay for his food and litter and everything," I added.

Dagda rose up on his little legs and eyed my family curiously. Then, as if to prove how cute he really was, he opened his mouth and mewed. They all melted at once. I hid a smile.

Mary K. sat on my bed and gently extended her hand. Dagda cautiously made his way across my comforter and licked her finger. Mary K. giggled.

"He's very sweet," said my mom. "How old is he?"

"Eight weeks," I said. "Old enough to leave his mom. So—is it okay?"

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. "Morgan, cats cost more than just food and litter," my dad said. "They need shots, checkups…."

"He'll need to be neutered," my mom added. I grinned.

"Fortunately, we have a vet in the family," I said, referring to my aunt Eileen's girlfriend. "Besides, I have money saved from working last summer. I can pay for all that."

Mom and Dad both shrugged, then smiled.

"I guess it's okay, then," said Mom. "Maybe after church we can go to the store and get the stuff he needs."

"He's hungry," Mary K. announced, holding him to her chest. She immediately hopped up and dashed from the room, cradling him like a baby. "There's chicken left over from last night. I'll get him some."