"Morgan?" Keady touched the back of her hand gently, and when Morgan didn't respond, Keady took the piece of morganite out of her hand.

"It's morganite," Morgan said again, her voice cracking. "A kind of quartz. Not native to Ireland. A long time ago a different piece of morganite had a lot of significance for me. Someone put this here, on my path. Someone who knows me well. Someone who knows my past." She felt a spurt of fear and anger rise in her. She'd thought that her days of battle were over, that she was safe and free to live a peaceful life. Over the last three days that illusion had been stripped from her, and it was devastating. Keady took Morgan's elbow and led her into the backyard. "Let's get that tea."

"The garden tools," Morgan said in a near whisper. She gestured to the shed, and Keady obediently detoured there. Morgan opened the shed door and mechanically hung up her few gardening tools. Something felt different. Her extra- sensitive senses picked up on something, alerting her consciousness, and Morgan looked around. Now wasn't the time to ignore signals like this. What was different? Her nerves were frayed and shot; she felt trembly and nauseated. All she wanted to do was sit down and have a hot cup of strong tea.

Then she saw it. The cellar door. It had been opened- there was a new scrape in the dirt where it had swung out, and the spiderweb had been recently broken. Cautiously Morgan turned the handle of the door. With everything that had been going on lately, she had no idea what to expect. Inside, Morgan tugged the light string, but nothing happened.

"One second, Keady," Morgan said, starting to descend the cellar steps. Thank the Goddess for magesight, Morgan thought. Even without the light she could see perfectly well. She pulled the downstairs light cord, but it didn't work either. Morgan didn't pick up on any vibrations… but there, in the corner, some old crates had been disturbed. In a second, her conversation with Moira came back to her-Moira asking for Morgan's old Books of Shadows, Morgan being vague. Oh, no.

The crate was open, and all her Books of Shadows were gone. Moira must have gotten them this morning before class. Her first Books of Shadows, with their entries about Cal, about Hunter. Moira might be reading them right now. She might be discovering the magnitude of what her mother had kept from her. Why did this have to happen now, when so much else was going wrong?

Morgan rubbed her forehead with one hand, trying to ease her tension headache. It had been good having Keady here for a while. Morgan had spilled about everything: the ruined carrots, the face in the window, the significance of the morganite, Moira being late, Moira apparently taking all of Morgan's early Books of Shadows. The poisonous smoke.

"It all seems to be building up to something," Morgan had told Keady.

Keady had frowned. "I agree, but what? It's no secret that Lilith isn't a fan of yours, but would she really go this far? This kind of coven infighting just doesn't happen that often. And simple disagreements and bickering wouldn't lead to out-and-out attacks, would they? Maybe we should contact the New Charter."

"Yeah, maybe so." Morgan couldn't help feeling a familiar twinge at the mention of the New Charter. Even after all these years she couldn't hear the words without thinking of Hunter.

Keady had stayed until she was sure Morgan felt better. Since she had left, Morgan had been lying on the couch downstairs, Bixby on her lap and Finnegan draped across her feet like a very heavy hot water bottle. She'd been thinking hard, trying to see some kind of pattern. Okay, assuming this was Ealltuinn, going after Belwicket and more specifically Morgan, why were they doing it now? Was this autumn significant in some way? Besides being the first autumn since Colm had died? Oh, Colm. Her heart ached for him, and she could almost see the appeal of creating a bith dearc, a window to the netherworld, in order to contact a loved one who had passed on. Almost, but not quite. After seeing the damage it had done to Daniel Niall, Morgan had no desire to mess with dark magick like that.

"Bixby, you're such a good boy," Morgan murmured, rubbing him behind his ears. He purred deeply, his orange eyes at half-mast.

Think, think. That piece of morganite. The face in the window. The hex pouch. The smoke. Even Moira and Ian- maybe Ian’s very presence in Moira's life was itself a clue.

Cal, Morgan couldn't help thinking.

Morgan and Finnegan both sensed Moira at the same time. Thank the Goddess she wasn't late, hadn't gone anywhere after class. Finnegan cocked one ear, opened one eye, then lay back down. Morgan braced herself to confront Moira.

Her daughter came in just as the sunlight faded and the wind started kicking up. She looked surprised to see Morgan lying on the couch during the day.

"Hi. What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"Not really," said Morgan. In an instant she remembered the awful fights she'd had with her own parents when she'd first discovered Wicca. They'd been not only offended, but truly afraid for her soul. They were still unhappy about it after all these years. Morgan remembered how she'd wished that they could try to be more understanding and thought now that their fears had made everything seem worse. She could try to do it differently.

"I saw that you found some of my old Books of Shadows in the cellar," she said, striving for a casual tone. "Have you been reading them?" Moira looked at her, seeming to weigh her answer. "I went and got them this morning," she finally admitted. "I know you wanted me to wait till you got them, but… after the smoke and then everything Keady said Saturday-I'm just curious. I need to see how it all started." She shook her head. "I just feel like I need to know everything."

Morgan groaned inwardly at the idea of her daughter knowing everything about her life.

"I've only just started the first one," Moira said. She came to stand by the couch, looking down at Morgan. Moira's hazel eyes were full of secrets, worries, and concerns, but her face was closed, private.

"Do you have any questions?" Morgan's stomach was tight and her jaw ached from trying to keep her face relatively calm.

"I've not read much, like I said," Moira answered, sitting down in the rocking chair. "Just the beginning of the first one-it was where you had met Cal Blaire. I got as far as you discovering you were a blood witch, and then you thought you loved Cal. I've never heard you mention Cal, have I? Was he just a high school crush kind of thing?"

A startled laugh escaped Morgan. Jagged memories of Cal and what he had been to her flashed across her mind. In some ways the beginning of her involvement with Wicca had been so painful, so dangerous and huge, that Morgan had tried hard to live it down ever since. Maybe the truth was that she hadn't just kept those stories from Moira for Moira's sake-she hadn't wanted to relive that time herself.

At Moira's confused expression, Morgan coughed and said, "No, not exactly." She got up and took a Diet Coke from the fridge, then sat back down on the couch and pulled Bixby into her lap for comfort.

"It's stuff I never told you," she said. "I wanted to protect you, in a way." Moira's eyebrows raised. "Your dad knew some of it, but not all. The thing is, when I first found out about being a witch, being adopted, and being from the Belwicket clan-it was exciting and good because it answered a lot of questions and explained things about myself and my family. But it also introduced me to a world I didn't know existed. That world was not always good or kind or safe. And because of who I was-Maeve Riordan's daughter-people, other witches, were interested in me and whatever powers I might have. And on top of all that, Nana and Poppy were so horrified and unhappy and were so afraid I was going to burn in hell forever because I wasn't a good Catholic anymore. It wasn't like your experience here, the daughter of two witches, always knowing you were a witch, growing up in a community that accepts witches, our religion and powers. Just finding out I was a blood witch caused all sorts of pain and unhappiness, mostly for my family and some of my friends, but also sometimes for me."