Morgan looked around her yard, distressed. This home had always been a haven for her. Suddenly she felt isolated and vulnerable in a way she hadn't for decades. A ruined garden wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to Morgan, but that someone was actively working to harm her… She didn't believe Lilith would want to hurt her-but who else could it be?

"When was the last time you saw Lilith Delaney?" Katrina asked, as if sensing Morgan's thoughts.

Morgan thought back. "Two weeks ago, in Margath's Faire. Hartwell Moss and I were there, having a cup after shopping. Lilith was sitting with another member of Ealltuinn, and they looked deep into something together."

"Do they know where the power leys are?" Katrina asked, her eyes narrowing.

Morgan felt a flash of fear. Why was Katrina asking that- was she worried that Ealltuinn was more of a threat than Morgan had thought? "Not that I know of," Morgan replied, her throat feeling tight. "Now that I think of it, though, every once in a while I see someone from Ealltuinn out on the headlands, crisscrossing them, like they're looking for something."

The two women looked at each other. In fact, Morgan's very house was built on an ancient power ley, or line, as was Katrina's house and the old grocery store that she and Pawel had run in the early days of their marriage. The building was now empty, and Belwicket held many of their circles there. But Ealltuinn must have heard the legends of the power leys, the unseen and often unfelt ancient lines of energy and magick that crisscrossed the earth, like rubber bands wrapped around a tennis ball. Those who worked magick on or around a power ley saw their powers increased. The town where Morgan had grown up in America, Widow's Vale, had had a power ley also, in an old Methodist cemetery. Morgan dropped the rotten carrots in disgust and retied the little pouch. She would have to dismantle it, purify the pieces of it with salt, and bury it down by the sea, where the sand and salt water would further dissolve its negative energy

"Morgan, I'm concerned about Ealltuinn," Katrina said seriously. "With Lilith Delaney at their head, what if they become bolder in their darkness? I'll be honest with you, lass: I wish I were strong enough to take them on. I've got some righteous anger to show them. But I'm not. I'm fine, but I'm not you."

"I don't know," Morgan said. "It's been a long time…. I'm different now."

"Morgan, you could still pull the moon from the sky. In you is the combined strength of Maeve Riordan and Ciaran MacEwan, Goddess have mercy on them both. You alone are powerful enough to stop Lilith in her tracks, to keep Belwicket safe. Twenty years ago you saved your town from a dark wave-you stopped a dark wave when no one dreamed it was possible."

"It was Daniel Niall and another witch," Morgan corrected her. "I just helped. And besides, this is hardly another dark wave."

Katrina gave her a maternal look, then brushed her hands off on her corduroy pants. "It's getting late," she said. "I'd best be getting back. You know, sometimes I still expect Pawel to come home to tea, and he's been gone six years."

"I know what you mean," Morgan said, her eyes shadowed.

"Think on what I said, lass," Katrina said, getting stiffly to her feet. She gave Morgan a quick kiss, then let herself out the garden gate and headed back up the narrow road to her own cottage, less than a quarter mile away.

For another minute Morgan sat in her garden, lookingdown at the row of spoiled carrots. She was torn between feeling that Katrina had to be overreacting and her own instinct to believe the worst after everything she had experienced in Widow's Vale. But that was all far in her past, and she hadn't seen anyone practice true dark magick in ages. Of course, she also hadn't seen anyone use magick for harm at all, even on such a small scale as hurting some vegetables. But Lilith was a small-minded person who obviously couldn't handle having someone tell her she was wrong.

Morgan looked up at the sky, realizing that it was getting dark and Moira wasn't home yet. It wasn't that unusual for her to be late, though usually she called. Maybe Morgan was being foolish, but this little pouch had really spooked her, and she wanted her daughter home now.

Six twenty-two. Exactly two minutes since the last time she'd looked.

Six twenty-two! Moira was two and half hours late and no doubt off with her friends somewhere. Morgan was sure no harm had come to her daughter. After all, Wicklow wasn't exactly Los Angeles or New York. Everybody tended to know everybody-it was hard to get away with wrongdoing or mischief.

Trying not to look at the clock, Morgan moved methodically around the small living room, kicking the rug back into place, straightening the afghan draped over Colm's leather chair. Her fingers lingered on the cool leather and she swallowed, hit once again with the pain of missing him. Sometimes Morgan would get through part of a day with moments of amusement or joy, and she would grow hopeful about starting to heal. Then, with no warning, something would remind her of Colm's laugh, his voice, his warm, reassuring presence, and it was like a physical blow, leaving Morgan gasping with loss.

Even Moira being so late would have seemed okay if Colm were here with her. He would have been calm and matter-of- fact, and when Moira came home, he would have known exactly what to say. He and Moira were so much alike, both outgoing and cheerful, friendly and affectionate. Morgan had always been on the shyer side, a bit more insecure, needing to have the t's crossed and the fs dotted. Since Colm had died, it seemed that Morgan had developed a gift for saying the wrong thing to Moira, for flying off the handle, for botching what should have been the time for mother and daughter to grow closer. If she were home enough for them to grow closer, she thought with a pang of guilt. She had to quit running. Hard things had to be faced, as Katrina said. Still, how many hard things was she going to have to face in this life? Too many, so far.

Morgan glanced around the already tidy room and caught sight of her reflection in the windowpane, the dark night outside turning the glass into a mirror. Was that her? In the window Morgan looked sad and alone, young and slightly worried. Her hair was still brown and straight, parted in the middle and worn a few inches below her shoulders. It had been much longer in high school.

Morgan gazed solemnly at the window Morgan, then froze when a second face suddenly appeared beside hers. She startled and whirled to look behind her, but she was alone. Eyes wide, heart already thumping with the first rush of adrenaline, Morgan looked closer at the window-was the person outside? She looked around-her dog, Finnegan, was sleeping by the fireplace. Casting her senses told her she was alone, inside the house and out. But next to her own reflection was a thin, ghostly face, with hollow cheeks and haunted eyes, but so pale and blurry that she had no clue who it could be. She stared for another ten seconds, trying to make out the person, but as she looked, the image became even less distinct and then faded completely.

Goddess, Morgan thought, sitting abruptly at the table. She realized her hands were shaking and her heart beating erratically. Goddess. What had that been? Visions were strong magick. Where had that come from? What did it mean? Had it been just a glamour, thrown on the window by… whom? Or something darker, more serious? Feeling prickly anxiety creeping up her back, Morgan took a few breaths and tried to calm down. This, on top of the hex she'd found in the garden. What if Katrina was right? What if Lilith and Ealltuinn were up to something? Morgan hadn't experienced anything like these things in so long.

Standing up, Morgan walked back and forth in the living room, casting her senses strongly. She felt nothing except the sleeping aura of Finnegan, the deeply sleeping aura of Bixby, her cat, and silence. Outside she felt nothing except the occasional bird or bat or field mouse, vole, or rabbit, skittering here and there. She felt completely rattled, shaken, and afraid in a way she hadn't felt in years. Was this part of missing Colm? Feeling afraid and alone? But the pouch and the image in the window-they were real and definitely involved magick. Dark magick. Morgan shivered. And where is Moira?