“Hey, Morgan!”

Afternoon sunlight bounced off the cars in the high school parking lot as I turned to face my best friend, Bree Warren. I knew that she was eager to catch up with me—I’d been kind of cranky and out of sorts all week—but at the moment I was in a huge hurry. I leaned against the driver’s side of my huge ’71 Plymouth Valiant, which I’d nicknamed “Das Boot.”

“What’s up, Bree?”

Bree ran up and stopped a few feet away from me, gasping for breath. “I just wanted to sort of check in, see how you were doing today.”

I nodded. “Well, I heard from Hunter last night. I’m supposed to go to his house now.”

Her eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh. So Hunter’s back.”

“Apparently so.” Hunter Niall, my boyfriend of two months—was it possible it had been only that long? I couldn’t imagine life without him. I loved him with all my heart and soul and was fairly certain that he was my mùirn beatha dàn, my soul mate. He had left a little over two weeks ago to find his parents.

“Are you nervous?” Bree looked at me sympathetically.

“A little.” I sighed. All the time Hunter had been gone, we’d had only one conversation. Worried, I had scried for him and found him with another woman. Not kissing or anything romantic—thank the Goddess for that—but locked in a passionate conversation. I wasn’t sure what to make of the whole thing. I was afraid to think too hard about it.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” she said confidently. “Hunter loves you, Morgan. You can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. You have nothing to worry about.”

I looked up at Bree, feeling a little comforted. “Thanks. I just love him so much. Well, you know how I feel.”

She nodded. “I don’t want to keep you, then.” She smoothed down a lock of shiny dark hair and gave me a concerned frown. “Listen, I hope everything’s okay. I know you’ve been worried. Let me know if you need to talk, all right?”

“All right.” I smiled. It seemed like Bree had gotten even more beautiful, more caring, more empathetic since she had fallen in love with my other best friend, Robbie Gurevitch. Not that she’d been totally selfish before—she just seemed warmer now, more open.

“See you tomorrow.”

“’Bye.”

Bree headed back toward the school and Robbie, and I climbed into Das Boot and swung out of the parking lot. It was mid-March, and the sidewalks were still covered with glistening, melting snow. I tried to calm my nerves as I drove toward Hunter’s rented house on the other side of town. But the truth was, I was very afraid. Afraid of what Hunter would tell me. Afraid that I wouldn’t want to hear it.

After I arrived, I sat in Hunter’s driveway for a few minutes with the car running, trying to collect my thoughts. On the one hand, this was Hunter. Hunter, whom I loved and had missed terribly—I couldn’t wait to see him. But on the other hand, what if he had found something new and wonderful in Canada? What if that was why he hadn’t called me? What if he had been afraid to tell me something hurtful over the phone?

Sighing, I pulled the key from the ignition and smoothed my worn cords. I ran a quick hand through my long brown hair and decided that taming it was a lost cause. Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of Das Boot and headed for the door. I reached out my hand to ring the doorbell, but before I could get there, the door opened.

“Morgan.”

“Hunter.” As soon as I saw Hunter’s face—serious, loving—my fears and anger faded away. I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face in the crook of his neck, and breathed in his warm, familiar scent.

“I missed you,” I murmured into his collar. “I was so worried.”

“I know, love.” I could feel Hunter’s hand rubbing my back, his other hand reaching up to stroke my hair. “I missed you, too. I wanted you there with me every moment.”

“Every moment?” I asked, unable to prevent myself from picturing him arguing with the woman from my vision.

“Every moment.” Hunter leaned back and looked at me, then turned and gestured to his living room. “Sit down for a moment and let me get you some tea. There’s lots to talk about.”

I nodded, pulling off my coat and looking around. “Where’s your father?” Our phone conversation the night before had been very brief, largely due to the fact that it was after midnight and my mother was standing beside me in the hallway with steam coming out of her ears because he’d called so late. All I had learned from Hunter was that he had found his dad, who was in poor health, and that he had convinced him to come back with him to Widow’s Vale. His mother, unfortunately, had died three months earlier, around Yule. Hunter hadn’t said as much, but I could sense his frustration at not finding her in time and his grief over losing the mother he’d had so little time with.

“He’s asleep,” Hunter called, heading for the kitchen. “He’s been sleeping almost nonstop since we left his cottage. I’m hoping that all the rest will be good for him. He certainly needs it.”

I settled on the sofa, and after a few minutes Hunter joined me, holding two cups of chamomile tea. “For you,” he said, handing a cup to me and sitting down. “I think we could both use some soothing after the past couple of weeks.”

I sipped my tea, closed my eyes, and tried to let all of my fears, all of my insecurities and anger run out of me. “Hunter,” I said finally, feeling more calm, “tell me what happened in Canada.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and I saw a darkness pass over his eyes. “It was. difficult.” He paused and sipped his tea. “I feel like I’ve been tested in ways I never could have predicted or imagined. My mum is dead.” He looked at me briefly, and I nodded slowly. “She and my da had been on the run from the dark wave for all those years—eleven years.” He sighed. “It was Selene, you know. Selene Belltower sent the dark wave after them because she couldn’t forgive my da for leaving her and Cal.”

I gasped. Selene Belltower and her son, Cal, had first introduced me to the world of Wicca. It was Cal who told me I was a blood witch. I’d then realized that I was adopted, that I was the biological daughter of Maeve Riordan and Ciaran MacEwan—two very powerful, and very different, witches. I had thought that Cal was my true love, my mùirn beatha dàn, but it turned out that he was a pawn of his mother, who wanted to harness my power for her own dark uses. And I’d learned that before Hunter was born, his father had loved and married Selene, making Cal Hunter’s half brother. Both Cal and Selene were dead now—Selene had died trying to steal my power, and in the end Cal had died trying to save me.

“It was Selene?” I asked finally, and Hunter nodded.

“My mum scried for the dark wave in Mexico, and she got too close. She was never the same after that, and she died last December. After that my da moved to a tiny village in French Canada. He was living in filth, like a madman. I found out he was acting as a sort of medicine man to the local population, selling his services as a witch, which was bad enough. But I soon realized that he was also doing something much worse—he was contacting the villagers’ dead loved ones through a bith dearc and receiving payment for it.”

I looked at Hunter in disbelief. “Contacting the dead? I didn’t think that was possible.”

Hunter nodded again. “It is. A bith dearc is an opening into the shadow world where spirits reside after they die. It doesn’t naturally occur very often, and it’s very rarely used by ‘good’ witches—only when it’s imperative to get information. My father began using the bith dearc to try to contact my mother. He’s utterly lost without her.” Hunter’s mouth twisted into a strange expression—he looked angry, sad, and understanding of his father’s devotion all at the same time.