As we held hands across the little table, we both pictured what it would mean. Long, intimate conversations in the car. Hours and hours of time alone together. Being together day and night. Meeting my parents, her being with me during this incredibly meaningful experience. It would take our relationship to a whole new level. I wanted her to say yes so badly.

“I want to go,” she said slowly. “I really want to go.” She fell silent again. In her mind, she was probably having an imaginary conversation with her parents. I groaned to myself. What had I been thinking? Her parents don’t even allow boys in the house. There was no way they’d let their daughter take off to Canada without at least one chaperone, like we’d had in New York. And this would be a much bigger trip.

Her face fell, and I could feel her disappointment because it was mirrored by mine.

“I can’t,” she said. “Why am I even thinking about it? I’m still trying to get my grades out of the toilet, my parents are still twitchy around the edges, there’s no school vacation anytime soon — it’s impossible.” Her voice held frustration and impatience.

“It’s all right,” I said, covering her hand with both of mine. “It’s all right. I just thought I’d throw the idea out there. Don’t worry about it. There will be plenty of time for us to take trips in the future.”

She nodded, unconvinced, and I felt sorry for bringing the subject up, sorry for making her feel guilty that she couldn’t accompany me on this important journey. Looking into her face, I brought her palm to my mouth and kissed it. She sighed, and I watched the heat flare in her eyes.

Goddess, I feel stupid. Stupid and childish and mad and guilty about not being able to go to Canada with Hunter. Why am I only seventeen? After what I’ve been through in the last five months, you’d think I would be at least twenty-three by now. I can’t stand being my age. I want to live in my own place, make all my own decisions, study the craft as much and as openly as I’d like. I want to be an adult. I should be an adult. Until I discovered Wicca, I’d always assumed I’d finish high school, go to college, and get a job that was incredibly satisfying, fun, creative, and that paid a ton of money.

Now the whole rest of my life seems up I the air. Eoife wants me to go to Scotland to study with some important teachers. I want to be with Hunter. My parents expect me to go to college. What for? I have to take the SATs this spring, have to start collecting college brochures. Suddenly everything seems so pointless.

Oh, Hunter, how long will you be gone?

— Morgan

Alyce Fernbrake recommended a friend of hers, Bethany Malone, as someone to lead my coven, Kithic, while I was gone. When I rang her doorbell on Thursday night, I had no idea what to expect and wondered if my being a Seeker would have a negative effect on our meeting.

She opened the door almost immediately. As soon as I saw her, I realized that I had seen her at least a couple of times at various witch gatherings here and there. Bethany was almost as tall as I am, big boned, with large, strong hands and a sturdy-looking body. Her short black hair was fine and straight; her eyes were huge and so dark, they seemed to have no pupils. I guessed her age to be about forty-five.

“Hunter Niall,” she said, looking at me consideringly. “Come in.”

“Bethany,” I greeted her. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

She led me through the short foyer into her lounge. Despite the building’s boxy, modern appearance, Bethany had created her own haven here, and this room was warm and felt familiar.

“I’m having some wine,” she said, getting down a glass. “Will you have some?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said, watching her pour the dark, rich fluid. I took the glass and looked into it, inhaling the scents of fruit, tannins, earth, and sun. I drank.

“This is terrific,” I said, and she smiled and nodded. We sat across from each other, me on the sofa and Bethany in a large, overstuffed chair that was draped with a mohair throw. The room was lit by shaded lamps and several candles; there were herbs hanging in neat rows along one wall. I sipped my wine and felt a bit of the day’s tension start to melt away.

“Alyce told me you’re looking for someone to lead your circles for a while,” she said.

“Yes. I’m going out of town. Kithic is a fairly new coven, and I’d hate for them to get out of rhythm while I’m gone.”

“Tell me about them,” she said, folding her long legs beneath her. “Are you all one clan? I’m Brightendale — did Alyce mention it?”

“Yes, she did, and no, we aren’t,” I said. “In fact, out of the twelve, only three are blood witches — me, my cousin Sky, and a girl named Morgan Rowlands. And Sky’s on holiday right now, so there would be only eleven, including you.”

“Morgan Rowlands,” said Bethany. “Goodness. She’s in your coven? What’s that like?”

I grimaced. “Unpredictable. Exciting. Frightening.”

Nodding, Bethany swirled the wine in her glass. “What about the rest of them?”

“They’re all in high school,” I explained. “They’ve all known each other, more or less, for most of their lives. Widow’s Vale is a pretty insular town, and there aren’t many different schools. One girl, Alisa Soto, left the coven recently, but I have a feeling she’ll be coming back. She was the youngest, at fifteen. The others are Bree Warren, Robbie Gurevitch, Sharon Goodfine, and Ethan Sharp. They’re all juniors. Simon Bakehouse, Matt Adler, Thalia Cutter, Raven Meltzer, and Jenna Ruiz are all seniors.”

“So many young people, coming to Wicca,” said Bethany. “That’s really nice. How sincere do they seem? Are they just flirting with it, or do you think they take it seriously?”

“Both,” I said. “Some are more sincere than others. Some are more sincere than they realize. Some are less sincere than they realize. I’ll leave it up to you to figure it out — I don’t want to prejudice you.”

Bethany nodded and sipped her wine. “Tell me about Morgan.”

I paused for a few moments. How to put this? “Well, she’s powerful,” I said lamely. “She grew up in a Catholic family. She only started studying Wicca five months ago — and only found out about being a blood witch maybe four months ago. And she was, you know, involved with Selene Belltower and her son.”

I tried to keep my face neutral as I said this. Cal hadn’t been dead long enough. Anytime I thought of Cal and Morgan together, of his convincing her he loved her, of the black plans he and Selene had for her, an overwhelming rage came over me and shattered my usual self-control.

“Yes,” said Bethany, her dark eyes on me. As with Alyce, I got the impression that she wasn’t missing much. “I’d be interested in meeting her.”

“In my opinion,” I went on, “Morgan desperately needs to learn as much as she can as fast as she can. It’s nerve-racking being around her, feeling like she could blink and make a building collapse.”

“She’s as powerful as that?” Bethany looked very interested.

“I think so. This is someone who has had barely any instruction, who’s uninitiated and who has never even thought about going through the Great Trial. Someone who grew up having no idea of her powers, her heritage.”

“Yet she shows such great promise?”

“She lights fires with her mind,” I said, shrugging helplessly. “No one taught her how to do that. She has an inherent knowledge of power chants and other quite complicated spells that would be very difficult for a well-educated witch to do. She scries with fire. And a few weeks ago, she shape-shifted.”

“Holy Mother,” Bethany breathed. “What did she shift into?”

“A wolf.”

For a few minutes Bethany Malone and I sat looking at each other, drinking our wine.“Goddess,” Bethany said finally.