Hunter was silent. The door to Practical Magick opened as a couple entered, and the singer's voice drifted into the night. She was singing a joyful song of coming spring, and I was suddenly impatient to share in that pleasure, not sit out here listening to Hunter's ridiculous theories. I flung open the car door and hurried back inside.

The Fianna played for almost an hour, and practically everyone in the room danced. Mary K. even tugged me out onto the floor for a song. I ignored Hunter as best I could and noticed he left early.

After another hour or so, people began to filter out. Mary K. and I got our coats. As she went to say good night to the band, David joined me at the cider table.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.

I nodded and gave him a smile. "What happened to your hand?" I asked.

David shrugged. "My knife slipped as I was trimming pine boughs."

Ha, I thought. Wait until I tell Hunter. So much for his suspicions.

Mary K. returned, proudly displaying her autographed Fianna CD. "I can't wait until Jaycee gets a load of this," she declared as we headed for the car.

"So now do you believe that all Wiccans aren't evil and weird?" I asked Mary K.

"I'll say one thing for them," she answered. "They know how to throw a party. I still can't believe I met The Fianna!" She clutched the CD to her chest

As I kicked Das Boot into gear, she went on. "It's just that. . well, Wicca isn't my way. And the fact that the church is against it doesn't help," she added more quietly. Mary K. wasn't as religious as Mom or our aunt Maureen, but she did basically believe in what Catholicism taught. "I have to say I was never totally comfortable in there."

I nodded. I'd already pretty much known that my sister felt like this. But to hear it confirmed so baldly was painful. So that was it, I thought. The essence of my identity, the core of who I was the very thing that created an unbridgeable gap between me and my family.

We drove the rest of the way home in silence.

July, 1991

In Milan now. A close escape. It was my scrying. I think, that alerted the evil to our presence in Bordeaux.

First I sought our children and found then, as I had prayed they would be, safe with Beck. Then I asked my quartz to help me see our coven, and I saw. Oh, Goddess.

I saw the utter devastation of our town, the swathe of burnt houses, charred cars, blackened tree trunks whose branches seemed to claw at the sky in their agony. . Nothing, it seemed, was spared. Nothing except our house. It stood there, the mellow brick darkened by a pall of ask but otherwise untouched.

Then, from our bedroom, I heard Fiona screaming. I ran in and found her sitting upright in bed, her eyes wild. “It's coming.” she cried. “It's found us. We have to go!”

She's calling me. More later.

— Maghach

My dad was in the kitchen when I came down the next morning, wearing his usual winter outfit of khakis, button-down shirt, and knit vest. He was peeling potatoes for dinner, then dropping them into a bowl of ice water. My dad has a thing about preparing far in advance.

"Your cat would like you to feed him," my dad greeted me.

Sure enough, Dagda was sitting on the floor next to his bowl, looking up with a hopeful expression. He wound himself around my ankles, arching his little back against my hand. I bent and picked up the dish.

"How was the party?" my dad asked as I spooned canned food into Dagda's bowl.

"Okay," I replied. Disturbing, I added silently. I went to the fridge and scanned for food.

"Morgan, don't just stand there with the door open," he admonished me.

"Sorry," I said. I grabbed a box of waffles and shut the fridge. As I crossed to the toaster, I noticed the local newspaper on one of the kitchen chairs. It was open to the business section, which my father reads religiously.

"Dad," I said, "have you ever heard of a guy named Stuart Afton?"

"You mean the cement-and-gravel tycoon?" Dad asked.

"He's a tycoon?"

Dad paused. "Maybe not exactly. But he is a big player in the local building supplies industry. I've heard he's kind of ruthless, like a strong-arm guy."

"Hmmm." I had to admit that Afton didn't sound like the kind of person to forgive a debt. No, I told myself, rummaging for syrup, people can surprise you. Maybe Afton is tough on the outside but a softie on the inside. I pushed aside the thought that came after that: that David could also surprise me and that Hunter could be right.

Get your mind off it, I ordered myself. "Where are Mom and Mary K.?" I asked Dad.

"They went to church early to help with the Christmas clothing drive." He wiped his hand on a dish towel. "We're meeting them there for mass."

I brought my waffle over to the table and fiddled with my fork. "Um, I have a lot of studying to do," I said at last. "Is it all right if I skip church?"

Behind his tortoiseshell glasses, Dad's eyes were troubled. "I suppose so," he said after a moment.

“Thanks." I put a big bite of waffle into my mouth so I didn't have to say anything else. Since discovering Wicca, my relationship to Catholicism was changing, like everything else in my life. Though I still found the services beautiful, they didn't speak to me in the way they once had. I was pleased, though, that my parents were at a point where they accepted my ambivalence, despite the worry it caused them.

I spent most of the rest of the day tucked away in my room, studying the books Hunter had lent me. I copied spells and lessons into my Book of Shadows and even, feeling a little silly, made myself a set of rune flash cards. I wasn't going to leave Hunter any room to reprimand me for being lax in my studies.

As if he'd heard me thinking, Hunter called to suggest that I come over Tuesday afternoon for some more lessons. I couldn't think of a legitimate excuse, so I agreed.

That night I had trouble sleeping again. I was troubled by Hunter's suggestion that dark magick had anything to do with Stuart Alton's change of heart regarding Practical Magick. I couldn't believe that David would be involved in anything like that. How would I know for sure? it wasn't as if I could just go up to him and ask him.

I could scry, I realized. Maybe I'd find the proof I needed for Hunter to back off on this crazy idea. I hated that he could make me suspicious of my friends.

I peered out into the hallway. The light in my parents' room was out and so was Mary K.'s. Quietly I took the candle from the altar in my closet, set it on my desk, and lit it.

I stared into the flame, burning bright yellow with streaks of orange and blue. It seemed so insignificant one breath could annihilate it. When I'd scryed before, I'd done it with a full, blazing fire, but in theory there was no reason why a candle shouldn't work just as well. Fire was fire, wasn't it? And right now the thought of any fire greater than this one made me shudder.

I closed my eyes and began to clear my mind. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. I was aware of my pulse slowing, my muscles relaxing, the tiny fibers smoothing themselves into shining ribbons.

Fire, help me to see the truth. I am ready to see what you know, I thought and opened my eyes.

The small flame of the candle had blazed up into a molten, white-hot teardrop. From its brilliant center, a face gazed back at me: a familiar nose and mouth, smooth skin, dark, thick hair, and golden eyes. That isn't David, I thought stupidly.

I stared, frozen, as Cal's image floated before me. His lips moved, and then I heard his voice.

"Morgan, I'm sorry. I love you. I'll love you forever. We're soul mates."