"Morgan," said my dad, clearing his throat. His eyes looked red rimmed, his face drawn and older than this morning. His thinning black hair was brushed tightly against his scalp, too long on the ends. His thick, wire-rimmed glasses gave him an owlish look.

"Yes?" I said, marveling at the cold steadiness of my of my dad to ask.

It was such a ludicrous question, but it was so like my dad to ask.

"Well, let's see," I said coolly, not looking at him. "I just found out I was adopted. I've been sitting here realizing you've both been lying to me my whole life." I shrugged. "Other than that, I'm fine."

Mary K. looked like she was about to burst into tears. In fact, she looked like she had been crying all morning.

"Morgan," said my mom. "Maybe we made the wrong decision in not telling you. But we had our reasons. We love you, and we're still your parents."

I couldn't stay cool any longer. "Your reasons?" I exclaimed. "You had good reasons for not telling me the most important to of my life? There are no good reasons for that!"

"Morgan, stop," Mary K. said, her voice wobbling. "We're a family. I just want you to be my sister." She started crying, and I felt my own throat tighten.

"I want you to be my sister, too," I said, standing up. "But I don't know what's going on anymore—what's real and what's not."

Mary K. burst into real sobs and threw herself on Dad's shoulder.

Mom tried to come over to me, to take me in her arms, but I backed away. I couldn't stand her touch right at that second. She looked stricken.

"Look, let's not say anything right now," Dad said. "We need some time. We've all had a shock. Please, Morgan, just hear me on one thing: Your mother and I have two daughters who we love more than anything in the world. Two daughters."

"Mary K. is your daughter," I said, hating hearing my voice crack. "Biologically. But I'm nobody!"

"Don't say that!" Mom said, looking devastated.

"You're both our daughters," said my dad. "And you always will be."

It was about the most comforting thing he could have said, and it made me burst into tears. I was so exhausted, physically and emotionally, that I stumbled upstairs to my room, lay on my bed, and began to drift toward sleep.

While I was half dreaming, half awake, my mom came into my room and sat on the bed next to me. She stroked my hair, her fingers gently working through the tangles. It reminded me of my dream, my other mother. Maybe it wasn't a dream, I thought. Maybe it was a memory.

"Mom," I said.

"Shhh, sweetie, sleep," she whispered. "l just wanted to say I love you, and I'm your mother, and you've been my daughter since the first second I laid eyes on you."

I shook my head, wanting to protest that it wasn't true, but I was already too close to sleep. As I drifted off into a deep, blessed numbness I was aware of warm tears soaking my pillow. I don't know if they were hers or mine.

The next morning was bizarre in how ordinary it seemed. As usual, Mom and Dad got up and went to work early, before I was even awake. As usual, Mary K. yelled for me to hurry as I drifted through my shower, trying to brace myself for the day.

Mary K. looked pale and pinch faced and was unusually quite as I gulped down a Diet Coke and threw books into my backpack.

"I want you to stop what you're doing," she said so softly, I could barely hear her. "I want us to go back to being how we were."

I sighed. I had never felt jealous or competitive when it came to Mary K. I'd always wanted to take care of her. I wondered if it would be different now. I had no idea. But I knew that I still hated seeing her hurt.

"It's too late for that," I said quietly. "And I need to know the truth. There have been too many secrets for too long."

Mary K. raised her hands, and they fluttered for a moment in midair as she tried to think of something to say. But there wasn't anything to say, and in the end we just got our backpacks and headed outside to Das Boot.

Cal was waiting for me at school. He walked over to my car as I parked and met me as I opened the door. Mary K. looked at him, as if to measure his involvement in all of this. He met her gaze calmly, sympathetically.

"I'm Cal," he said, holding out his hand. "Cal Blaire. I don't think we've really met."

Mary K. looked at him. "I know who you are," she said, not taking his hand. "Are you doing witchcraft with Morgan?"

"Mary K.!" I started, but Cal held up his hand

"It's okay," he said. "Yes, I'm doing witchcraft with Morgan. But we're not doing anything wrong."

"Wrong for who?" Mary K. sounded older than fourteen.

She slid past Cal and got out of the car. She was immediately surrounded by her friends, but she looked unhappy and withdrawn. I wondered what she would tell them. Then Bakker Blackburn, her boyfriend, came up. They walked of together.

"How are you?" Cat asked, and kissed my forehead. "I've been thinking about you. I called last night, but your mom said you were asleep."

I saw people looking at us, Alessandra Spotford. Nett Norton, Justin Bartlett. Of course they were surprised to see Cal Blaire, human god, with Morgan Rowlands, Girl Most Likely to Remain Dateless Forever.

"Yeah—I think my brain just shut down. Thanks for calling. I'll tell you about everything later." He squeezed my shoulder, and together we walked up to where the coven—we were a coven now and not just a group of friends—hung out, on the cement benches by the east side of the school. The redbrick building looked reassuringly familiar and unchanged, but that was about the inly thing my life that was the same today.

Seven pairs of eyes were on us as we came up the crumbling brick walkway. I sought out Bree's face. She was studiously examining her brown suede boots. She looked beautiful and remote, cool and aloof. Two weeks ago she had been my best friend in the world, the person I loved most besides my family, the person who knew me the best.

Something in me still cared about her, still wanted to confide in her, as impossible as that was. I thought about telling my problems to one of my other friends, like Tamara Pritchett or Janice Yutoh, but I knew I couldn't.

"Hi, Morgan, Cal," said Jenna Ruiz, her face as open and friendly as ever. She gave me a sincere smile, and I smiled back. Matt Adler was sitting next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Jenna coughed, covering her mouth, and for a moment Matt looked at her in concern. She shook her head and smiled at him.

"Hi, Jenna. Everyone," I said.

Raven Meltzer was looking at me with open dislike. Her dark eyes, heavily rimmed with kohl and sprinkled with glitter, glowed with an inner anger. She had wanted Cal for herself, like Bree. Like me.

"Samhain was amazing," said Sharon Goodfine, crossing her arms over her ample chest as if she were cold. She gave the word its proper pronunciation: Sowen. "I feel so different. I felt different all weekend." Her carefully made up face looked thoughtful rather than snobbish.

Without thinking about what I was doing, I cast my senses out, gently, carefully, feeling for the emotions of the people surrounding me. It was like what I'd experienced during the circle in the cemetery, but this time I directed it. This time I did it on purpose.

It occurred to me only in passing that perhaps my friends' emotions should be private, belonging only to them.

Jenna was just as she appeared; open, good-natured. Matt seemed the same, but deep within him I sensed a dark space he kept to himself. Cal… Cal glanced at me. In quick surprise as my sense net touched his mind. As I scanned him I felt a sudden, hot rush of desire from him, and I blushed and pulled back quickly. He gave me a look, as if to say, Well, you asked…

Ethan Sharp was interesting—a colorful mosaic of thoughts and feelings, tightly held distrust, poetry and disappointment. Sharon had a stillness to her, a calm center that seemed new. There was also a hesitant half-embarrassed tenderness—for who? Ethan?