Bree came back, holding a book called Sabbats: Past and Present, by Sarah Morningstar.

"I'll get this, too," she said, sliding it onto the counter. The clerk silently rang it up.

Then, as Bree took her paper bag, he said to me, "You might be interested in one of our history books." He reached for it beneath the worn wooden counter.

It's black, I thought, and he pulled out a black-covered paperback. Its title was The Seven Great Clans: Origins of Witchcraft Examined.

I stared at the book, tempted to blurt out, "That's mine!" But of course it wasn't mine—I had never seen it before. I wondered why it seemed so familiar.

"It's practically required reading," the clerk said, looking at me. "It's important to know about blood witches," he went on. "You never know when you might meet one."

I nodded quickly. "I'll take it," I said, and fished out my wallet. Buying it cleaned me out entirely.

When I had bought my books, we took our bags and stepped again into the sunny day. Bree slipped on her sunglasses and instantly looked like a celebrity going incognito.

"What a cool place, huh?"

"Very cool," I said, though for me that didn't express even a tiny part of the emotions storming in my chest.

I can't stop thinking about Practical Magick and the strange mixture of fear and familiarity I felt there. Why did the names of the esbats and festivals feel like deeply buried memories? I never gave much thought to the possibility of past lives, but now, who knows?

"Morgan! Mary K.!" my mom called from downstairs. "Eileen's here!"

I rolled off my bed, marked my place in the book, and put it on my desk next to Bar journal, trying to pull myself back to the regular world. I was blown away by what I had been reading—about Wicca's roots in pre-Christian Europe thousands and thousands of years ago.

My brain still felt glazed as I padded downstairs in my socks just as my dad came in the front door with bags of food from Kabob Palace, Widow's Vale's only Middle Eastern restaurant. The smell of falafel and hummus started bringing me back to my senses.

I went into the living room, where the rest of the group was already gathered.

"Hi, Aunt Eileen," I said, and hugged her hello.

"Hi, sweetie," she said. "I'd like you to meet my friend, Paula Steen."

Paula stood up as I turned toward her, a smile already on my face. The first impression I had was of animals, as if Paula were covered with animals. I stopped dead and blinked. I mean, I saw Paula: She was a bit taller than I am, with sandy hair down to her shoulders and wide, pale green eyes. But I also saw dogs and cats and birds and rabbits all around her. It was weird and scary, and I felt an instant of panic.

"Hi, Morgan," Paula said, her voice friendly. "Urn, are you okay?"

"I'm seeing animals," I said faintly, wondering if I should sit down and put my head between my knees.

Paula laughed. "I guess I can never quite get all the fur off," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm a vet," she explained, "and I just came from a Sunday clinic." She looked down at her skirt and jacket"! thought with enough masking tape, I might be presentable."

"Oh, you are!" I said, feeling stupid. "You look fine." I shook my head and blinked a couple of times, and all the weird afterimages were gone. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Maybe you're psychic," Paula suggested easily, as if she were suggesting that maybe I was a vegetarian or a Democrat.

"Or maybe she's just a weirdo," Mary K. said brightly, and I aimed a kick at her leg.

The doorbell rang, and I ran to get it.

"What's she like?" whispered Bree, stepping into the foyer.

"She's great I'm a freak," I whispered back as Bree hung her jacket on a peg.

"You can explain later," she said and followed me into the living room to meet Paula.

"Okay!" my mom announced a few minutes later. "Why don't you all come in and sit down? Food's ready."

Once we were seated and served, I thought back to what I had said. Why had I seen those images of animals? Why did I say anything?

In spite of my weirdness, dinner was great. I liked Paula right away. She was warm and funny and obviously crazy about Aunt Eileen. I was happy to have Bree there, talking to everyone and teasing Mary K. She felt like one of us, one of our family. Once she told me that she loves coming to our house for dinner because it feels like a real family. At her house it's usually just her and her dad. Or just her, eating alone.

As I was helping myself to more tabouli, I looked up and absently said, "Oh, Mom—it's Ms. Fiorello."

"What?" my mom asked, dipping her pita bread into some hummus. Just then the phone rang. Mom got up to answer it. She talked in the kitchen for a minute, then hung up and came to sit back down. She looked at me.

"It was Betty Fiorello," she said. "Had she told you she was going to call?"

I shook my head and applied myself to my tabouli.

Bree and Mary K. started humming the theme from The X-Files.

"She is psychic!" Aunt Eileen laughed. "Quick, who's going to win the play-offs for the World Series?"

I laughed self-consciously. "Sorry. Nothing's coming to me."

Dinner went on, and Mary K. teased me about my supernatural brain powers. A couple of times I felt my mother's eyes on me.

Maybe since I had been in the circle, since I had banished limitations, something inside me was opening up. I didn't know whether to feel glad or terrified. I wanted to talk to Bree about it, but she had to get home right after dinner.

"Bye, Mr. and Mrs. Rowlands," Bree said, putting on her jacket. "Thanks for dinner—it was great. Nice meeting you, Paula."

Later, after Aunt Eileen and Paula left, I went upstairs and did my calculus homework I called Bree, but she was watching a football game with her dad and said she'd talk to me the next day.

Around eleven I got a weird urge to call Cal and tell him what was going on with me. Luckily I realized how completely insane this was and let the urge pass. I fell asleep with my face against the pages of The Seven Great Clans.

"Welcome to Rowlands Airlines," I intoned on Monday morning as Mary K. slid into the car, trying to hold her cardboard tray level so the scrambled eggs didn't slide into her lap. "Please fasten your seat belts and keep your seat in its upright and locked position."

Mary K. giggled and took a bite of her sausage patty. "Looks like rain," she said, chewing.

"I hope it does rain so Mr. Herndon won't clean his stupid gutters," I said, steering with my knees so I could open a soda.

Mary K. paused, her eyes narrowed. "Urn, okaaay," she said in an exaggerated soothing tone. "I hope so, too." She continued chewing, giving me a sidelong glance. "Are we back to The X-Files again?"

I tried to laugh, but I was puzzled by my own words. The Herndons were an old couple who lived three houses down. I hardly ever thought about them.

"Maybe you're metamorphosing into a higher being," my sister suggested, opening a small carton of orange juice. She took a deep swig, then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Her straight, shiny, russet-colored hair swung in a perfect bell to her shoulders, and she looked pretty and feminine, like my mom.

"I'm already a superior being," I reminded her.

"I said higher, not superior," Mary K. said.