Hunter grinned back at me. Mr. Niall didn’t look up. He was starting to lose his pinched look, I saw when I glanced at him. The first time I’d met him, he looked like someone had forgotten him under a cupboard—all gray and dried up. After more than a week, he was beginning to look more alive.

“Da, why don’t you tell Morgan some of what you’ve been thinking about with Rose’s book?” Hunter suggested. “The part about the spell against a dark wave?”

Mr. Niall looked like he’d suddenly bitten a lemon.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” I said, feeling a defensive anger kindle inside me. I clamped down on it.

“No, I want him to,” Hunter persisted.

“I’m not ready,” Daniel said, looking at Hunter. “I’ve gotten some help from the book, but not enough to discuss it.”

Hunter turned to me, and I saw a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Da has been reading Rose’s BOS. In it there are sort of clues that he thinks he could use to craft a spell, something that could possibly dismantle a dark wave.”

“Oh my God. Mr. Niall—that’s incredible!” I said sincerely.

Daniel set his napkin by his plate.Without looking at me, he said tersely, “This is all premature, Gìomanach. I’m not getting enough from the book to make it work. And I don’t think Ciaran’s daughter should be included in our discussion.”

Well, there it was, out in the open. I felt like the town tramp sitting in at a revival meeting.

Hunter became very still, and I knew enough to think, Uh-oh. His hands rested on the table on either side of his plate, but every muscle in his body was tensed, like a leopard ready to strike. I saw Mr. Niall’s eyes narrow slightly.

“Da,” Hunter said very quietly, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that they’d had this conversation before, “Morgan is not in league with Ciaran. Ciaran has tried to kill her. She herself put a watch sigil on him for the council. Now he’s on his way here, or is already here, to confront her about it. They are on opposite sides. She could be in mortal danger.”

There was a terrible stillness in his voice. I’d heard him sound that way only a few times before, and always in intensely horrible situations. Hearing it now sent shivers down my spine. Coming had been a mistake. As I was debating whether or not I was brave enough to just get up, grab my jacket, and walk out to my car with as much dignity as possible, Mr. Niall spoke.

“Can we afford to take the chance?” His voice was mild, unantagonistic: He was backing down.

“The chance you’re taking is not the one you think,” Hunter said, not breaking his gaze. Silence.

Finally Mr. Niall looked down at his plate. His long fingers tapped gently against the table. Then he said, “A dark wave is in essence a rip in what divides this world from the netherworld. The spell to cast a dark wave has several parts. Or at least, this is my working hypothesis. First, the caster would have to protect herself, or himself, with various limitations. Then he or she would have to proscribe the boundaries of the dark wave when it forms so that it doesn’t cover the entire earth, for example.”

Goddess. I hadn’t realized that was possible.

“The actual rip, for lack of a better word, would be caused by another part of the spell, and it basically creates an artificial opening between the two worlds,” Mr. Niall went on. “Then the spell calls on dark energy, spirits, entities from the netherworld to come into this world. They form the dark wave and as a cloud of negative energy destroy anything that is positive energy. Which describes most of the things on the face of the earth.”

“Are these ghosts?” I asked.

Mr. Niall shook his head. “Not exactly. For the most part, they’ve never been alive and have no individual identity.They seem to have just enough consciousness to feel hunger. The more positive energy they absorb, the stronger they are the next time. The dark waves of today are infinitely stronger than the one Rose unleashed three hundred years ago. Then the last part of the spell gathers this energy in and sends it back through the rip.”

I thought. “So an opposite spell would have to take into account all the parts of the original spell. And then either permanently seal the division between the two worlds or disband the dark energy.”

“Yes,” Mr. Niall said. He seemed to be loosening up slightly. “I think I can somehow do this—if I have enough time, and if I can decipher enough of Rose’s spell. I have knowledge of the dark waves, and my wife was a Wyndenkell, a great spellcrafter. But it’s starting to look as if Rose was careful not to put the information I need in writing.”

It was my ancestor who started all this, I thought glumly. It runs in my family. My family. I looked up. “Could I see Rose’s book again, please?”

Hunter immediately got up and left the room. Mr. Niall opened his mouth as if to object, then thought better of it. In moments Hunter was back with the centuries-old, disintegrating Book of Shadows. I opened it carefully, trying not to harm the brittle pages.

“Does either of you have an athame?” I asked. Wordlessly Hunter went and got his. “Hold it over the page,” I told him. “See if anything shows up.”

“I’ve tried this already,” Mr. Niall huffed.

“Da, I think you underestimate the benefit of Morgan’s unusual powers,” Hunter said evenly. “Beyond that, she’s a descendant of Rose. She may connect with her writing in ways that you and I can’t.”

Hunter slowly moved the flat of the knife blade over the page, and we all peered at it. When I had first found my mother, Maeve’s, Book of Shadows, I had used this technique to illuminate some hidden writing. I had a feeling it might work again.

“I don’t see anything.” Hunter sighed.

I took the athame and slid the book closer to me. I let my mind sink into the page covered with tiny, spidery writing, its ink long faded to brown. Show me, I thought in a singsong. Show me your secrets. Then I slowly moved the athame over the page, just as Hunter had done. Show me, I whispered silently. Show me.

The sudden tension of both Hunter and Mr. Niall’s bodies alerted me to it even before my eyes picked up on it. Below me on the page, fine, glowy blue writing was shimmering under the knife blade. I tried to read it but couldn’t—the words were strange, and some of the letters I didn’t recognize.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and put the athame on the table. “Did you recognize those words?” I asked.

Mr. Niall nodded, looking into my face for the first time all evening. “They were an older form of Gaelic.”

Then he picked up the athame and held it over the page. For a long minute nothing happened; then the blue writing shone again. Mr. Niall’s eyes seemed to drink.

“This is it,” he said, awe and excitement in his voice. “This is the kind of information I need. These are the secret clues I’ve been looking for.” He looked at me with grudging respect. “Thank you.”

“Nicely done, Morgan,” said Hunter. I smiled at him self-consciously and saw pride and admiration in his eyes.

All of a sudden I felt physically ill, as if my body had been caught in a sneak attack by a flu virus. I realized I had a headache and felt achy and tired. I needed to go home.

“It’s late,” I said to Hunter. “I better get going.”

Mr. Niall looked at me as I turned to go. “Cheers, Morgan.”

“’Bye, Mr. Niall.” I looked at Hunter. “What about the writing? Will it disappear if I leave?”

Hunter shook his head. “You’ve revealed it, so it should be visible for at least a few hours. Long enough for Da to transcribe it.” Hunter got my jacket and walked me out onto the porch.We both gave a quick glance around and felt each other cast our senses.

“Let me get my keys,” he said. “I’ll follow you to your house.”

I shook my head. “Let’s not go through this again.” Hunter was always trying to protect me more than I was comfortable with.