I nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” At the edge of town is an old Methodist cemetery where several magickal “leys” cross. That made that area a power sink: any magick made there was stronger. Any inherent blood witch powers were also stronger there.

“The problem, of course,” Mr. Niall went on, “is that to be close enough to cast the spell, a witch is in effect sacrificing herself or himself because it will most likely cause death.”

“Even if the spell works and the wave is averted?” I asked.

Hunter’s dad nodded. The sudden whistle of the kettle distracted us, and Hunter mechanically made three mugs of tea. I gazed numbly at the steam rising from mine, then flicked my fingers over it widdershins and thought, Cool the fire. I took a sip. It was perfect.

“Well, that’s a problem,” Hunter said.

“No, it isn’t,” said Mr. Niall. “I’ll cast the spell.”

Hunter stared at him.“But you just said it would probably kill the caster!”

His father seemed calm: his mind had been made up for a while. “Yes. There are only so many blood witches around Widow’s Vale. I’m the logical choice—I’m crafting the spell, so I’ll know it best—and I would once again be with my mùirn beatha dàn.”

Hunter had told me the loss of his mother, just a few months ago, had almost destroyed his father.

“I just got you back!” Hunter said, pushing away from the table. “You can’t possibly do this! There has to be some other witch who would be a better choice.”

Mr. Niall smiled wryly. “Like a witch with terminal cancer? All right, we can look for one.” He shook his head. “Look, lad, it’s got to be me. You know it as well as I do.”

“I’m stronger,” Hunter said, wearing the determined look that I knew so well. “I should cast it. I’m sure I could survive. You could teach me the spell.”

Mr. Niall shook his head.

“Dammit, I won’t let you!” Hunter’s loud voice filled the small kitchen. If he’d yelled at me like that, I would have been appalled, but his father seemed unmoved.

“It’s not your decision, lad,” he said. Calmly he picked up his mug of tea and drank.

“How long do we have?” I whispered, running my hands over the worn surface of the tabletop. “Is it tomorrow, or next week, or...”

Mr. Niall put down his mug. “It’s impossible to say for certain.” He looked at Hunter. “I would say, given the level of decay in the air and what I’ve read about the effects of an oncoming wave... perhaps a week. Perhaps a little less.”

“Oh, Goddess!” I put my head down on the table and felt tears welling up behind my eyes. “A week! You’re saying we might have one week left on this planet, a week before our families all die? All because of me? All because of my father?”

Mr. Niall surveyed me with an odd, grave expression. “I’m afraid so, lass.” He stood. “I’m going back to work.” Without a good-bye he left the room, and I heard him go upstairs.

“I just got him back,” Hunter said, sounding near tears. I looked up from the table and realized, all at once, that no matter what happened to my family, Hunter was certainly going to lose his father. I stood up and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. So many times he had comforted me, and now I was glad to have the chance to give some back to him.

“I know,” I said softly.

“He’s got years left. Years to teach me. For me to get to know him again.”

“I know.” I held his head against my chest.

His body was tight with tension. “Bloody hell. This can’t get any worse.”

“It can always get worse,” I said, and we both knew it was true.

“Can I get you anything? I’m running to the store.” Hilary’s voice interrupted my reading, and I glanced up as the door to my room opened. There she was, in black leggings and a red tunic, her artificially streaked hair held back by a red Alice band.

“No. I’m okay,” I said, raising my voice so she could hear me over my CD player.

“Ginger ale? That’s what I like when I’m sick.”

“No thanks.”

I won the stare-down contest, and when Hilary finally broke, I went back to my reading. A minute later I heard the front door close with a little more force than necessary. I had elected to take a mental health day—going to school, having PE, eating lunch with people, paying attention in class—it all seemed ridiculous compared to finding out I was half witch. Thus my “illness” that Hilary was trying to treat. But she was gone now, and I had peace and quiet.

I pulled Sarah Curtis’s Book of Shadows from under my bed and then got the small pile of letters. Since Tuesday, I had read all of them. It was like trying to absorb the news that a huge meteor was hurtling toward Earth—on some level, I just couldn’t comprehend it. I mean, until a month or two ago I hadn’t even known that real blood witches existed, and I kind of hadn’t even believed it until I had seen Morgan Rowlands and Hunter Niall do things that couldn’t be explained any other way. And now, surprise! I was half of something weird myself. Not only that, but my mom had pretty much felt the same way about being a witch—it had scared her, too, and before she met my dad, she had actually stripped herself of her powers.Which would explain why he didn’t know she was a witch.

I had a lot to take in—my mother being a witch, her stripping herself of her powers, which I didn’t even know you could do, and also about her family. Dad had always said that Mom had a falling-out with her family before he met her. He’d never known any of them. From the Book of Shadows and Sam Curtis’s letters, it was starting to look more like they had disinherited her when she stripped herself of her powers. So unless they had all been wiped out by a freak accident after my mother left Gloucester, there might actually still be some relatives living there. I guessed it was possible they were all dead—GLOUCESTER FAMILY DECIMATED BY ROGUE TORNADO—but that seemed kind of unlikely.

Mom had been a Rowanwand. I knew from what Hunter had said in circles that Rowanwands in general had a reputation for being the “good guy” witches. They were dedicated to knowledge, they helped other witches, they had all sworn to do no evil, to not take part in clan wars. That didn’t fit me at all. Dedicated to knowledge? I hated school. Sworn to do no evil? It seemed like every ten minutes, I was harshing out on someone. So I didn’t feel very Rowanwandish. Which was a good thing, in my opinion.

Maybe being a witch was like a recessive gene, and you had to have copies from both parents in order for it to kick in. That would be cool. I breathed out, already feeling relieved. Since Dad was normal, maybe I only carried the witch gene, but it wouldn’t be expressed. I frowned, thinking back to last semester’s biology class. Pea plants and fruit flies popped into my mind, but what about recessive witch genes? Or was it even a gene? But what else could it be?

I groaned and leaned back against my pillows. Now I really did have a headache. I went to the bathroom and took some Tylenol and was just climbing back into bed when I heard the front door shut again downstairs. Feeling my nerves literally fraying, I pushed the letters and and book under my covers and picked up The Crucible, which we were studying in sophomore English, ironically enough.

I was just making a mental note to pick up the CliffsNotes for it when, lo and behold, Hilary popped her head around my door because I had forgotten to lock it. She was carrying a tray that had a sprout-filled sandwich on it and some teen magazines that had articles like “Are You Over Your Ex? Take This Quiz and Find Out!”