“Can you be more specific?”

Her shiny russet hair bounced as she shook her head. “I haven’t worked out the details.”

We both laughed, and I pulled over the box of Girl Scout cookies and had another Thin Mint.

“Any wedding news?”

My eyes closed in painful memory. “Right now the flower-girl dress of choice is emerald green, which will basically make me look like I died of jaundice, and it has a big wide bow across the ass. Like, look at my humongous big butt, everyone! In case you missed it!”

“I still can’t get over the fact that you’re the flower girl,” Mary K. laughed, falling back on her bed, and it was hard for me to remain sour.

“My backup plan is to break my leg the morning of the ceremony,” I told her. “So I’ll be bringing you a baseball bat soon, just in case.”

I turned my attention back to my algebra problems. Art class I was good at. But all these little numbers jumping around the page just left me cold. “What did you get for the equation for number seven?” I asked, tapping my pencil against my teeth.

“A big blank. Maybe we should get Morgan.”

“I’ll get her,” I said casually, getting to my feet. There was the slightest surprise in Mary K.’s eyes that I would voluntarily talk to the witch queen.“Where is she?”

“In her room, I think.”

Mary K. and Morgan’s rooms were connected by the bathroom they shared.The door to Morgan’s room was ajar, and I tapped on it.

“Morgan?”

“Mpfh?” I heard in response, and I pushed open the door. Morgan was lying on her bed, a wet washcloth draped over her forehead. Her long hair spilled over the side of her bed. She looked awful.

As I approached the bed, she mumbled, “Alisa? What’s up?” She hadn’t opened her eyes, and I got a little nervous shiver from this evidence of her witch skills.

“How do you do that?” I asked quietly. “You can just feel someone’s vibes or something? Or like my aura?”

At this Morgan did open her eyes and bunched her pillow under her head so she could see me. “I gave you a ride after school, so I knew you were here. I heard someone open the door and walk into my room. I knew it wasn’t me. Mary K. sort of flounces through and makes more noise. That left you.”

“Oh,” I said, my cheeks flushing.

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” she said.

I had no idea what that meant. “Anyway, Mary K. and I are stuck on an algebra problem. Could you come help us? If you’re up to it, I mean.” She looked really sick. “Do you have the flu or something? Why were you in school?”

Morgan shook her head and sat up very slowly, like an old lady.“No. I’m okay.”

“Hunter’s sick, too.Why didn’t you just stay home?”

“I’m okay,” she said, obviously lying. “How do you feel?”

“Uh, I have a little headache. Mary K. thinks it’s the weather.”

Our eyes met just then, and I swear Morgan looked like she wanted to say something, was about to say something.

“What?” I asked.

Standing up, Morgan pulled down her sweatshirt and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Nothing,” she said, heading toward the door. “What’s this problem you need help with?”

There was more here than she was telling me. I knew it. Without thinking, I reached out to grab her sleeve, and at that exact instant there was a thud and a sound like glass hitting something. I looked around wildly, wondering what I had destroyed this time, feeling cursed.

“That was Dagda,” Morgan explained, a tinge of amusement in her voice.

Sure enough, I now saw her small gray cat getting to his feet on the floor by Morgan’s bed. He looked sleepy and irritated.

“Sometimes he rolls off the bed when he’s asleep,” Morgan said.

Frustrated, I pulled back my hand and curled and uncurled my fingers. There was something happening here, something I didn’t know about. Something Morgan wasn’t telling me. I remembered the other day, when Morgan had run out of the kitchen to talk to Hunter, how upset she had seemed. But her face was now closed, like a shade being pulled down, and I knew she wouldn’t tell me. We went into Mary K.’s room, back to algebra and away from magick.

That night I was slumped on my bed, taking a magazine quiz to find out if I was a flirting master or a flirting disaster. By question five, things were looking bad for me. I tossed the magazine aside, my mind going back to Morgan. For some reason I had a terrible feeling—I couldn’t even describe it. But I was somehow convinced that something weird or bad was happening, and that Morgan and Hunter knew about it, and that they were keeping it to themselves.

But what could it be? They both looked physically ill. Morgan had seemed so close to saying something, something hard. And last week there had been a day when Hunter had sat outside school literally all day. I didn’t think it was just because he couldn’t stand to be away from her.

Sitting up, I decided to confront Morgan again. I would somehow make her tell me what was going on, what was wrong with her and Hunter. The flaws in this plan were immediately obvious: (1) I had already asked Morgan, and she’d made it clear that she wasn’t going to tell me. (2) Mary K. would wonder why I needed to talk to Morgan. And if it was some weird witch thing, I didn’t want to drag her into it.

So how could I find out?

Hunter.

No. I knew him, but we weren’t good friends. I was kind of impressed by and wary of him at the same time. What would he think if I asked him to tell me their secret? Would he get mad at me?

Hunter was out. But... there really wasn’t anyone else. I went through the members of Kithic in my mind. No one else had seemed nervous or ill. Just Morgan and Hunter. The blood witches. I shook my head. My brain kept coming back to this again and again, the way it had about my mother’s green book. This felt the same.

I had to talk to Hunter.

I didn’t have his phone number, but I knew where he lived. Now, did I have the nerve to ask him? I had no choice. I ran downstairs: Girl of Action. In the living room I encountered Hilary, watching a dvd of Sex and the City. Too late I remembered that Dad had gone to a union meeting at the post office, where he worked. Damn, damn, damn. I met Hilary’s inquiring look. I had to go ahead and ask her.

“Um, I forgot my algebra book at school,” I said, giving an Oscar-caliber performance. Not. “My friend has the same book and says I can borrow his. Do you think you could give me a ride to his house?”

Hilary actually looked touched to be asked, and I felt a little pang of guilt over the way I usually treated her. The fact that I would now owe her was not lost on me. Once again I wished the state of New York would lower the freaking driving age to, say, fifteen. Then I wouldn’t have to ask anyone for favors.

“Sure,” Hilary said easily. She clicked off the TV and stood up, stretching. She gave me a smile and almost looked pretty for a split second. “Let me go to the bathroom real quick. Since I’ve been pregnant, I have to pee every five minutes.”

She turned and left the room then, so she didn’t see the horrified expression on my face. Oh, gross! Why did I have to know that?

Not being a complete idiot, I held my tongue, and a few minutes later I was directing her to Hunter’s house. When Hilary parked behind Hunter’s car, I said, “I’m having trouble with this one section. Is it okay if I stay for a minute so he can explain it to me?”

“Take your time,” Hilary said. She clicked on the radio and closed her eyes, leaning back against the headrest.

“Thanks,” I said, and hopped out of the car. Up on the porch I rang the doorbell, and after a moment it was answered by an older man I didn’t know. Oh, this had to be Hunter’s dad—I’d heard he’d come back from Canada to live with him. He didn’t look much like Hunter—almost too old to be his real dad.

“You’re a witch,” he said after a moment, startling me.