He shook his head, looking disgusted. “They have no good reason. They said it was on a ‘need to know’ basis. Why they didn’t think you or I needed to know is a complete mystery. I think they’re just embarrassed that he’s slipped through their fingers again. Obviously they should have taken him in before now and stripped his powers. But they were hoping he would lead them to other cells of Amyranth. Now he’s gone.”

The image of Ciaran having his powers stripped was disturbing—I’d seen it happen before, and it was horrifying. But the image of Ciaran coming after me with full powers—maybe being in Widow’s Vale right now—was much, much worse.

“I can’t believe it,” I said, feeling anger rise in me like acid. “Who the hell do they think they are? I don’t need to know my own father is free? When I’m the one who put the watch sigil on him?”

Hunter nodded grimly. “Too right. I don’t know what they’re doing. The council was never intended to be able to act with impunity. They seem to have forgotten that, and that they have a responsibility and an obligation to the witches they represent. Not to mention their own fellow council members.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said again. “Those asses. So we can assume that Ciaran is around here somewhere.” I thought about it. “I haven’t picked up on anything, except the vision.”

“Nor I. But I think we can guess he’s coming to at least talk to you, like he said.”

“What should we do? What are you going to do?”

“We need to be incredibly vigilant and on guard,” he said. “I’m going to demand that the council take some responsibility for once, take some real action. In the meantime, your house and car are about as protected as I know how.”

I closed my eyes. I had liked Eoife, the council witch I knew the best, but I was outraged that they had bungled this so badly and hadn’t bothered to tell me. Surely they knew that I would be in danger. What had they been thinking?

“The council—” Hunter began, then stopped abruptly, clearly as upset as I was. “It’s like they’re falling apart, with certain factions acting without the knowledge or approval of the others. When it was first formed, they had strong witches at the head. Nowadays the whole thing is being run, and badly, by a witch named Cynthia Pratt. She doesn’t seem to have a handle on anything.”

“Great. So now what?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I have to think about it. But maybe we should try scrying again, see if we can pick up on anything about Ciaran at all.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Can I come in?”

My parents would be home from work soon. I had to finish getting dinner together. I glanced at my watch. “I have maybe ten minutes, max,” I said. “But if my mom or dad comes home early, you’ll have to get yourself out of here without them seeing.”

He nodded, and I opened the front door, almost hitting Alisa, who was on her way out. She shot me a startled glance and clutched her messenger bag tighter to her chest. With a jolt I remembered the broken butter dish and sighed. Given the way Alisa was eyeing me, she thought I’d done my Blair Witch act. It was unfortunate that these things often seemed to happen when she was around.

“Hi, Alisa,” Hunter said absently, stepping aside to let her pass. “Hope you’re feeling better.” Alisa had been hospitalized about a month ago for some kind of flu, but she seemed fine now.

“Thanks,” Alisa muttered; then she scuttled past us on the porch and went down the stairs. I watched her for a moment; then Hunter and I entered the warmth of my house.

In my room, where the only male creatures allowed were my father and Dagda, Hunter and I sat on my woven grass rug and lit a candle. We surrounded it with protective stones: agate, jade, malachite, moonstone, olivine, a pearl, black tourmaline, a chunk of rock salt, and a pale brown topaz. We linked hands, touched knees, and looked into the candle. I knew we had only minutes, so I concentrated hard and ruthlessly shut out any extraneous thoughts. Ciaran, I thought. Ciaran. Hunter’s power blended with mine, and we both focused our energy on the candle. The glow of the candle filled my eyes until it seemed that the whole room around me was glowing. Slowly a figure began to emerge, black, from the glow. My heart quickened, and I waited for Ciaran’s face to become recognizable. But when the glow faded a bit, it revealed revealed instead a woman or a girl—her back was to me. She raised one arm and wrote sigils in the air. I didn’t recognize them. I got the impression she was working magick, powerful magick, but I didn’t know what kind. Who are you? I thought. Why am I seeing you? As if in answer, the girl started turning to face me. But before I saw her features, a great, rolling wave of fire swept toward her. She crumpled underneath it, and the fire swept on. I waited to see the twisted and charred body left behind, but before I could, the image winked out, as if someone had turned off a slide projector.

I sat back, disappointed and confused.

“What I saw didn’t make sense,” Hunter said finally, blowing out the candle.

“It didn’t to me, either,” I said. “I didn’t see Ciaran at all—just a girl and a fire.”

“What does it mean?” he asked in frustration, and then we heard a gentle tap on the door.

“Mom just pulled up,” Mary K. said quietly.

Quickly I put the candle away and Hunter slipped back into his jacket. I opened my bedroom door.

“Thanks,” I told my sister.

She looked at me pointedly. “I got dinner together for you. I cleaned up the broken glass. And now I’ve told you mom’s home so your ass won’t be in a sling.”

“Oh, Mary K.,” I said gratefully. “Thank you. I owe you one.”

“You sure do,” she agreed, and I followed her down the stairs.

“Be careful,” I heard Hunter barely breathe in back of me, and I nodded. Then my mom was in the living room, and I went to the kitchen to finish dinner, and soon after that my dad came home. I never heard Hunter leave, but half an hour later I remembered to glance out the window, and of course his car was gone. It made me feel incredibly alone.

This is it, I thought, staring at the green book that lay before me on my bed. This is the beginning of my complete and total slide toward hell. Now I am a thief.

I had never stolen anything in my life, yet when I saw that stupid green book of Morgan’s, I had been taken over by my evil twin. My stupid evil twin. Only the three of us were in their kitchen. If Morgan noticed the book was gone, she’d ask Mary K. Mary K. wouldn’t know, and by a lightning-swift process of elimination, one name would come up: Alisa Soto. Sticky Fingers Soto. Which is why I’d pretty much avoided both of them at school today. But neither of them had acted funny when I’d seen them, so maybe Morgan hadn’t missed the book yet.

The only thing I had going for me was that Dad was at work, of course, and Hilary must be at her Mama Yoga class since it was Tuesday. Yay. I had no witnesses to my crime.

It was hard—no, impossible—to explain. But when I had seen that book fall out of Morgan’s backpack, it was like it was my book that I had lost a long time ago, and here it was. So I took it back.

Just in case Hilary popped in anytime soon, I locked my bedroom door. I felt strange—maybe some of Morgan’s weirdness was rubbing off on me. I almost felt like I was dreaming—watching myself do stuff without knowing why.