If he replied, I didn't hear it. Blood crashed in my ears. Somehow I managed to cross the three steps to the recliner and drop into it. Cortez sat on the armrest, but I turned away from him. No one could understand what this meant to me and I didn't want anyone to try. As he bent over me, his lips moved, and I braced myself against the inevitable "I'm sorry."

Instead he said, "They're wrong."

I looked up at him. He leaned down and brushed the hair from my face, using the movement to stroke my cheek with his thumb.

"They're wrong, Paige."

I buried my face against his side and began to sob.

I knew the Elders were beyond help. All the older witches were. They were set in their ways and their beliefs, and I could do little to change that. I wouldn't waste my time trying. Instead, I wanted to focus on the younger generation, the ones like Kylie, who was heading off to college this fall and seriously contemplating breaking with the Coven.

Save the younger generation and let the older one wither away. From there, I could reform the Coven, make it a place witches came to, not escaped from. Once the Coven had regained its strength and vitality, we could reach out to other witches, offer training and fellowship and a powerful alternative to those, like Eve, who saw power only in dark magic. I'd make the Coven more flexible, more adaptable, more attractive, better suited to fulfilling the needs of all witches. A grand plan, to be sure. Maybe not one I could even realize in my lifetime. But I could start it. I could try.

This was more than a vision; it was the embodiment of every hope I'd had since I'd been old enough to form hopes. I couldn't imagine leaving the Coven. Literally could not envision it. Never at any time in my life had I wondered what life would be like outside the Coven. I'd never dreamed of living outside Massachusetts. I'd never dreamed of falling in love and marrying. I'd never even dreamed of children. The Coven was my dream and Id never considered anything that would interfere with that mission.

So what was I to do now? Roll over and cry? Let the Elders drive me away? Never. When the initial pain of being banished subsided, I stepped back for a logical assessment of the situation. So the Coven had kicked me out. They were scared. Reacting to an age-old fear instilled in them by Victoria and her cronies. Terrified of exposure, they took the easiest route-rid themselves of the cause of that threat. The people of East Falls had done the same thing with their petition. Once the danger passed, both would welcome me back. Well, maybe "welcome" is optimistic, but they'd allow me to stay, in the town and in the Coven. With the right amount of will and determination, anything can be fixed.

"Wh-where's Savannah," I said, drying my eyes.

"In the kitchen. Making tea, I believe."

I pulled myself upright. "Seems everyone's been doing a lot of that lately. Taking care of Paige."

"Hardly. You-"

"I appreciate it, but I'm okay," I said, squeezing his hand as I got to my feet. "We've got things to do today. For starters, I should go through Savannah's ceremony with her. I know it's still a week away, but I want to make sure she remembers everything Eve told her and that we have all the ingredients."

He nodded. "Good idea. While you do that, if you don't mind, I'll toss my other set of clothing in the laundry."

"Oh, that's right. You've only got the two sets. Here, give me your dirty clothes-"

"I've got it, Paige. You go on with Savannah."

"Later, we should get your bags from the motel and bring them back here." I paused. "That is, if we're staying here. We should discuss that, too."

He nodded and I walked to the kitchen doorway. Savannah looked up from measuring tea.

"Leave that, hon," I said. "Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm fine. How about we run through that ceremony of your mom's, make sure I get it right?"

"Sure."

"Let me get my stuff, then, and we'll head downstairs."

Savannah followed me into my room. As I pulled my knapsack from its hiding place, the window smashed behind me. Savannah screamed and I wheeled around just as a football-sized rock crashed into the far wall. It hit the throw rug, rolling once and leaving a trail of red. Thinking it was blood, I spun to face Savannah, but she was running to the window, unharmed.

"Get away from there!" I yelled.

"I want to see who threw-"

"No!"

I grabbed her arm and wrenched her back. As I turned, I saw a word smeared in red paint on the large rock: BURN.

I dragged Savannah from the room as Cortez came sprinting from the kitchen.

"I was in the basement," he said. "What happened?"

I grabbed the phone and dialed 911 as Savannah explained about the rock. Cortez's face went grim and he marched to the kitchen window to look out back. As I was telling the 911 dispatcher what had happened, he took the phone from me.

"Get the fire department here now," he said to the 911 operator. "Police and fire. Immediately."

While he gave details, I ran to the window. My shed was engulfed in flames, fueled by the gasoline for the lawn mower and God knew what other flammable liquids.

Suddenly the shed exploded. The boom resounded through the house. When the next crash came, I thought it was still the shed-until shards of glass hit my face and something struck my shoulder.

Cortez yelled and dove at me, grabbing the back of my shirt and yanking me backward so hard I flew off my feet. As he pulled me from the kitchen, I saw what had hit me. A bottle stuffed with a flaming rag. I was barely out of the room when whatever filled the bottle ignited. A ball of fire flared, filling my kitchen with flame and smoke.

"Savannah, get down!" Cortez shouted. "Crawl to the door!"

From the back of the house, I heard another window break. My office! Oh, God, all my work was in there. As I wrenched free of Cortez's grasp, I remembered what other room was at the back of the house and what even more precious contents it held.

"My room! The ceremony material and the grimoires."

Cortez tried to grab me, but I lunged out of his reach. Sirens and shouts sounded, nearly drowned out by the crackle of fire. Two steps from my room, a cloud of smoke hit me. I reeled back, gagging. Instinctively I breathed deeper, gasping for air and filling my lungs with smoke. After a split second of animal panic, sense returned and I dropped onto all fours and crawled into my room.

My bed looked like a demonic fire-beast, a four-legged mass of flame, devouring everything within reach. A gust of wind billowed through the broken window, blowing smoke into my face and blinding me. I continued forward, moving from memory, fingers outstretched. I found the knapsack first and wrapped the straps around one hand as the other continued to search. When I touched the edge of the trapdoor, I stopped and began feeling around it. My fingers connected with the white-hot metal of the clasp and I jerked away, backing into the flaming throw rug.

For one moment, it was too much. The ancient fear of fire gnawed away reason, filling my brain with the smell, sound, taste, and feel of the flames. I froze, unable to move, certain I would die here, condemned to a witch's death. The horror of that thought-the very idea of curling up and surrendering to fear-restored my senses.

Ignoring the pain, I flipped the clasp and opened the trapdoor. A moment later, I had the second backpack. I seized the straps, yanked it from the cubbyhole, and started to creep backward, crablike, toward the door. I'd barely gone two feet when Cortez grabbed my ankle and dragged me out.

"That way," he said, pushing me forward. "To the door. Don't stand up. Oh, shit!"

He tackled me, knocking me to the floor just as I felt flames lick my calves. As he beat at flames on my back, I twisted to see that the hem of my skirt had also ignited. I kicked against the wall, but the sharp movement only made the flames burn brighter. Cortez slapped out the fire with his hands. Then he grabbed the knapsacks from my hand.