Next to her I felt like a two-by-four.

Mary K. shoved the leggings at me, and I put them on, no longer at all concerned about how I would look. A plaid flannel shirt of my dad's completed my ensemble and covered my butt. I brushed my hair while Bree tapped her feet with impatience.

"We can take Breezy," she said. "She's working again."

Minutes later I was sitting on a prewarmed leather seat as Bree stomped on the gas and flew down my street.

"What time do you have to be home?" she asked, "This may go till late." It was barely nine o'clock.

"My curfew's at one," I said. "But my folks will probably be asleep and won't know if I'm a little later. Or I could call them or something." Bree never has to call home and check in with her dad about anything. Sometimes they seem more like roommates than father and daughter.

"Cool." Bree tapped her brown fingernails against the steering wheel, took a turn a bit too fast and headed out Gallows Road to one of the older neighborhoods in Widow's Vale. Cal's neighborhood. She already knew the way.

Cal's house was awesome, huge, and made of stone. The wide front porch supported an upstairs balcony, and ever-green vines climbed up the columns to the second floor. The front garden was lush and beautifully landscaped and just on the verge of wildness. I thought of my dad humming as he pruned his rhododendrons every autumn and felt almost sad.

The wide wooden door opened in answer to our knock, and a woman stood there, dressed in a long linen dress the dark purple-blue of the night sky. It was elegant and simple and had probably cost a fortune.

"Welcome, girls," the woman said with a smile. "I'm Cal's mother, Selene Belltower."

Her voice was powerful and melodious, and I felt a tingling sense of expectation. When I got closer to her, I saw that Cal had inherited her coloring. Dark brown hair was swept carelessly back from her face. Wide, golden eyes slanted over high cheekbones. Her mouth was well shaped, her skin smooth and unlined. I wondered if she had been a model when she was younger.

"Let me guess—you must be Bree," she said, shaking Bree's hand. "And you must be Morgan." Her clear eyes met mine, her gaze seeming to pierce the back of my skull. I blinked and rubbed my forehead. I was actually physically uncomfortable. Then she smiled again, the pain went away, and she ushered us inside. "I'm so glad he's made new friends. It was hard for us to move, but my company offered me a promotion, and I couldn't say no."

I wanted to ask what her job was or find out what had happened to Cal's dad, but there was no way to ask without being rude.

"Cal's in his room. Third floor, at the top of the stairs," said Ms. Belltower, gesturing to the impressive carved stair-case. "Some of the others are here already."

"Thanks," we both said a bit awkwardly as we climbed the dark, wooden staircase. Beneath our feet a thick flowered carpet cushioned our steps.

"She doesn't think it's weird to let a bunch of girls into her teenage son's bedroom?" I whispered, thinking about how my mom kicks boys out of Mary K.'s room at home.

Bree smiled at me, her eyes shining with excitement. "I guess she's cool," she whispered back. "Besides, there's a bunch of us."

Cal's room turned out to be the entire attic of the house. It went from front to back, side to side, and there were small windows everywhere: some square, some round, some clear, some made of stained glass. The roof itself was pitched steeply and rose to about nine feet in the center, fifty about three feet at the sides. The floor was dark, unpolished wood, the walls unpainted clapboards. In one small gable was an antique desk with school textbooks on it.

We dropped our jackets on a long wooden bench, and I piked off my clogs, following Bree's example.

A small working fireplace was set into one wall. Its plain mantel was covered with cream-colored candles of various sizes, maybe thirty of them. Pillars of candles stood around the huge room, some on black wrought-iron stands, some on the floor, some atop glass blocks or even set on top of stacks of ancient-looking books. The room was lit only by candlelight, and the wavering shadows thrown on every wall were hypnotic and beautiful.

My eyes were caught by Cal's bed, standing off in a larger alcove. I couldn't help staring at it, feeling frozen to the spot It was a wide, low bed of dark wood, mahogany or even ebony, with four short bedposts. The mattress was a futon. The bedclothes were of plain, cream-colored linen, and the bed was unmade. As if he had just gotten out of it Lit candles burned brightly on low tables at either side.

In the far alcove against the back wall of the house, bathed in shadows, the rest of the group was gathered.

When Cal saw us, he came over.

"Morgan. Thanks for coming," he said in his confident intimate way. "Bree, nice to have you back."

So Bree had been in his bedroom.

"Thanks for inviting me," I said stiffly, pulling my flannel shirt closer around me. Cal smiled and took both of our hands, leading us to the others. Robbie waved when he saw us. He was drinking dark grape juice from a wine goblet. Beth Nielson stood next to him, her hair newly bleached pale blond. She had medium brown skin, green eyes, and a short-cropped Afro that changed colors with her mood. Sometimes I thought of her looking like a lioness, while Raven looked like a panther. They made an interesting pair if they stood next to one another.

"Happy esbat," Robbie said, raising his glass.

"Happy esbat," Bree said. I knew from my reading that esbat was just another word for a gathering where magick was done.

Matt was sitting on a low velvet settee, with Jenna curled on his lap. They were talking to Sharon Goodfine, who was sitting stiffly on the floor, her arms around her knees. Was she here just for Cal, or had Wicca spoken to her somehow? I had always thought of her as having it easy, with her orthodontist father smoothing her path through life. She was full figured and pretty and looked older than she was.

"Here." Cal handed Bree and me wineglasses of grape juice. I took a sip.

A patchouli-scented breeze washed into the room, and Raven arrived, followed by Ethan. Tonight Raven looked like a hooker who specialized in S and M. A black leather dog collar circled her neck. It was connected by leather straps to a black leather corset. Her pants looked like someone had dipped her in a vat of shiny black spandex, and this was the dried result. She wouldn't have stood out in New York City, but here in Widow's Vale, I would have given money to see her walk into the grocery store. Did Cal find this attractive?

Ethan looked like he always did: scruffy, with long, curly hair, and stoned. It hadn't seemed odd to me that people would have stayed the first time we did a circle—lots of kids will try anything once. But it was interesting that everyone except Todd, Alessandra, and Suzanne had come back, and it made me look at them more closely, as if I were seeing all of them for the first time.

This group had hung out a few times at school in a new, multi-clique assemblage, but here we separated into our old patterns: Robbie and I together; Jenna, Matt, and Sharon together, with Bree going between me and them; Beth, Raven, and Ethan together by the drinks.

"Good, I think everyone's here," Cal said. "Last week we celebrated Mabon and did a banishing circle. This week I thought we'd just have an informal circle and get to know each other better. So, let's begin."

Cal picked up a piece of white chalk and drew a large circle that almost filled this end of the attic. Jenna and Matt got up and pushed the sofa out of the way.

"This circle can be made out of anything," Cal said conversationally as he drew. On the floor were the smudged and faded outlines of other circles. I noticed that although he was drawing freehand, the end result was almost perfectly round and symmetrical, as it had been in the woods when he had drawn a circle in the dirt with a stick. "It can be a piece of rope, a circle of objects, like shells or tarot cards, even flowers. It represents the boundary of our magick energy."