"Okay, stop," Cal said, gently taking my hands. "Quit touching things. Like on Samhain, maybe you should lie down and ground yourself."

I shook off his hands. "I don't want to ground myself," I said clearly. "I want to keep it." I flexed my fingers, wanting to touch something else, see what happened.

Cal looked at me. Something flickered in his eyes.

"I just want to keep this feeling." I explained.

"It can't stay forever," he said. "Energy doesn't linger—it needs to go somewhere. You don't want to go around zapping things."

I laughed. "I don't?"

"No," he assured me. Then he led me to a clear place on the polished wood floor, and I lat down, feeling the strength of the earth beneath my back, feeling the energy cease its whizzing around inside me, being absorbed by the earth's ancient embrace. In a few minutes I felt much more normal, less light-head and…I guess, less drunk. Or at least, that's what I imagined feeling drunk was like. I didn't have much practice with it.

"Why can she do this?" Matt asked, his arm still protectively around Jenna. Jenna was taking deep, experimental breaths.

"It's so easy," she marveled. "I feel so…so unconstrained."

Cal gave a wry chuckle. "It freaks me out too, sometimes. Morgan does things that would be amazing for a high priestess to do—someone with years and years of training and experience. She just has a lot of power, that's all."

"You called her a blood witch," Ethan remembered. "She's a blood witch, like you. But how is that?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said, sitting up. "I'm sorry if I did something I shouldn't have—again. But I didn't mean to do anything wrong. I just wanted to fix Jenna's breathing. I don't want to talk about being a blood witch. Okay?"

Six pairs of eyes looked at me. The members of my coven nodded or said okay. Only in Cal's face did I read the message that we would definitely have to talk about it later.

"I'm hungry," complained Ethan. "Got any munchies?"

"Sure," said Matt, heading toward the kitchen.

"Too bad we can't go swimming again," Jenna said regretfully.

"We can't?" Cal asked with a wicked smile at me. "Why not? My house isn't that far away."

Cringing, I crossed my arms over my chest.

"No way," Sharon scoffed, to my relief. "Even if the water is heated, the air's way too cold. I don't want to freeze."

"Oh, well," Cal said. Matt came in with a bowl of popcorn, and he helped himself to a big fistful. "Maybe some other time."

When no one could see me, I made a face at him, and he laughed silently.

I leaned against him, feeling warm and happy. It had been an amazing, exhilarating circle, even without Bree.

My smile faded as I wondered where she and Raven were tonight and who they were with.

CHAPTER 14

Lessons

May 7, 1982

We're leaving this soulless place. I've been working as a cashier in a diner, and Angus has been down in the meat district, unloading huge American cows and putting their carcasses on hooks. I feel my soul dying, and so does Angus. We're saving every penny so we can leave, go anywhere else.

Not much news from home. None of Belwicket is left to tell us what happened, and what little bits and pieces we get aren't enough to figure out anything. I don't even know why I write in this book anymore, except as a diary. It is no longer a Book of Shadows. I hasn't been since my birthday, when my world was destroyed. I haven't done any magick since being here, nor has Angus. No more will I. It has done nothing but wreak destruction.

I am only twenty, and yet I feel ready for death's embrace.

— M.R.

The next morning during church I suddenly had an idea. I glanced over at the dark confessionals. After the service was over, I told my parents that I wanted to make confession. They looked a little surprised, but what could they say?

"I don't want to go to the diner today," I added. "I'll just see you at home later."

Mom and Dad looked at each other, then Dad nodded.

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. "Morgan—" she began, then shook her head. "Nothing. I'll see you later, at home."

Mary K. looked at me but didn't say anything. Her face was troubled as she left with my parents.

I waited impatiently in line as parishioners went in to confess their sins. I realized I could probably tune into what they were talking about, but I didn't want to try. It would be wrong. Father Hotchkiss heard some pretty steamy stuff sometimes, I'd guess. And probably some really boring, petty things, too.

Finally it was my turn. I knelt inside the cubicle and waited for the small grated window to slide open. When it did, i crossed myself and said, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been, um…" I thought back quickly. "Four months since my last confession."

"Go ahead, my child," said Father Hotchkiss, as he had all my life, every time I had confessed.

"Um…" I hadn't thought ahead this far and didn't have a list of sins ready. I really didn't want to go into some of the things I'd been doing, and I didn't consider them sins, anyway. "Well, lately I've been feeling very angry at my parents," I stated baldly. "I mean, I love my parents, and I try to honor them, but I recently… found out I was adopted." There. I had said it, and on the other side of the screen I saw father Hotchkiss's head come up a bit as he took in my words. "I'm upset and angry that they didn't tell me before and that they won't talk to me about it now," I went on. "I want to know more about my birth parents. I want to know where I came from."

There was a long pause as Father Hotchkiss digested what I had said. "Your parents have done as they thought best," he said at last. He didn't deny that I was adopted, and I still felt humiliated that practically everyone had known but me.

"My birth mother is dead," I said, pushing on. I swallowed, feeling uncomfortable, even nervous talking about this. "I want to know more about her."

"My child," Father Hotchkiss said gently. "I understand your wishes. I can't say that I would not feel the same, were I in your place. But I tell you, and I speak with years of experience, that sometimes it really is best to leave the past alone."

Tears stung my eyes, but I hadn't realty expected anything else. "I see," I whispered, trying not to cry.

"My dear, the Lord works in mysterious ways," said the priest, and I couldn't believe he was saying something so clichéd. He went on. "For some reason, God brought you to your parents, and I know they couldn't love you more. He chose them for you, and He chose you for them. It would be wise to respect His decision."

I sat and pondered this, wondering how true it was. Then I became aware that other people were waiting after me and it was time to go. "Thank you. Father," I said.

"Pray for guidance, my dear. And I will pray for you."

"Okay." I slipped out of the confessional, put on my coat, and headed out the huge double doors into bright November sunshine. I had to think.

After so many gray days it was nice to be walking in sun-light, kicking through the damp, brown leaves underfoot Every now and then a golden leaf floated down around me, and each one that fell was like another second ticking off on the clock that turned autumn to winter.

I passed through downtown Widows Vale, glancing in the shop windows. Our town is old, with the town hall dating back to 1692. Every once in a while I notice again how charming it is, how picturesque. A cool breeze lifted my hair, and i caught a scent of the Hudson River, bordering the town.

By the time I got home, I'd thought about what Father Hotchkiss had said, I could see some wisdom in his words, but that didn't mean I could accept not knowing the whole truth. I didn't know what to do. Maybe I would ask for guidance at the next circle.