It was possible. There were no other cars on the road. She could have made a U-turn up ahead and come back to see what had happened to me. But… Bree? Hurt me?

Remember what you heard in the bathroom, a voice inside chimed. She gave your hair to a witch. Remember.

Maybe things had changed permanently. Maybe Bree no longer cared about me at all. Or maybe Sky Eventide had put her up to this—as a stunt to scare me, the same way that Sky had forced her to turn over a lock of my hair. A thousand thoughts pounded against my skull, aching to be let out, to be heard: Oh God, Bree, don't let them fool you! I'm worried about you. I miss you. You're being so stupid. I'm sorry. I need to talk to you. Don't you know what's happened to me? I'm adopted. I'm a blood witch. I'm Woodbane. I'm sorry about Cal—

"Morgan?" she prodded, her brow furrowed.

I cleared my throat. "I hit a patch of ice," I said. I gestured unnecessarily to Das Boot.

"Are you okay?" she asked stiffly. "Did you hurt yourself?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

She blinked. "Do you want a ride home?"

I took a deep breath but shook my head again. I couldn't get into her car. Not when she might have been the one who had run me off the road in the first place. Even though I could hardly believe I was having such horrible thoughts about someone who had once been my best friend, I didn't dare risk it

"Are you sure?" she pressed.

"I'll be fine," I mumbled.

Without another word she rolled up her window and took off. I noticed that she accelerated slowly so she wouldn't splatter me with snow and slush.

My chest ached as I walked home.

My parents fussed over me, which was nice. I told them I'd skidded off the road on a bad patch of ice, which was true in a way, but I left out the part about the other car behind me. I didn't want to worry them any more than necessary. I called a tow truck company, who agreed to get Das Boot and bring it home later that night. Thank the Goddess for Triple A, I thought and decided to ask for a cell phone for Christmas.

"Are you sure you don't want to come for Chinese with us?" Mom asked, after making sure I had thawed. My parents were heading out to meet Aunt Eileen and Paula, to drive by several houses that were for sale in the area, then to get dinner. They wouldn't be back till late. Mary K. was at Jaycee's, and I was sure she was meeting Bakker later.

"No, thanks," I said. "I'll just wait for the tow truck."

Mom kissed me. "I am so thankful you're okay. You could've been hurt so easily," she said, and I hugged her back. It was true, I realized. I really could have been hurt If it had happened at another section of the road, I could have been hurt so easily," she said, and I hugged her back. It was true, I realized. I really could have been hurt. If it had happened at another section of the road, I could have gone into a thirty-foot ravine. An image popped into my mind of Das Boot tumbling down a rocky cliff, then bursting into flames—and I cringed.

After Mom and Dad left, I set a pot of water on to boil for frozen ravioli. I grabbed a Diet Coke, and the phone rang. I knew it was Cal.

"Hello there," he said. "We're taking a little break. What are you doing?"

"Fixing some dinner." It was incredible: I still felt a little shaky, even though the mere sound of Cal's voice worked wonders. "I, um, had a little accident."

"What?" His voice was sharp with concern. "Are you okay?"

"It wasn't anything," I said bravely. "I just went off the road and ended up in a ditch. I'm waiting for the tow truck to bring Das Boot home."

"Really? Why didn't you call me?"

I smiled, feeling much better as I dumped a bunch of ravioli into the water. "I guess I was still recovering. I'm okay, though. I didn't hurt anything except my car. And I knew you were busy, anyway."

He was quiet for a moment. "Next time something happens, call me right away," he said.

I laughed. If it had been anyone else, I would have said they were overreacting. "I'll try not to do it again," I said.

"I wish I could come see you," he said, sounding frustrated. "But we're doing a circle here and it's about to start. Lousy timing. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Don't worry so much." I sighed and stirred the pot "You know, I…" I left the sentence hanging. I was going to tell him about seeing Bree, about all of my terrible fears and suspicions, but I didn't I couldn't bear to reopen the wound, to allow all those painful emotions to come flooding back

"You what?" Cal asked.

"Nothing," I murmured.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

He sighed, too. "Well, okay. I should probably go. My mom is starting to do her stuff. I'm not sure how late this will go—I might not be able to call you later. And you know we don't pick up the phone if it rings during a circle, so you won't be able to call me."

"That's okay," I said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, tomorrow," said Cal, sounding brighter. "The famous pre-birthday day. Yeah, I have special plans for tomorrow."

I laughed, wondering what plans he had made. Then he made a silly kissing noise into the phone, and we hung up.

Alone and quiet, I ate my dinner. It felt soothing to be by myself and not have to talk. In the living room I noticed a basket full of fatwood by the fireplace. In just a few minutes I had a good blaze going, and I fetched Maeve's BOS from upstairs and settled on the couch. My mom's one crocheting attempt had resulted in an incredibly ugly afghan the size and weight of a dead mule. I pulled it over me. Within moments Dagda had scrambled up the side of the couch and was stomping happily across my knees, purring hard and kneading me with his sharp little paws.

"Hey, cute thing," I said, scratching him behind his ears. He settled on my lap, and I started reading.

Fire.

The word rolled around my head, and I glanced up from the page. My birth mother was right. Fire was different. I'd loved fire since I was little: its warmth, the mesmerizing golden red glow of the flames. I even loved the noise fire made as it ate the dry wood. To me it had sounded like laughter—both exciting and frightening in its hungry appetite and eager destruction.

My eyes wandered to the burning logs. I shifted carefully on the couch, trying not to disturb Dagda, though he could probably sleep through almost anything. Facing the flames, I let my head rest against the back of the couch. I set the BOS aside. I was one hundred percent comfortable.

I decided to try to scry.

First I released all the thoughts circling my brain, one by one. Bree, looking at me standing in the snow by the side of the road. Hunter. His face was hard to get rid of—and when I pictured it, I got angry. Over and over I saw him, silhouetted against a leaden gray sky, his green eyes looking like reflections of Irish fields, his arrogance coming off him in waves.

My eyelids fluttered shut. I breathed in and out slowly. The tension drained from each muscle in my body. As I felt myself drift more completely into a delicious concentration, I became more and more aware of my surroundings: Dagda's small heart beating quickly as he slept, the ecstatic joy of the fire as it consumed the wood.

I opened my eyes.

The fire had transformed into a mirror.

There in the flames I saw my own face, looking back: the long sweep of brown hair, the kitten in my lap.