I dug my fingernails into my palms. Goddess, please help him, I begged silently.

Hunter’s body shuddered once more, then he lay still. His breathing was labored and ragged for a moment, then began to slow. Finally he opened his eyes. Looking up at me, he murmured, “What happened?”

I swallowed hard, unsure how to answer.

“Did you see anything?” Erin asked brusquely.

Hunter struggled to his elbows, and Sky helped him sit upright. He rubbed his head, then said, “Shadows. There was a narrow street, with cobblestones. And there was a wall. I. . I was in a walled city.”

“You said something,” Erin informed him. “Do you remember what it was?”

Hunter shook his head. “No—I just remember the shadows. . and the feelings. What did I say?”

“You said, ‘It’s too late—there’s nothing I can do,’ ” Erin replied. “In French.”

Hunter stared at her. “I don’t speak French,” he said.

Erin didn’t reply to that. “Do you know why this happened? ” she asked.

“No,” Hunter replied. Then he said, “No,” again, but his voice was less certain.

Erin leaned toward him. “Do you think you know why this happened?”

“I think it may have been one of my parents, trying to contact me,” Hunter admitted.

“Hunter.” Sky’s voice was almost a gasp. “Are you sure?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I’m not. That’s only what I think it was. But it could be anything.”

The words settled over me like a cold weight, sinking into my bones. A feeling came over me—it was the same feeling I’d had the night before, when Hunter and I had rounded the bend in the road. It was a deep feeling of dread.

I reached for Hunter’s hand and felt slightly better at the familiar warmth of his touch. I was worried for him. But more than that, I was worried about the future. Worried about us. I didn’t know what the messages meant. . but I had a horrible feeling that their power was great enough to tear us apart.

“Morgan, I think we had better begin our lessons as soon as possible,” Erin said. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes, of course. Where should we meet?” I asked. “Here?”

“Actually,” Hunter broke in, “Alyce suggested that you hold your lessons in the back room of Practical Magick. She thought it might be a good idea in case you need any books or tools.”

I nodded. “That works for me.”

“For me as well,” Erin said.

Everyone was subdued as we said good night. Sky seemed particularly pensive. As I laced up my heavy boots and pulled on my jacket, I wondered what she was thinking.

“That was frustrating,” I said as Hunter walked me to Das Boot.

“I know,” he agreed. “I just wish we knew what all of this meant.”

I remembered the violence of exploding lightbulbs and kamikaze books. Could Hunter’s parents really have been behind those things? It seemed unlikely. I thought of my own father—Ciaran. That sort of violence was more his style.

As if he’d been reading my mind, Hunter said, “Morgan, I heard from Eoife this afternoon. The council has found out Ciaran is definitely in Spain. They’re closing in. It’s only a matter of time before they have him in custody. Eoife said to tell you they couldn’t have done it without you.”

Relief swept over me, followed by anger, startling me with its strength. Anger at the council for making me spy on my own father. Anger at Ciaran for all the evil he had done, for the taint he had passed on to me. Anger at myself for the tug of kinship I still felt for him. “Oh, no problem. I’m great at spying on my relatives,” I said bitterly. “Just let me know if you need any info on Mary K.”

“He’s dangerous,” Hunter said quietly. “You did right, even though it was hard.”

I closed my eyes and tried to let Hunter’s voice calm me. I knew my father was dangerous. But when I was with Ciaran, I’d felt a strange connection—something I’d never felt before. Knowing that this man was my real father, that his blood ran in my veins, had given me a visceral sense of belonging. I felt that I knew Ciaran almost better than I knew the members of my adopted family because part of him was in me.

And I knew his true name.

The thought echoed up from the depths of my mind. I knew Ciaran’s true name. He’d said it in a forbidden spell he’d used when he was trying to win me to his side.

When you know someone’s true name, you can control him.

I had never told Hunter. I could have told him right then. I could have said Ciaran’s true name. But I didn’t. They already have the sigil, I told myself. Hunter’s right; they’re going to capture him soon. They don’t need his true name.

“If Ciaran is the one sending these messages,” Hunter said fiercely, “he will be very, very sorry.” His words slashed through the chill air like a blade.

“Do you wish you were there—in Spain, tracking him?” I asked. I had seen Hunter put the braigh on Cal once, and once on David Redstone. The spelled silver chain burned witches’ skin, raising angry red blisters. I knew that Hunter hadn’t enjoyed using it either time. But now I wondered how he would feel putting it on the wrists of the man who’d almost killed both of us more than once.

“My job is to protect you,” Hunter said simply. “According to the council, that is my sole responsibility for the moment.”

I frowned. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Hunter gazed at the hulking forms of the trees, and I suddenly realized the full weight of what he was saying. He thought he was receiving messages from his parents. And he couldn’t do anything about it because he had to stay in Widow’s Vale to take care of me. That had to be incredibly frustrating. More. It had to be agonizing.

“Can’t you tell the council how important this is to you?” I asked. “If they catch Ciaran, I won’t be in danger anymore.”

Hunter shook his head, not looking at me. “The council wants me here.”

I looked at him, feeling a rush of sympathy. I thought of how very young Hunter had been when his parents had disappeared. I could only imagine how fiercely he wanted them back. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Hunter didn’t speak. He just reached out, took my hand, and brought it briefly to his lips before letting it go.

“I’ll help you find them,” I said.

“Good,” was the last thing he said before retreating up his front walk. He didn’t look back as I got in my car and drove away.

5. Forces

Morgan lost it last night. I don’t know if she went crazy or if her powers short-circuited or something, but things started flying around the room and exploding, and it scared the holy crap out of me.

Now I don’t know what to do. The circle started off really well. I don’t know much about Wicca, but there’s something about it that feels almost like a tune I only half remember from childhood. The words are long forgotten, but if I try hard enough, I’ll remember the melody, and everything will fall into place.

That’s what the way I felt last night… for a while.

Morgan’s magick feels like something else. I’m afraid of it in the way I used to be afraid of leaving my closet door open when I was five years old.

I wish she’d just leave the coven. Then Mary K. would feel better and I wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.

— Alisa

Mr. Powell waited until the last five minutes of class to pass back the graded exams.

The class buzzed as he made his way around the room, placing papers facedown on desks. “Well done,” he whispered to Claire Kennedy, and, “Great job,” to Andy Nasewell. Hope fluttered in my chest. Andy wasn’t a great student. Maybe I hadn’t done as badly as I thought.

Mr. Powell slapped a paper on my desk. His hand was still a moment as he looked down at me. “See me after class,” he said. Crap. I turned the paper over, my heart thumping. At the top there was a big red number. Sixty-three.