I must burn the vile thing before it destroys us all.

— Sarah Curtis

“Morgan!” I knew the voice was Bree’s, but I couldn’t reply or even turn my head because I was gripping a paper cup of tea in my teeth as my cold fingers fumbled to lock the door of my car. Plumes of steam rose from the hot liquid and combined with my breath, dissipating quickly.

“Here,” Bree said as she reached for the paper cup.

I released it gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Got a minute?” Bree asked.

“Sure,” I said, taking the tea back from her. “What’s up?”

“Robbie and I broke up.”

I choked on the sip of tea I’d just taken. “What?” I looked at Bree more closely. Her face was ashen, and her eyes were red-rimmed. She wasn’t kidding.

Bree glanced at my car. “Can we—?”

“Of course.” I put my tea on the roof of the car and unlocked the door. A quick glance at my watch told me that we had ten minutes until the first bell. “What do you mean, you broke up? What happened?” I asked when we were seated inside the car.

“Just what I said. Robbie and I talked last night.” Bree gave a small half shrug, lifting only one shoulder. “He said he needed space.”

I waited a moment. “And—?” I prompted.

“That’s it.” Bree gazed straight ahead. The parking lot was filling up as teachers and students hurried to class.

“Bree,” I said, “that doesn’t necessarily mean that Robbie wants to break up.” I didn’t think it did, anyway. If it did, I was going to have to have a long talk with Robbie.

Bree flashed me an oh-grow-up glance. “Spare me. I know what it means.” Raking her fingers through her hair, she added, “Not that it really matters, anyway. I mean, the relationship was getting a little old. I’ve been thinking about dating other people.”

“Bree,” I said gently, “it’s me. Don’t.”

She turned toward me, and her facade broke. Her eyes welled up, tears ran down her cheeks, and she looked like the same Bree whose heart was broken by Todd Hall in the seventh grade. “I know. I just—I just needed to say something bitchy.”

I opened my mouth. But just then the first-period bell sounded, far away, and Bree opened the car door and stepped out.

“Bree,” I called after her, “talk to Robbie!” But she’d already slammed the door and was striding toward the school. I didn’t know whether she’d heard me, and I wasn’t even sure that it mattered.

“I should be home by six,” I said into a pay phone in the lobby of the public library later that day.

“Great,” my mom said at the other end of the line. “I was thinking for family night we could play some board games and make hot fudge sundaes.”

Even the faint crackle of static on the line couldn’t disguise my mom’s excitement. I got the feeling that she was trying to make peace after our argument the night before. “Sounds great, Mom,” I said, suddenly struck with a pang of guilt. I’d told my mom that I was at the library to study history and science—but I hadn’t mentioned it was witch history and magickal botany with Erin. And here she was, planning fun activities for the whole family. I was a terrible daughter. “See you at six.”

I hung up, feeling lousy.

“Everything all right?” Erin asked as I plopped down across from her.

I laced my fingers together and rested my chin on them. “Just parental stuff.”

Erin peered at me. As usual with her, I felt like I needed to explain myself. “It’s just—they’re Catholics. They don’t approve of witchcraft. And they’re threatening to send me to Catholic school.”

Erin nodded gravely. “I wonder what your mother would think of all this.”

For a moment I was confused—hadn’t we just been talking about my mother? Then I realized that Erin was talking about Maeve, my birth mother. My heart suddenly skipped a beat.

I had never known my birth mother. She was from Ireland and had come to America with her lover, Angus, only after their entire coven was decimated by the dark wave. Coming to America hadn’t saved her, though. Ciaran—her other, secret lover—caught up with her and killed her while I was still a baby.

“Did you know her?” I asked Erin. My throat was suddenly dry.

“I met her once, briefly, when she was about fifteen and I was twenty-one,” Erin said. “My dearest friend, Mary, married a Belwicket man.” Her eyes clouded.

Belwicket was the name of Maeve’s coven. “Your friend— did she—”

“Gone,” Erin said. “Like everyone else.”

We sat together in silence for a moment.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, growing up in a house without magick,” she said. Her eyebrows were raised, and her face held a question.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I admitted. “I never knew anything else.” I paused. The next part was harder to talk about. “Until I met Cal.” I looked at Erin, unsure how much of the story she already knew.

Erin nodded. “Sgàth,” she said, using Cal’s witch name.

The word sounded like a low susurration, the voice of the wind in the trees. She knew who he was. Of course.

“Yes. He taught me about Wicca, and I started learning more on my own. I discovered that I had powers. And then I learned the truth. That my parents weren’t my birth parents. . and that I was Woodbane.”

“Morgan,” Erin said, leaning toward me. “You haven’t had an easy time of it. But that just means you have to be willing to work very hard—harder than most others have to. Are you willing to do that?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I said.

“Good.” Erin held up a small slip of paper. “I’ve checked the computer. The library has a number of fascinating books on witch history. We can start there.” She handed the paper to me. On it was a list of five books and their call numbers.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. As I headed over to the nonfiction section of the library, I passed a familiar auburn head bent over a notebook at a nearby table. Mary K. She had gotten a ride with Susan Wallace both before and after school—clearly avoiding me again. Alisa sat across from her, murmuring in a low voice. Whispering in my sister’s ear about my evil powers, no doubt.

A voice in my mind urged me to go and find the books. I knew it was the smart thing to do, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. There was something about the way Alisa looked, sitting there—I wanted to get her away from Mary K. Things were tense enough with my family. I didn’t want Alisa getting into the middle of it. I crossed the room in a few quick strides and stood next to my sister. “Hey, you guys,” I whispered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Mary K. looked up with a start and placed her hand casually over what she’d been writing. Alisa practically turned green.

“Uh, hi, Morgan,” Mary K. said. There was a thin edge in her voice. Was it anger, or fear? I couldn’t read her expression.

“What are you guys working on?” I asked.

“Oh,” Mary K. said, glancing down at her paper. “Just a writing assignment.” She shifted in her seat and glanced over my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

I lifted my eyebrows. “I’m studying.” I tried to get a better look at Mary K.’s notes. There seemed to be a lot of them. “You guys seem to be working pretty hard on this thing,” I pressed, trying to make conversation.

Mary K. looked really uncomfortable. I turned to Alisa, who was as still as a stone. “Is it a project for class?” I asked. Alisa didn’t respond. She stared down at the library table as if it were the most fascinating piece of wood in the universe.

I couldn’t imagine what they’d be hiding from me. “What’s going on?” I asked finally.

Mary K. stared helplessly at Alisa.

“Mary K. is helping me write a letter,” Alisa said without looking up from the table. Then she raised her head and looked me in the eye. “It’s to the town newspaper, and it’s about the dangerous witchcraft going on around here.”