She’s lying. That was my first thought: She’s lying—she’d never do that. And Mary K. would never help her. I turned to my sister. “Is this true?” I asked her.

Mary K. didn’t reply. "It was my idea,” Alisa said, still looking at me with that defiant gaze.

"Mary K.?” My voice was a whisper. Mary K. wouldn’t look at me.

“It was my idea,” Alisa repeated.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Have I done something to you?” I asked her.

Alisa looked startled. “What?”

“Have I made you mad or something? Or has someone in Kithic done something wrong?” I struggled to hold my anger in check. Why was she doing this? What did she have to gain? “Because you seem to have turned against us.”

“That—that’s not true,” Alisa insisted feebly.

“Isn’t it?” I demanded. “Then what’s the point of this letter?”

Alisa’s mouth opened and closed. “It’s just—it’s just—” She groped for words. Finally she shook her head. “Look, forget it. Forget the letter. I’m not sending it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I pressed.

"Morgan,” Mary K. said, “she just said that she isn’t sending the letter. Isn’t that enough?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I really didn’t. I wanted to understand what was going on inside Alisa’s head—but clearly she didn’t want to let me in.

I looked at Mary K. "I guess I’ll see you later.”

She gave a quick nod and looked down at her paper again. I didn’t say anything to Alisa, just turned and walked toward the stacks, fuming. Everything was skidding out of control lately—school, my family life, even my magick.

Just put it out of your mind, I told myself. You can always talk to Mary K. later. I checked the call numbers of the books Erin had listed and realized they were on one of the top shelves. Grabbing a library ladder, I stepped up to the top rung and began hunting for the first title.

“Legacies of the Great Clans,” I murmured to myself. “Legacies of—” My ladder tipped slightly, and I instinctively reached out and grabbed one of the shelves to keep myself from falling. It must be uneven, I thought as I wiggled myself gingerly to feel if the legs were stable. The ladder didn’t move.

I didn’t have time to think about that, though, because in a moment a book flew off the shelf, hurling itself against the books on the shelf across from it. Where have I seen that before? I wondered dimly as the entire bookcase began to rattle and shake. It gave a heavy groaning creak, and I looked back at it just in time to see it tip toward me.

I didn’t even have time to let out a cry—I jumped from the ladder as the bookcase toppled. With a fierce crash, it slammed into the shelf across from it, and books slid off the shelves and thudded to the floor. I landed on the floor in a heap, under the tilted shelf, and felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. Around me there were shouts, then scuffling noises as people ran toward me.

“Are you okay?” The gangly librarian leaned over and helped me to my feet. She stared at the bookcase and the mess of books on the floor. “You could have been hurt!”

Staring at the wreckage, I started to shake. It was true. The bookshelf was massive and loaded with heavy volumes. If it had fallen completely, it could have landed on me. And if it had toppled the shelf across from it, it could have landed on someone else. I shuddered.

A small group of people had gathered nearby, and Erin pushed her way through them to come over to me. “What happened?” Her tone was sharp, her forehead creased with worry.

I cast a sideways glance at the librarian, who was inspecting the shelf gingerly. “It was just like the other day at Hunter’s,” I whispered. “I saw a book fly off the shelf before the whole thing toppled.” Now I was shaking for real. Ciaran, I thought. It had to be him. Who else would—or could—do this? My birth father really was after me. Remembering what he had done to my mother, to her whole coven, I had to fight for breath. If Ciaran really was after me, how could I ever escape him?

I saw the muscles in Erin’s jaw start to work. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

I felt my shoulder where I’d landed on it. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just bruised.”

“No,” Erin said. “I mean, are you feeling lightheaded? Dizzy?” She frowned and passed a hand across my forehead. “Do you feel like you need to ground yourself?”

Suddenly I understood what she was saying. “You think I did this,” I murmured.

Erin looked calmly at me. “Who do you think did it?” she asked.

Fear shot through me like lightning. “Ciaran,” I said quickly.

“I don’t think so.” Erin’s voice was certain, and I felt a flash of doubt. Could I have been responsible for this? I didn’t think so. I would have felt the magick flowing through me, I reasoned.

“Do you have any idea how you summoned white witch fire when we were working together in Practical Magick?” Erin asked abruptly.

“No,” I admitted.

“Morgan?” said a voice behind me. “My God, Morgan— are you okay?” It was Mary K. Alisa was right behind her.

“I’m fine,” I said as Mary K. rushed over and gave me a hug. I winced at the pain in my shoulder but didn’t complain.

“What happened?” Mary K. said as she eyed the shelf. I turned and stared back at the wreckage. Someone could have been hurt, screamed a voice in my brain. Someone could have been killed! “What were you doing, leaning on it or something?”

I shook my head but didn’t say anything. Alisa was staring at Erin as if she were some kind of poisonous snake or tarantula. Her eyes darted from Erin to the shelf and finally settled on me. I felt I could almost see her mind working. She knows, I realized. She knows it’s another magickal aberration. “Freak accident,” Alisa said.

“Yes,” Erin agreed. She looked at Alisa more closely. “Don’t I know you?” she asked.

“We met last Saturday night,” Alisa replied coolly. “At Hunter and Sky’s.”

Mary K.’s glance went to Erin, and she took an awkward step backward. I could see her putting the pieces together. Saturday night plus Hunter’s house equals witchcraft. She looked back at me. “Aren’t you here to study?” she asked sarcastically. Then she spun and stalked out of the library.

I started to go after her, but Erin held my arm in an iron grip.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Alisa said quietly. Then she turned and went back to her table, where she started to gather her things.

I stared after her. “Morgan,” Erin said, giving me a gentle shake. I looked at her blankly. “Morgan, we need to have a circle. Right away.”

“Circle?” I repeated dumbly.

Erin’s face was pale and solemn. “This is becoming very serious,” she said, indicating the fallen shelf. “We can’t let it go on any longer.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I was afraid to hear the answer.

“I mean that we have to rein in your power right away,” Erin replied. “Once you’ve learned more—once you’re more in control of your magick—then we can do an unbinding spell. But right now, you’re dangerous.” She took my hand. “I’m sorry, Morgan.”

I felt the air rush out of my lungs. Dangerous. The word echoed in my mind. “No,” I wanted to say, “absolutely not.” I thought about the white witch fire I had called up the other day. Erin was right; I had no idea where that power and knowledge had come from. Though it was different—I had felt myself channel the energy. Then I remembered the night the candle went out and the lightbulbs exploded. There could have been a fire. And now this. Mary K. was here, I thought. Mary K. could have been standing underneath that shelf.

My chest was tight. Erin was looking at me expectantly. “Okay,” I said at last. “I’ll do it.”