I couldn’t believe that everything had happened so quickly. I struggled to sit up, and the lapis lazuli fell from my forehead with a thunk against the floor. I picked it up and held it against my lips for a moment.

I felt like hell.

Standing up, I pulled off Maeve’s robe and folded it carefully. Then I yanked on a flannel nightgown and crept to the hiding place where I kept all of my mother’s tools, behind the HVAC vent, and carefully put the robe back in its place. I set the lapis lazuli on my nightstand. Crawling into bed, I gently lifted Dagda’s soft form and placed him at the end of the bed. I stroked his fur, then pulled the covers over me.

Staring into the darkness, I wished I could call Hunter. . just to hear his voice and to know whether the spell had worked. It seemed cruel to have my magick back—to feel it flowing through me so fiercely for a few moments—and then to have it ripped away again. Still, I knew the magick would return. And I knew that Hunter would, too.

And if there was one thing I had learned how to do lately, it was wait.

I expected to feel better when I woke up the next morning, which is why it was such a rude shock when I still felt horrible. Every muscle ached, and when I tried to sit up, my body actually shook with the effort. Still, I forced myself over to my dresser and pulled on some fresh clothes. I had to go to school today—my history paper was due. I’d spent practically every spare moment, every lunch period and study hall, working on it. Even if it wouldn’t help my quest to stay out of Catholic school, I wasn’t about to let those precious twenty points of extra credit go without a fight.

I thought I’d never make it to fifth period. But when I walked into history class and placed my paper on Mr. Powell’s desk, I felt proud of myself and happy. Even though my parents had never approved of my topic, the paper was good, and I knew it.

After school I came home and fell straight into bed. I didn’t wake up until eight o’clock, when my mom appeared in my bedroom with a tray, looking worried. “Are you all right, Morgan?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said, my voice thick from sleep. “I just stayed up late last night. I had to hand in my history paper today.” Both of these things were true, although unrelated.

My mom nodded. “I made you some soup.” She placed the tray on the floor by my bed. “Lean forward.”

I obeyed, and she plumped up the pillows behind me. Then she placed the tray on my lap. The soup was minestrone—one of my favorites. “Delicious,” I said when I’d had a spoonful.

“I didn’t wake you because I figured you needed your rest,” my mom said. “Besides, Dad and I like to have a romantic dinner alone sometimes.”

“Where’s Mary K.?” I asked.

“She’s over at Alisa’s house.” Mom traced a finger over the edge of my afghan. “Apparently Alisa was out sick today. Mary K. went over to give her the Spanish assignment.” My mother studied the pattern in the blanket carefully. I knew she was holding something back. Almost as if she felt me looking at her, my mom leaned over and brushed my hair away from my face.

“I really don’t feel sick,” I assured her. “I was just tired. I feel better already.”

I think my mom could tell I was lying, but she didn’t press me. Instead, she just stood up. “Leave the tray by your bed when you’re finished,” she instructed. “I’ll come back and get it later.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

She nodded and closed the door behind her as she left. I had another spoonful of soup and realized that I really did feel better—a little better, anyway. For once my mom and I hadn’t argued about grades, or beliefs, or Catholic school. It had seemed, for a moment, almost like we were back to normal.

Almost.

13. Flame

I can’t write much—the pen feels like lead in my hand.

This morning I woke up feeling so sick that my sheets were actually hurting me. When Dad took my temperature, he flipped out—it was 103 degrees. He gave me some Tylenol and me drink some juice, then he took me to Dr. Hawthorne’s office. He took my blood and a strep cutture. But he didn’t really have any idea what was making me so sick. He seemed worried that my temperature had spiked so quickly but couldn’t explain it. He says it’s the flu. Doctors always say it’s the flu.

Mary K. came over for a while, which made me feel a bit better, but now I’m feeling worse again—feverish and nauseated. Nothing seems to help.

I’m scared. I wish I could call someone in Kithic. I miss it so much that I’m starting to think I made a mistake by leaving the coven. But I guess it’s too late to go back now.

— Alisa

By the time I stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen on Saturday morning, Mary K. was already dressed and stacking the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.

“Is Alisa there?” Mary K. asked, and I realized she was talking into the cordless as she straightened up and closed the dishwasher. “She is?” There was a long pause. “What’s wrong?” An even longer pause. “Oh. Okay.” Mary K. reached out and gripped the countertop. “Can she have visitors? ” she asked. “Well, thanks, Mr. Soto,” she said finally. “Tell her. . tell her I hope she gets better soon.” Mary K.’s eyebrows drew together in a worried frown as she clicked off the phone and placed it on the counter.

I was tempted to sneak away—this was none of my business—but Mary K.’s expression disturbed me. I cleared my throat to let her know I was there, and asked, “Everything okay?”

Mary K. turned to face me. Her eyebrows lifted, and for a moment I thought she was going to yell at me for eavesdropping, but she seemed to change her mind. “Alisa’s really sick,” she said finally. “She’s in the hospital.”

“Oh,” I said. A feeling of dread squeezed my lungs. “What’s wrong?”

Mary K.’s voice shook a little. “Nobody knows. All they know is that it’s serious. She’s. . she’s not even conscious. Her dad is really freaked out.”

“Oh my God, Mary K.” I went over to her and hugged her. “That’s horrible.”

Mary K. started to cry. I didn’t say anything. . I just rubbed her back the way I used to do when we were children. After a few moments she took a couple of shaky breaths. “It’s just scary,” she whispered into my shoulder.

“I know,” I replied. “But she’s in the hospital now. The doctors are there—they’ll figure out what’s wrong with her.” I rubbed her back again. “It’s going to be okay.” I hoped it was true.

Mary K. pulled away from me. “Morgan,” she said, and stopped.

“What?” I asked.

“Morgan, I’m sorry I told Mom and Dad about your friend.”

It took a minute for me to figure out who she was talking about. “You mean Erin?” I asked.

“I was just so s-s-scared.” Another tear squeezed out of the corner of Mary K.’s eye and trickled down the side of her cheek. I brushed it away.

“I know,” I said. “It’s okay.”

We looked at each other a moment. “I don’t want anything to happen,” Mary K. said.

“It won’t,” I assured her.

“How do you know?” she demanded. “I mean—why are you risking it?”

I sighed. “Mary K., magick isn’t just horrible, dangerous, dark things. It can also be beautiful and wonderful. It’s part of who I am. And I’m”—How could I put it? — “I’m strong. You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” The words were more forceful than I really believed, but saying them actually made me feel better.

They seemed to have the same effect on Mary K. She straightened up and passed her hands over her face, then she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Morgan—would you take me to see Alisa?”

“Of course,” I said quickly. I was about to ask whether she wanted to go right now, but then I remembered. “Oh, crap, I’m grounded. We’ll have to ask Mom and Dad if it’s okay.”