I blinked when I saw him. “Do you still feel bad? You look awful.”

He rubbed his hand over his unshaven jaw. Unlike the hair on his head, which was the color of sunlight, his beard was dark, and so was his chest hair. Which I was going to stop thinking about immediately.

He shrugged and I went past him, automatically heading for the fireplace in the living room. I dropped my coat and sank onto the couch, stretching my feet toward the flames. The house smelled pleasantly smoky, clean. Fire has great purifying qualities.

“I think I feel better than I did yesterday,” he said, sitting next to me so our legs touched. “Maybe it just takes a while. I’ve never been around a dark wave before, so I don’t know.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder and shivered at the warmth I found there. “Maybe you haven’t drunk enough tea,” I said with a straight face.

“Quite the wit, aren’t you?” He put his arms around me and we snuggled, taking comfort from being close.

“Where’s your dad?” Please be out of the house. Please be gone all day.

“Getting groceries. There’s nothing to eat because we’ve been kind of busy the last few days.”

I pushed against Hunter’s shoulder so he would fall sideways. “Perfect.”

“Good idea,” he said, sliding down and pulling me with him. Then we were lying on the couch, face-to-face, pressed together, and my entire back was toasting nicely from the fire.

Simultaneously we both made happy sounds, then laughed at ourselves. I didn’t feel like making out, sadly enough, and neither did he, and instead we just held each other close, snuggling hard, feeling some of our aches disappear with the heat from each other’s body. Goddess, if I could just lie like this forever. Hunter’s hand stroked my back absently; our eyes were closed, and I had my arms around his waist, not even caring that one was getting smushed.

“Thursday was so awful,” I murmured against his chest. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. No matter how much good I was doing, I still know I betrayed my father. And despite how bad he was, there was something in him that I felt I knew, something good, from long ago. That was the part of him I liked.”

“I understand.” Hunter’s warm breath stirred my hair. “The only thing that will make you feel better is time. Give yourself time. I promise there will be a day when it doesn’t hurt so much.”

I felt tears behind my eyelids but didn’t let them out. I was tired of crying, of being in pain. I wanted to lie here and feel safe and loved and warm.

“Mmm,” I hummed, moving closer to him. “This feels so great. I needed this.”

It wasn’t long until we felt Hunter’s father come home, and we sat up as if we had been discussing the weather the whole time. I’m sure Mr. Niall was fooled.

Hunter helped him carry the groceries into the kitchen. When I saw Mr. Niall’s face, I thought he looked even older and grayer than usual, which was saying something. However, when he saw me, he actually nodded and said, “Hullo, Morgan. Hope you’re feeling better.” So he had softened up to me. Maybe I should write an article for a teen magazine about how to win over your boyfriend’s parents. But I guess most girls wouldn’t have my same setup.

“What’s in here, Da?” Hunter said, his arms full. “This weighs a ton.”

“I thought you were supposed to be so strong,” said Mr. Niall snidely, and my eyebrows went up.

“I am strong; I just don’t know why they sell lead weights at the grocery store, that’s all.”

Their bickering continued as they went into the kitchen, and it was still going on when they came out. I frowned, thinking. Then I glanced at the potted winter cactus by the window. It had been blooming last week. Now it was dead. My heart sank, and a cold feeling came over me. Oh, no. Oh, no. I stood up and went over to them, looking closely at their faces.

“What, Morgan?” Hunter asked.

“I—we all feel horrible. You guys are arguing. That plant is dead.” I was too upset to make sense, but it took them only a moment to get it.

“Oh, Goddess,” Hunter breathed.

“Of course.” Mr. Niall shook his head. “I knew something was wrong—I just couldn’t see what. But you’re right. I know you are.”

Hunter muttered a word that I was never allowed to use. “Too right,” he said. “The dark wave is still coming. Either Ciaran cast it before he came to see you, or Amyranth is continuing his work without him.”

“Call Alisa,” said Mr. Niall grimly.

14. Alisa

It seemed that every time I looked out a window, it was darker outside, more ominous. Mr. Niall had turned on the radio in the kitchen, and every once in a while we heard faint weather reports about a bad early-spring storm coming, how unusual it was. They joked about how it was March, still roaring in like a lion, ha-ha. It had all seemed so unreal. How could the world be going on as usual when I knew that mine might end at any minute?

Concentrate, I told myself. Concentrate. Okay, third form: spell specifics.

This was difficult—not as hard as the second part, but harder than the first or fourth. Facing east, I began to step in the carefully designed pattern that would help define and clarify this spell. Next to me, as if we were in pairs skating, Mr. Niall started the same motions.

“Words,” Hunter muttered. He and Morgan were sitting on the floor, their backs against the wall. It had been almost six hours ago that Hunter had called me and told me the dark wave was still coming. Since then I had been struggling to understand: What? Coming? Now? It was hard to get my head around the dark wave again, and there almost wasn’t time, with all the practice we were doing. It was like a strange, nightmare day, like I would wake up any minute safe in my bed. But deep in my witch bones I knew that wouldn’t happen.

Morgan had her head on her knees, as if she were too miserable to move. Hunter looked like he’d been run over by a truck. Mr. Niall had a washcloth, and he kept patting his forehead with it. He looked gray and clammy and had to sit down every few minutes.

“Oh, right,” I said. I rubbed my aching temples with my hands and wished I had something to drink. “Nogac haill, bets carrein, hest farrill, mai nal nithrac, boc maigeer.” I said the ancient words, whose meanings I knew only very sketchily, as I stepped again in the pattern I’d been taught. My hands drew patterns of sigils and runes in the air as I described exactly what we needed this spell to do, how and when and why. The third part usually took about seventeen minutes if I did it properly.

“No—arms up,” Mr. Niall croaked.

His interruption broke my concentration; my foot faltered, and all at once I fell out of sync, with no idea of where I was supposed to be in the spell. I stared at my arms, which were not up, and then a wave of tiredness and nausea swept over me.

“You’re doing great, Alisa,” said Hunter as I stood there dejectedly, rubbing my forehead. His voice sounded stiff and leaden, as if even talking made him feel worse. “It’s just an incredibly difficult spell. It would take me a solid month to learn it.”

“Yeah, but you would understand what the hell you were doing and saying and why. I’m just memorizing it like a parrot.”

“A talented parrot,” Morgan said, trying to smile.

Mr. Niall slowly lowered himself to the wooden floor and curled up there with a moan. He looked like someone had taken all his stuffing out and returned the pelt. Of the four of us, he seemed the worst off. I glanced at Hunter and met his eyes: We both knew there was no way Daniel could even pretend to cast this spell himself. I’d been here three hours, and in that short time I’d watched as the three full blood witches visibly deteriorated. Even I was starting to feel pretty bad—my headache made it hard to concentrate, and my knees felt shaky.