"I'll walk back," I added. "I could use some fresh air." I tucked the book into my messenger bag. "I'll return this to Sam," I said to Brigid. "He'll put it back in the library." Then I did my walk of shame, crossing the room and headed to where she was perched.

Brigid slid aside to let me pass. She said nothing. She wouldn't—or couldn't—even look at me. As I stepped past, my leg brushed against her. I almost jumped as a surge went through that whole half of my body. I felt a wave of pure raw emotion coming off her. She might look furious, but inside, everything in her was weeping.

It was a long walk home through the mist and the wet, with my brain clanging between elation and guilt.

I mean, he kissed me. What was I supposed to do? Slap him, like they do in old movies. Call him a cad. I hadn't done anything wrong…it wasn't my fault…

But then I examined my motives. Did I want Charlie to kiss me? Yes. Was he my cousin's boyfriend? Yes.

Guilty.

I sucked. I sucked, I sucked, I sucked.

But still it had been the best moment of my life. I had touched his face and felt the tiny, soft curls at the back of his head, down near his neck. It had been good, so good, too good. I still felt like I was walking through an incredible dream.

Yet Brigid's feelings were still so close, so strong. She loved Charlie—who wouldn't? He was adorable and funny and smart. Tall. Powerful. She had turned her back for a moment—to be responsible and go to work, no less—and then her weird out-of-town cousin appeared, broke into her house, and made out with her boyfriend.

I trudged along, seagulls screaming overhead, my hair slowly collecting dampness for the air. It took me about forty-five minutes to get back to Sam's. When I got there, Enya was playing and delicious smells of garlic, fish, and cooking tomatoes were coming from the kitchen. Sam had obviously gone to the trouble to make sure I came back to a nice welcome—and I returned, the other woman, the coven wrecker…

"Did you have a good day?" Sam asked, putting a salad bowl out on the table.

"Great!" I said with forced enthusiasm.

"What did you do?"

"Oh," I said, picking up Mandu and letting him climb up on my shoulder, "just hung out with Charlie."

"Charlie's a great guy." Sam nodded. "A fantastic witch, too."

You have no idea, I thought… Sam looked up at me strangely, and I banished all thoughts of Charlie from my mind and set a straight and steady expression on my face.

"Before I forget," he said, "I found some pictures of your mother I wanted to show you. Could you watch the stove for a second? And feel free to start the salad."

"Sure," I said, setting the cat on the floor. As Sam headed for the stairs, I started making the salad, dumping the mesclun into the salad bowl and replaying the kiss again and again in my mind. I set it against the music, felt the surge of bliss thrumming through my body. Charlie was so handsome, so tall, so funny, so nice, so smart, so…

Taken. By my cousin. What was I thinking?

I tossed some vinaigrette into the greens a little more aggressively than was really necessary. The cats cocked their heads at me.

Just as I had the night before, I suddenly felt something in the pit of my stomach telling me that something was wrong, very wrong. I looked up, all senses alert. Something was here. A presence. Something very foul. I let go of the salad tongs and looked around the kitchen.

And then it happened.

The first blow was on my left arm, and it sent me reeling backward, pain jagging all the way down my hand. I heard glass shattering behind me. I whirled around to see all of the dishes flying out of the open rack under the cabinets, and they all came at me, one after the other. I didn't have time to move or think. Something broke against my head. Glass fell onto my eyelids. I pulled my arms up to guard my face and head as best I could, but the blows were coming harder, pushing me back against the wall.

Something in me stirred, ready to battle. I felt every fiber of my being tingling. I could stop this. I could…

I concentrated hard. Some of the dishes started to pop and splinter midair, before they got to me. It was as if they where smashing against an invisible wall, and I knew I was doing it. No idea how—but I was doing it. Some still made it through. There were so many. The drawers were rattling, coming loose, coming at me. I dropped to the ground and started crawling for the table, elbowing my way through the shards.

I could see Sam trying to get to me, but I felt myself growing weak. Everything went black and white, and there was a ringing in my ear that drowned out every other sound. I was fainting, I realized.

The next thing I knew, Sam was putting me down on the sofa. My clothes sparkled with bits of plate and drinking glass.

"I'm all glassy," I said, tears welling into my eyes. "Sam, I'm all glassy."

"I know," he said, checking over my head, my face, my eyes. "Look at me, Alisa. Look at me."

It was hard, but I focused on his face. He studied me.

"I'm going to take off my clothes," I said, standing uncertainly and wobbling from foot to foot. For some reason, the glass on my clothes was really preoccupying me. "I have to get this stuff away from me."

"Steady now, sweetheart." He looked over the shards that dangled like icicles from my clothes. He yanked a pair of pajama's from the top of my bag and set them down. "Get changed. I'll be back in a second."

I heard him run upstairs, heard the bang of a cabinet door. I pulled off my pants and T-shirt and dumped them in the center of the room. Then I put on some soothing fleece pants and the camisole pajama top. That was better. So much better.

I looked down and saw that my forearms were dripping with blood.

The sofa loomed up at me, and I grabbed for it, holding tightly to the cushions for balance. And then everything went black again.

The lights in the room were dim. I was waking up. I was under a blanket. Was it morning? I didn't think so.

Where was I?

Sam's, I realized after a moment. The dishes. I remembered now. I looked up to see Ruth sitting next to me, holding an ice pack to my forehead with her uncasted arm. I tried to sit up, but she put a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Stay down, Alisa," she said.

"What happened?" I asked.

"We don't know." Ruth smoothed my hair. "We're trying to figure it out."

"We?" I asked.

"Charlie was here when you were out," she said. "He put a ring of protection spells around the house."

"While I was out?"

"You've been unconscious for hours," she explained. "It's almost ten. Kate Giles is here now. She's another member of Ròiseal. She works in defensive magick."

"Where's Sam?" I said, trying to lift my head to look around.

"Doing a divination spell to see if he can find out what caused this," she answered, indicating that I should rest again. "He's fine."

I took an inventory of myself. Both my arms were wrapped in gauze from my palms to my elbows. I felt something on my head as well. I had no shirt on—that was probably why I was under the blanket. There were soft little things resting on various points of my stomach and chest—they felt like little cloth bags. I guessed they were full of herbs or witch ointments. I was generally a bit sore, but nothing felt broken.

I'd done a lot of strange telekinetic things in the last few weeks, but I'd never attacked myself. Also, what I'd felt right before the dishes started flying hadn't come from inside me. I'd felt something coming from the outside, like a magickal draft. This time it hadn't been me. What was happening? I thought of calling Hunter. He would know what to do. This was his kind of job.

There was the sounds of loud heels on the steps. A young woman, maybe just around Hilary's age, came into the room.