Da and I were dressed in dark clothes, and we said a few see-me-not spells I our way to Patrice's house. We also put up some basic blocking spells: Patrice might feel the presence of other blood witches, but before she could investigate, she would be distracted by something. It was almost midnight; she was probably asleep. But just in case, we wanted to be smart.

It was a quiet, moonless night, and I was thankful for magesight as I picked my way unerringly through her neighbor's backyards. The air was still and quite chilly, but the late spring scent of newly opened flowers drifted toward me, and I inhaled appreciatively. From the very back of her property we looked up at her house. One or two windows had a slight glow to them, as if there were night-lights on. That seemed odd-night-lights were one thing you didn't often find in a witch's house. Then I remembered her ill, uninitiated son and figured he must be the reason.

Neither Da nor I sensed any kind of activity from the house, so we wove our way silently to her large backyard garden. It was a real witch's garden, I saw, with neat beds, raked paths, and green everywhere. I read the small copper signs, seeing the familiar plants: burdock, beetroot, rosemary, yarrow, thistle, goldenseal, mullein, nettle, skullcap. Herbs for dyeing, herbs for tinctures, herbs for healing, soothing, cleansing. Very appropriate.

Then I saw the neat row of foxglove at the back of one bed. Then I looked around more and noticed Da doing the same. Wordlessly he pointed to a plant. Even in the dark I identified it as a young castor bean plant. By autumn it could be up to ten feet tall, with seedpods full of attractive seeds that people make necklaces out of. Hopefully no one would decide to chew on their necklace because it would likely kill them. I began walking slowly around the beds, becoming concerned, but didn't see anything else out of the ordinary.

I signaled to my father, and we crept across the yard to sit beneath a huge oak tree.

"Interesting," he said in a barely audible tone.

"Very."

"Of course, a great many plants are poisonous, and people still have them, I said. "Because they're pretty or useful in a nonedible way. Laurels, rhododendrons, oleander, yew. They're everywhere."

"But castor bean? Nightshade?" said Da skeptically.

"No. it doesn't look good." Deep in the shadows here, I pulled out my scrying stone, a large, flat piece of obsidian that Da had left me when I was eight. He gave a small nod of recognition. Together we placed our fingertips around the very edge of the stone, and I said the little scrying rhyme Sky and I had made up so many years ago. It had always served me well and could be adapted for any number of situations.

Stone of jet, hue of night

Help us as we join our sight

Let us scry the one we seek

She whose name we now will speak.

Patrice Pearson.

I traced the rune of Sigel over the stone to help us achieve clarity. Then I concentrated on my heartbeat slowing down, my breathing becoming more shallow, my focus and gaze centering on the stone before me. Almost immediately a very clear image of a dark-haired woman came to me. She was in a darkened room and was lifting something in the air. I didn't realize what it was at first, but then I recognized it as an IV bag. Patrice hooked it onto some sort of metal frame. In the next instant she looked up, as if she had just felt us scrying for her. She frowned.

"Here we go," said Da, and we leaped to our feet. Within seconds the back door of Patrice's house had opened, and we heard the furious barks and snarls of a dog tearing toward us in the dark.

"Run!" I said needlessly-Da was already outpacing me by a yard. We fairly flew through the neighbors' yards, pounded down the sidewalk, and scrabbled at the door handles of my car.

As soon as he slammed the car door shut, we heard a heavy thunk against the metal: the dog hitting the car. Outraged barks were barely muted by the closed windows.

"Goddess," Da breathed, pushing his hair off his face. "Fierce bugger."

I started the engine, planning to do a quick U-turn so I wouldn't have to pass Patrice's house. My father peered through the windows.

"What is it?" I panted, feeling adrenaline pulsing through my veins. I'd been bitten by a dog before, as a Seeker, and it had been incredibly painful. "A Rottweiler? A mastiff?"

My father started chuckling-an unusual sound, coming from him. It sounded like rusty nails being shaken in a can. "It's a dachshund," he said, really starting to laugh. "It's a long-haired dachshund. Look, you can see him when he jumps up to the window."

I looked across and saw a small, elegant brown head lift into my sight for a moment, then sink down again. A moment's pause and then once more his little face appeared, teeth bared viciously, horrible-sounding snarls coming from his throat. Then he sank down, no doubt already mustering the strength for another determined leap.

I snorted with laughter, almost choking, as I pulled slowly and carefully away from the curb. "Oh, Goddess, Goddess," I wheezed. "If that dog had caught us, it would have torn us apart."

"From the knees down, anyway," Da said, and we convulsed with laughter again.

Tomorrow I would need to talk to Celia and Robin.

On Wednesday, I was jolted awake by the ringing of the phone, which I had placed right next to my bed. I grabbed it without opening my eyes. "How did it go, my love?" I asked Morgan.

"Okay, I think," she said. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's all right. I was up a bit late last night. But I want to hear what happened."

"I don't think I dreamed," she said, uncertainty in her voice. "I can't remember anything, and I don't think I sleep-walked. But I feel yucky. Weird and uneasy, as if I saw something awful but I'm blocking it out."

"Hmmm. But you remember nothing?"

"No, nothing since I fell asleep. I just feel like I have a storm cloud hanging over my head. I don't know why."

"We're going to unravel this," I promised her. "Very shortly."

"I know," she said, sounding wan. "I'd better go-Mary K. has a pep club meeting before school."

"All right. Call me after school and we'll get together," I said. "I want to see you."

"Okay," she said.

After we hung up, I lay in my bed for a while, worrying about Morgan. I didn't know for certain what was going on with her dreams, but if it was that bastard Cal, come back to haunt her, I was going to destroy him. Somehow.

"Morning, all," said Da as he entered the kitchen about an hour later. His gray hair was recently trimmed, and the more time that passed, the more his rangy frame seemed to fill in.

"Da." I nodded.

"Morning, Uncle Daniel," said Sky. "Cuppa? I've got a pot made."

"Ta, lass," said Da.

"Say, Da," I said. "I've arranged to meet Celia and Robin-those two witches I told you about-downtown in half an hour. Since you know a bit about the case now, do you want to come?" I was happy to spend time with my father again, and truthfully, his quiet, matter-of-fact nature might help keep this meeting from being ugly.

"Yes, if I'm free," he said, taking his first sip of tea. "I'll need to check my book."

It still struck me as odd that my father was becoming so in demand as a speaker and teacher. I would always have that image of him as emaciated hermit in Canada, as he'd been when I'd first found him. It seemed like he was metamorphosing in front of my eyes.

"There they are," I said in a low tone as we entered the coffee shop half an hour later. Once again Celia and Robin had taken the corner table, but unlike last time, the place was much more crowded. My father and I both ordered herbal tea.

"Hello, Celia. Hello, Robin," I said politely as we approached their table. "I hope you don't mind-this is my father, Daniel Niall. I've told him about your case, and I think he could be helpful to us. Da, this is Celia Evans and Robin Goodacre."