“More, Persephone. For a full transformation, you must give more,” Menessos whispered.

His words drew out of me a sum of energy that I knew was unwise, but I could not deny the spell or Theo’s need.

Arms of light shot out of the swirling mass above our heads, capturing the energy offered up and pulling it into the mix, blending and kneading it until the top swirled and deepened to form a spiraling funnel, an upside-down tornado. This cone of power, unlike any other I’d ever raised, appeared like a galaxy of shining solar systems spinning. Every imaginable color flashed sporadically within that cone. I couldn’t tear my eyes from it.

“More.”

I resisted.

“More!”

My focus wavered. The flow of my energy sputtered.

“You need more to turn her! You know where it is! You must call to it! Take it!”

Mentally, I reached out to the wards surrounding my home. The energy, once set, reawakened. It leapt to my spirit hand, and the strange heat erupted inside my arm. Immediately, I yanked this energy up into the room. It rose through me and out with my voice, swirling into the flow. The tingling-burning overwhelmed me for a fraction of a second, but now it faded.

The energy above sang back to me, a sustained high note, beckoning, daring me to sing that note with it. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. It would surely call to the ley line again, and I wanted no more power searing through me, no more risk of losing my focus.

But that insistent call carried on, slipping beyond me anyway, beyond the circle. I felt it reaching, crying, begging for more.

Beyond the cornfield, in the little grove…the ley line answered.

The ley pulsed and fell into a steady thrumming beat. Enticed, it reached across the field toward me as I had reached for it to power my wards. With each pulse it drew nearer. I could feel the enormity of it, crackling all along the line and arcing forward. I tensed.

I’d dared touch it with my fingertips, and—out of dire fear and need for safety—I’d dared to dip my hand into it. That handful had given me a taste of the immense power and the rush that mortals are rightly meant to fear…but this was searching me out, answering the need of the ritual, the need inherent in my song. And I could not stop it from finding me.

“Now!” Menessos whispered.

The energy of the ley line leapfrogged. A bolt jumped to the ward-circle, then into me. It wanted to fling itself outward through my voice, to fill the room and spill beyond as I sang that note…but it couldn’t filter through fast enough. I sang an octave too low.

In that instant, my body numbed. I could feel nothing—not the vibration of my vocal cords, not the floor under my feet. It felt as if I didn’t exist. The energy took me and became tangible—touching, running, roiling inside of me, searching for its purpose so it could have a task and a form. But I could not speak, could not command it; my voice was taken by the song, and I could not keep from singing; I fought to no avail.

Through it all I heard Menessos whisper, “Give in, Persephone. Now!”

I stopped fighting it. My voice rose higher, a flurry of notes rising soprano-high. When the peak tone was hit, when I matched the note my swirling wards had created, it held.

Finally unblocked, the ley-line energy shot out of me and joined with the energy we’d each given.

Menessos stepped forward, hand lifted, and shouted the command:

“Partake of this energy, elements four,

Swallow it down and return to us more!”

The swirling mass split into four arms reaching from the center. The arms reached down, blue and red, yellow and green, touching the candle placed at each compass point. The arms swirled and lowered, stretching until the circle was a cage of colored energy being consumed by tiny candle flames.

Above us, the center exploded. The colored arms shot into the candles like the length of a metal measuring tape recoiling with a snap. But my note did not end.

Menessos said, “Goliath.”

Goliath lowered his head some, extended his open arms imploringly, and said, “Theodora Hennessey…forgive me.”

Energy bolted from the candles like lightning, arcing in crackling jolts until they met over our heads where the center had once been. It scoured my skin as well as the others’. Beverley cried out and hugged Nana tight.

Menessos said:

“Rise, cone of power! Rise to our call!

Deliver lunar energies to one and all!”

With that command, I knew he’d betrayed us.

In my mind, I screamed, NO! but my single note continued uninterrupted.

He added something in Latin. I only understood lux et tenebris, “light from darkness.”

The candle flames sank down to minimal embers, and the room darkened. Light burst around me like a spotlight held at my back. The final note of my song tapered off, and my knees gave way. Moonlight, like a sharply focused sunbeam, shone through the skylight and encompassed my circle.

Menessos continued:

“Search for the wolves, caress these beasts,

Loose them now, moonlight increased!”

Celia stared at the darkening hair on her arms. “No! Persephone, no! I’m changing! Stop this!”

“Feel your wolf inside you,” Nana called to her. “Stroke it, pet it, keep it calm, and turn it away!”

It sounded like good advice, but it didn’t work. Celia grabbed Erik and buried her face in his chest. He held her tight, sharing an angry look with Johnny. Johnny turned to Menessos and started forward, then stopped. His eyes had gone yellow, and his skin rippled as if a wave were crashing around underneath.

All the wærewolves began to change. Skin split like thin fabric as bones elongated, snapping like dry sticks. Brought to their knees by the power and pain of the transformation, the wæres emitted anguished cries that were piteous half-howls. Beverley screamed. Nana turned Beverley away and covered the girl’s eyes with her old hands.

“Come. Come to me, Persephone.” When Menessos said my name, I faced him squarely, looking him dangerously in the eye. He extended his hand. “Come to me.”

Unlike the time just before, his power flashed forth and imprisoned me. My conscious anger was like a smaller me locked inside a Mason jar. I heard my own thoughts distantly, as if from a radio playing in another room. They were separate from me, distanced and muffled. Though I was seething, my fury at his betrayal could not affect me or get through the bondage confining my will to Menessos.

Unable to refuse, I stood and took his offered hand. His other hand lifted before me, an elegant gesture an expert magician might use before pulling a bouquet of roses from within his sleeve. But Menessos’s intentions were not traditionally romantic. Instead, he removed my hand from his and positioned my arms so they were outstretched to either side. He fingered the bottom edges of my Superman shirt, rolling the fabric up. He bared my waist, pausing to touch my skin approvingly, before rolling the shirt up until my bra was exposed. With a word, he made me raise my arms up to allow him to pull the shirt free.

Physically, I complied without question. Mentally, inside my sealed Mason jar, I screamed to no avail.

My neatly rolled shirt dropped to the floor. His fingers glided over the lacy edge of the black bra before deftly unfastening the front clasp. Menessos removed and discarded my bra.

The exposure both horrified and thrilled me. Energy fluttered along my skin, stronger than ever before. My hands, still outstretched, turned palms up.

“Fire,” he whispered.

The biting power of fire raced over me, focusing on intimate places. I had an inkling now as to why some witches did their rituals naked—sky-clad, as they called it. It felt good.

Menessos sliced the tip of his finger open with his fang in a motion that looked more like he was dabbing at something at the corner of his mouth. Blood welled up. He licked the first drops away, savoring them, then reached out to me.