"Oh, I don't think she'd appreciate that."

"Why not?"

"Well, we didn't part on the best of terms." She paused. "That was her on the phone, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't even occur to me at the time." Lydia relaxed into her chair, the warm-hearted smile on her face continuing as she waxed nostalgic.

"As I was saying," I forged ahead with my list of duties. "In addition to Nana, there's Beverley, the dog, the house and yard, and my newspaper column is now nationally syndicated." My column devoted to making readers aware of the plight of those maintaining their «normal» lives despite being waerewolves was finally paying off. The syndication was, unfortunately, thanks to the vampire who stained me, but still, my broker was going to be a happy boy. He might even learn to pronounce both my first and last names correctly. "So the pressure is high."

"That's the one under the pseudonym of Circe Muirwood, right?"

"Yeah." Lydia, who had sold the house herself and not used an agent, had asked me many questions before she agreed to sell me her farmhouse, citing it was her responsibility to make certain that such a decidedly witchy home not end up in the wrong hands—what with its nearby ley line and all. And in the interest of keeping it in the right hands, she'd been interested in how I'd pay the mortgage and whether my work was steady. I'd told her about the column.

"You're casting a rather positive light on waerewolves with that column, aren't you?"

"Yes. Many of my friends are waere." I was accustomed to people being negative about them for no good reason. "Does that bother you?" Maybe it would get me out of the competition.

"Not at all. I've been close to many waeres in my time, it's just that, well… Demeter isn't fond of them."

"Witches and waeres—" I began.

Lydia joined me in finishing, " — weren't meant to mingle."

I laughed.

Lydia did too, then we sobered. "Is that still her mantra?" she asked.

"It certainly was, but lately she has been warming up to one of my waere friends. Surprised the heck out of me."

"How does she feel about your column?"

"It's my main income and the means through which I'm supporting her, so she can't gripe. Of course, that won't stop her."

Lydia was silent, considering, but her disappointment was clear. "I see. You do have a lot of irons in the fire." She tapped her hand gently on the table. "I had hoped you would do this. I trust you because you haven't been subjected to all the politics or tainted by them."

"If things were different, Lydia, I would do this." What Lydia didn't realize was that I was tainted. Bearing the stain of the master vampire Menessos meant I couldn't do this. Shouldn't do this. It would be unethical. Plus, I was already afraid Menessos would find some reason to further insinuate himself into my life. Becoming a high priestess with political clout might be reason enough.

And there was more. According to Nana and Johnny—a waerewolf friend who was oddly knowledgeable about mystical things and yet another complication in my life, albeit a pleasant one—I was the Lustrata. The walker between worlds. I was still learning what, exactly, that meant. Johnny had moved into the attic room, at first as a guard of sorts, but also to help guide me in this new role. Nana had been insisting that I present myself as the Lustrata to the Council. I wasn't about to do that until I knew what in Hades being Lustrata meant. Who knew how this Lustrata stuff would affect being a high priestess, politically, personally, spiritually, whatever.

I exhaled resignedly; I'd come out here to decline this and should—

Wait. This sly she-devil of a pagan was full of tricks, wasn't she? "Lydia, since you fill out the form, I came out here for what? To sign it?"

Her regret disappeared, replaced by peevishness. She crossed her arms and turned away, brow furrowing. "You didn't have to come out."

About to give her my I-don't-appreciate-being-made-to-jump-through-hoops speech, I stopped when, beyond the door, someone yelped loudly.

I started out of my seat to see what was going on.

"Sit down, Persephone," Lydia said gently.

"But—"

"Hunter just jolted someone else. Another contestant must have come in."

I eased back into my chair. "Can't you disqualify her or something?"

"This is the way high priestesses have come to be, dear. Best with their broomsticks. By wick and by wand. Oh, the tests have evolved with the times, but if she earns it, proves better than her peers, she leads. Even if she's too young. Even if she's a persnickety, silver-spoon-fed Midwestern girl who doesn't have a chance at understanding the nuances of this city and these people."

We sat in silence.

Beyond the door, Mandy shouted, "Ow!" Followed by, "You bitch!"

Lydia looked woefully at me.

"Fine," I said. "I'll do it."

Chapter 3

Desiccated cornstalks shifted in the night breeze, the sound scraping my ears as I stood at the edge of the field behind my home. Hallowe'en was coming. One week. I stood on the cusp of seasons, feeling the world adjusting, preparing for hibernation and the barren cold.

The goddess Persephone, my namesake, descended into the underworld for six months of every year. Her mother, the goddess Demeter, caused the world to grow colder and dormant, creating winter, while she mourned her daughter's absence. Like my namesake, I'd departed from my «normal» world and entered another.

But I wouldn't be returning. At least, not as the same person I was before leaving.

My life had become the polar opposite of what it had been a month ago; a warped caricature of what I used to know. Everything was backward, as if I'd been hibernating all this time only to awaken just at the onset of the world's bitter, frozen season. The green world was dying, a contradiction to the forced growth in my life.

Nevertheless, Hallowe'en was my favorite holiday and I was going to make the best of it. That meant decorating for harvest with pumpkins and gourds. It meant making caramel apples. It meant that, despite the coming cold, I would create a warm home environment… for Beverley.

So, my feet were planted at the edge of the cornfield. The predicted rain hadn't yet come, but I could feel it in the air. The wooden handle of my sickle felt smooth in my sweaty hand. A pile of stalks lay nearby, neat and stark against the dark grass. Night had fully come. The moon was new early last week; now it was officially a first quarter moon, a sharp crescent glimmering between thick, gray clouds. I was gathering cornstalks to make fodder-shocks for my front porch. Collecting them under a darkened sky matched the season's tone.

Unlike the front-yard Chinkapin oaks that had already begun dropping their golden leaves, in the grove the white ash and white oak trees still held most of their purple, bronze, and red ornaments. Something about the ley line crossing the field there helped them hold on to their leaves a little longer.

Amid their roots lay the access point I used to power my home wards. Though it was not a nucleus—an intersection of lines—it was close to such a hub and the earth-energy flowed strong. I could tap it due to lifelong training, learning to feel and discern the different energies, to draw out the latent energy stored in gemstones and crystals and shape it to my will. My experience had grown to incorporate bigger sources, like the line. I hadn't had cause to use it for more than the wards except twice: once to save my friend Theo's life and once to re-establish my home's innate security against vampires.

As Nana was prone to say, Once is a mistake, but twice is a habit. I didn't want using the ley line to be habitual.

Thinking of habits, I allowed my gaze to drift toward the house. Beverley's light remained on. Nana was still reading to her. I'd barely spoken to Nana since returning from the Covenstead, but a long discussion was inevitable. I would have to tell her what had happened, but it could wait a bit longer. I didn't want to further interrupt our new evening customs.