Killian was looking out the window, not at me, but I could still sense his mischievous smile. "Oh, didn't you see, love?" he asked. "I had my portable broomstick in my pocket."

All right, I thought. I took that as something that I shouldn't press further. Let's try a new tactic.

"Where am I taking you now? Where are you staying?"

"Oh, ah…" Killian peered out the window, as if trying to figure out himself. "I don't really know the names of the roads here. I'll just have to tell you where to turn. You stay on this road for a while."

Okay. "You and Ciaran don't seem that much alike," I said, keeping my eyes on the road.

He blinked sleepily, giving me a sweet smile. I could see how he would be popular anywhere he went. He was fun, undemanding, flexible, and not at all mean-spirited.

“No,” he agreed. “We’re not.”

“Is that because he just wasn’t around that much when you were little?”

Killian thought. “Maybe. Partly. But it’s the whole nature-and-nurture thing. Even if he’d been around all the time, signing my school mark report, It’s probably still be pretty different from him.”

“Why?” Note to self: Do not become a lawyer. Your interrogation skills suck.

He shrugged. “Don’t know.” He sat up in his seat. “Take a left here.”

So he wasn’t Mr. Introspection. Okay. New tactic. “What are your brother and sister like?”

“They’re different from him, too. I don’t know.” Killian looked out the window into the dark woods on his side of the car. There was no moon tonight; the sky was laden with heavy clouds that seemed almost to touch the treetops. “It’s just—Da is very ambitious, you know? He married Mum so he could lead her mother’s coven. He just wants power, no matter what. It’s more important than family or…” His voice trailed off, and I wondered if he thought he’d said too much. He still seemed very drunk—his words were thick and seemed to take a lot of thought.

“Is your mom like that, too?”

Killian gave a short bark of a laugh. “Goddess, no. Which is why Da inherited her coven, not her. She should be really strong, it’s in her blood, but she just pisses it all away, you know? Ma’s a housewife, a princess, really. Always complaining about her lot in life. I think she loved Da, but he loved her inheritance. Plus she was pregnant with my older brother when they got married.”

This picture of Ciaran’s life seemed so different that what I’d imagined, reading the romantic, agonized entries in Maeve’s BOS.

“Anyway—if he loved your ma, then maybe that explains why he couldn’t stand any of us.” There was a bewildered hurt in his voice that I didn’t think would’ve been there without all the Jell-O shots.

“I’m sorry Killian,” I said, and meant it. In his own way, he was another of Ciaran’s victims. Did everyone Ciaran touched pay a price for it? Did I have the same effect?

“Yeah well,” Killian gave a smile. “I don’t lose sleep over it. But I don’t want you to think you’re inheriting Mr. and Mrs. Lovely. Our family’s kind of different.” He gave what seemed like a bitter chuckle and leaned his head against the window again.

“But they’re still your family,” I said. “They’re yours. They belong to you and you to them. That’s something.” I wasn’t aware of the tense catch in my throat until the final word and didn’t turn around when I felt my half brother’s eyes on me.

“Stop here a minute,” he said.

“Here?” I looked out at the deserted road. We were in the middle of the woods; I couldn’t see any houses anywhere. Why did he want me to stop?

“Right here.” I stopped the car, and Killian leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. It was very gentle and grape flavored. “Now you belong to us, little sister.”

To avoid bursting into unexpected tears, I opened my door and got out, standing next to Das Boot in the dark night. Killian got out also, clumsily hanging on the door to avoid falling down. He started laughing at himself, and I smiled.

“Look, sis,” he said, gesturing at the sky. He looked at me with mischief glittering in his eyes. “Repeat after me: grenlach altair dan, buren nitha sentac.” Watching his face, I repeated the words, imitating his pronunciation as best I could. They sounded much better with his accent, but when he went on, I followed, feeling the thin coil of magick awakening in me. What were we doing?

He was watching the sky, and I was, too, not knowing what to look for. Then Killian waved his right hand in a smooth, sweeping gesture, oddly graceful, and I saw the heavy clouds overhead parting reluctantly to reveal the clear, star-speckled sky behind them. My mouth went slack as I realized what he had done.

“Now you.” He tapped my hand, and disbelieving, I moved it in a gentle circle before me. The clouds above me moved at my command, and with a broader movement I pushed the huge billows aside. All was clear above us. Weather magick was forbidden; it was considered an assault on nature and could have far-reaching, devastating effects. So I had just worked forbidden magick. And I had loved it.

My heart was pounding with excitement, and I looked at Killian, my eyes wide and shining. He laughed at my expression.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he said. “I gave you the stars. Good night, little sister.”

He started walking away, weaving slightly down the dark road.

“Good night? Where are you going?” I yelled. “This is the middle of nowhere!”

He turned and gave me a mock-severe look. “Everyplace is somewhere. I want to walk from here.” He turned and began to walk away.

“But—” I started at him, feeling something close to panic. “Killian! Wait!”

He turned again from the woods and looked at me. I took a deep breath. “I want to see Ciaran again. Can you ask him to come here, to see me?” There. It was out. I had said it.

For a moment Killian was silent, then his faint laughter floated to me just as a glowing sliver of moon appeared in the clouds’ clearing. “I’ll think about it,” he called back. Then he was gone, into the nothingness, and I was left alone in the cold, wondering whether I had actually succeeded in my mission—or whether Killian was just playing with me the same way he played with the clouds.

Brother Thomas’s wound continues to fester. He is near delirium, and I fear he will lose the leg. Brother Colin, I must set this letter aside; Father Benedict has motioned to me. I will finish later.

The Lord works in mysterious ways. Father Benedict came to me in all gravity and voiced his concern about brother Thomas. He commanded me to go seek help from a village granny-wife. I asked if that was not like asking for help from the devil, to which he replied that God judges what is good or evil, not man.

In the village no granny-wife would see me, but Nuala Riordan come with me and is still with Brother Thomas. I tremble in fear for out very souls: she is chanting devil’s words over him, fixing him foul teas, applying seaweed poultices to his wound. To my mind it would be better if he died rather then have the devil heal him.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, June 1768.

I pulled into our dark driveway and felt Das Boot's big engine stop with a tremble. What a night. It had been incredible. Now I had to go in and steel myself to call Eoife, to tell her I had asked Killian to call Ciaran.

I was almost to my front door, keys in hand, when suddenly every bit of alcohol I had drunk flooded back into my brain with a whoosh. I staggered on the walk, dumbfounded. Oh my god. Killian's spell had worn off—what if it had worn off while I was driving? Now I was completely polluted again.

Inside the house, I dumped my stuff on the floor and literally clawed upstairs to my room. How much had I drunk? More than I ever had in my life. My stomach felt iffy, and I began to regret downing those whiskey sours.