The other wolf—Ciaran, it came to me—trotted forward suddenly with an irate snarl. Hunter tensed against the rock, and I leaped to my feet, thinking, No! No! I saw Ciaran's powerful muscles gather and knew he would be on Hunter in an instant. Quickly in my mind I thought his true name, the name that was his very essence, the name that was a sound, a shape, a thought, a song, a sigil, a color all at once.

Ciaran dropped in mid leap like a stone. He turned to me, wolfish eyes wide in astonishment, awe, and even fear. No, I thought. You may not have Hunter.

Things began happening too quickly to comprehend. I began to change back to a human, and it was painful and I cried out. Ciaran, still a wolf, melted into the shadows of the woods like a fog, as if he had never existed. Then Eoife and many other witches I didn't know burst into the clearing, shouting spells and weaving magick everywhere.

"He went there!" Hunter shouted, pointing in the direction that Ciaran had gone. I lay curled on the ground, still mostly wolf, trying not to retch, knowing in my heart that they would never catch Ciaran, that my father had already escaped. But the weight of their magick and the strength of their spells amazed me—I didn't want to be anywhere near them. It was a weight, pressing on me, binding Woodbanes, chasing Ciaran, and the magick made me feel ill. Vaguely I felt Hunter wrap me in something warm and pick me up, and then the pain of his every step was so much that I passed out and sank into a delicious darkness where there was no pain, no consciousness.

I don't know when I awoke, but when I did, I was stretched across Hunter's lap, wrapped in his overcoat. My eyes fluttered, and I whispered again, "I choose good."

"I know, love," Hunter whispered back.

I saw my naked feet sticking out from his coat; they were freezing. I felt impossibly pale and weak and wormlike after the glorious strength and beauty of wolfdom. I began to cry, thinking again, I choose good, I choose good, just in case it hadn't taken the first time. Hunter held me and stroked his hands over my bare human skin. He murmured gentle healing spells that helped take away the nausea and pain and fear. But not the regret. Not the anguish. Not the loss.

Diary of Benedict, Cisterian Abbot, December 1771.

Today we held the sad burial and consecration of one of our sons. Brother Sinestus Tor was brought from Baden and laid to rest in the abbey's churchyard. His mother assured me he had received the last sacraments, but the Brothers and I performed extra rites of purity and forgiveness. I cannot think that gentle Sinestus, so bright and full of hope, became an agent of the devil, but there are facts of this matter that trouble me greatly, though I shall take them with me to the grave, God willing. How is it that the boy died at the exact moment of the exact day the witch Nuala Riordan was burned at the stake? They were hundreds of miles apart and had no earthly communication. And what of the mark found on the boy's shoulder? His mother made no mention of it; I wonder, did she see his body or no? But the scars cannot be explained unless he were burned. Burned with a star encircled on his shoulder.

I pray we have done the right thing by allowing him to rest in consecrated ground. May God have mercy on us all.

—B.

"Drink this," said Hunter, folding my stiff fingers around a warm mug. I took a tentative sip, then coughed, gagging on its foulness.

"Agh," I said weakly. "This is awful."

"I know. Drink it anyway. It will help."

I did, taking small sips and grimacing after each one. If this tonic was magickal, why couldn't he have spelled it so it didn't taste like crap?

I was huddled in front of the fireplace at Hunter's house. He had given me some of Sky's clothes to wear since mine were back at the cemetery.

The fire crackled and spit in front of me, but I avoided looking at the flames. I couldn't bear anything else tonight—no revelations, no lessons, no visions, no scrying. Although I had a blanket wrapped around me, I shivered uncontrollable and felt that the fire put out hardly any heat.

I didn't understand anything.

"Is Sky here?" I thought to ask.

Hunter nodded. "Upstairs, sleeping off her drunk. Tomorrow morning she'll probably feel worse than you do now."

"I find that hard to believe." Every muscle and bone and nerve and tendon and cartilage in my body ached as if it had been torn. Even my hair and fingernails hurt. I dreaded having to get up to walk, and driving seemed impossible. Creakily, like an old woman, I raised the mug to my lips and drank again.

"Why were you out there?" My words came out as a croak.

Hunter looked at me somberly. "I was looking for you. I got a message from Ciaran that you were in danger."

Ciaran. I don't know why I was surprised. "How did you know where I was? How did Eoife show up at the last minute?"

"We scried," said Hunter. "Ciaran had blocked himself from us, but you hadn't. Ciaran wanted us to look for you. He wanted to plant me in your path while you were shape-shifting. He was testing you."

I shuddered again at the thought of what I had almost done to Hunter. Then, considering Hunter's words, I frowned. "I did block myself. I was covered with protective spells, spells that wouldn't let anyone find me without my will."

For a moment Hunter looked uncomfortable, and I thought, Oh my god, he's lying to me.

"You have a watch sigil on you," he said, and blew out a breath, as though glad I finally knew.

"Excuse me?" I almost dropped my mug.

"You have a watch sigil on you." He looked embarrassed. "Since Eoife taught you the ward-evil spells. During one of those she put a watch sigil on you."

I stared at him.

"We needed to know where you were, who you were with. You're inexperienced, love, and that makes you a target. Any dark witch who knew that would be dangerous to you. There was nothing about this mission that was safe."

If we'd been having this conversation before Eoife had come to town, I would have been furious. As it was, after all I'd been through, all I knew, all I felt was a vague sense of gratitude. I sighed and murmured, "Take it off now."

"I will," Hunter promised.

I stared into the bottom of my dark mug. "I feel like such a failure. I haven't learned anything about the time of the dark wave, or the spell, or anything. I've sentenced Alyce and Starlocket to death." My eyes stung, and I knew tears would come later.

"No, Morgan," Hunter said, rubbing my knee through the blanket. "You got Killian here, and Ciaran. They know we're here and that we're on high alert. And you have to remembered, you did incredibly well just not to have been killed."

"Oh, God." I groaned and shook my head. "At least I planted the watch sigil on him."

"What? You did?" Hunter looked incredulous. "When?"

"Right as we were turning, shifting. I breathed it into his fur and traced the sigil on his neck. Actually, that was probably useless, too. Once he changes back—"

"It will still be on him," Hunter said, his face breaking into a huge grin. "Oh, Goddess, Morgan! The council is going to be ecstatic to hear it. That's the best news I've had in a long time." He leaned and kissed my cheek and my forehead. "Morgan, I think your mission was a smashing success. You planted the watch sigil on Ciaran, and we're both still alive, unhurt…" Hunter took my free hand and kissed it, looking at me encouragingly. I didn't know how to respond.

The truth was, his joy didn't affect me that much. I had planted a betraying sigil on my biological father. And he had given me such a gift… For a moment I remembered running through the woods on all fours, and I closed my eyes.