"I mean, it seams fair," I told her. "Pretty much common sense."

"So all this seems okay?" Mom asked.

"Well, sure," I said. "I mean, I wouldn't be having parties anyway."

"Or boys in the house? Hunter?"

I tried not to wince. "We broke up remember?"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry for mentioning it." Mom said, looking concerned. "Will you be all right alone?"

"Of course I will, Mom. I'm fine."

She hesitated, but I waved her off, plastering a cheerful smile in my face. After Mom went upstairs, I sat with my tea while Mary K. perched on a chair across from me, her big brown eyes asking for details. "What were all those rules about?"

"Oh, about being straight and narrow while they where gone, like a saint."

"Really? So no orgies?"

I groaned. "So funny."

She giggled. "I can't believe they gave you a list of rules. It's not like your Bree."

Bree Warren had been my best friend for eleven years, until Cal Blaire had moved to Widow's Vale. When she first laid eyes on Cal, she knew that she wanted him, but he wanted me, and Bree did not take that well. The story got more complicated from there. She and Cal had slept together before Cal became my boyfriend, and Cal tried to kill me when I refused to practice dark magick with his mother's coven. It had all come to a close one horrible night in his mother's library, when both Cal and his mother Selene, were killed as she tried to steal my powers. Bree and I had been trying to forge an new friendship, but we were moving slowly.

Mary K. was referring to the fact that Bree's parents were divorced, and she lived with her dad. Mr. Warren was a lawyer with tons of money and not much time for Bree. She often stayed by herself in their big house for weeks at a time, which gave her a lot of opportunity to experiment. Bree wasn't really wild, but she was rich and unsupervised.

"No, I'm not Bree," I agreed.

"Are you going to follow the rules or blow them off?"

My sister's sweet expression and innocent demeanor always made me forget that she was very shrewd for a fourteen-year-old.

"Ugh." I put my head down on the table. "They make me feel like I'm ten years old."

Mary K. giggled and put down her mug. "It'll be good for you, Saint Morgan," she said, standing up. "Like penance."

"Good-bye, honey," my mom said an hour later. "Be careful. And if you need anything, call Eileen."

"Sure," I said. "Don't worry."

"I will worry," she said, looking into my eyes. "That's what mothers do."

All at once I got that awful feeling in my throat that signaled that I was about to cry. I reached over and hugged the only mother I had ever known, and she hugged me back.

"I love you," I said, feeling embarrassed and sad. I realized I would miss them while they were away.

"I love you too, honey." Then she turned and got into Dad's car, and Mary K. waved at me from the backseat. I waved back and watched the car until they went around the corner and I couldn't see it anymore. Then I realized I was freezing, standing out here, and went into the house that would be mine alone for the next eleven days.

It was extremely quiet inside. Casting my sensed, I picked up only Dagda, sleeping deeply as usual. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen; the grandfather clock my dad had built from a kit ticked loudly. With irrational panic, I suddenly felt like every ax murderer in the area was picking up his ears, knowing he should home in on this address right away.

"Stop it," I told myself in disgust, plopping down in front of the TV.

When the doorbell rang half an hour later, I jumped a foot in the air. I hadn't perceived anyone coming up the walk, and that realization made my heart kick into overdrive.

I cast my senses strongly as I crept to peer through the peephole. I sensed a blood witch right before I saw the small, red haired woman on the front porch. A witch, but no one I knew. I didn't feel any danger, but I might not, if she was powerful enough.

I opened the door. A strong witch who wanted to come into the house could probably do it despite the ward-evil and boundary spells I had set all around the house.

"Hello Morgan," she said. Her eyes were a light, warm brown, like caramel. "My name is Eoife McNabb. I'm sub elder of the council. I want to talk to you about Ciaran MacEwan. Your father."

Winter has set upon us, Brother Colin, and it is a raw one, compared to Weymonth's mildness. It does not freeze, not yet snow, but it is cold with a wetness that chills one's bones to the marrow. Brother Colin, I have not wavered in my devotion to these people and my blessed calling of spreading God's Word. But I tell you, the people of Barra Head have a deep suspicion of me, the other brothers (there are five), and even our blessed Father Benedict, who is as holy as a man as I have known. Heads turn away as we walk through the village, dogs bark, children run and hide. Today I found a marking drawn on the abbey door. It was a star encircled. The sight of this devil's mark made my blood run cold.

— Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, January 1768

I stood in my doorway for a moment, blinking stupidly at Eoife McNabb. I felt like she'd just somehow sucked all the air out of my lungs.

At last I realized I was being rude. "Um—do you want to come in?" I asked.

"Yes, thank you." She stepped in and looked around our hallway and living room with interest. From what I could pick up, she was worried, a little tense, and unsure about coming here. I guess she felt me scanning her senses because she blinked and looked at me more closely.

"Um, sit down, Eva," I said, waving a hand at the couch. "Do you want something to drink? Some tea?" Since she had (I thought) a Scottish accent, I figured tea was a safe bet.

"It's Eoife," she corrected. "E-o-i-f-e. Tea would be lovely thanks."

"Eef-uh?"

She gave a slight smile. "Close enough." She stepped into the living room and took off her heavy wool coot. Underneath she was dressed in black pants and a pink turtleneck that clashed amazingly with her carrot-colored hair. Her image stayed with me as I went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She had no freckles to go with that hair. Her face was smooth and unlined, but she gave the impression of being older then she looked. In her forties, maybe? It was impossible to tell.

I brought the tray out a few minutes later. Eoife waited until we had our cups in front of us, and then she looked at me, as if I were an exhibit she's heard a lot about and was finally seeing. I looked back at her.

"How do you know me?" I asked.

She took a sip of her tea. "There are very few council members who don't know about you," she said. "Of course we'd been watching Selene Belltower for years, and anyone who came into contact with her. From the very beginning, the council has found you very interesting. Then recently we learned that you were the daughter of Ciaran MacEwan and Maeve Riordan. As you can imagine that heightened our interest."

I could feel my eyes widening. "You mean the council has been spying on me?"

For a moment Eoife looked almost uncomfortable, but the expression passed so quickly that I wasn't sure if I had imagined it or not.

"No, not spying," she said, in her melodic Scottish accent. "But surely you of all people understand that there are dark forces out there. The council tries to protect all witches: especially those who practice only bright magick, who understand the dangers of the dark."

Then where were you when I was in danger of having my power sucked out in New York? I thought angrily.

"We know, of course, what happened to you in New York," Eoife said, and I wondered if she was aware of my thoughts. It was incredibly irritating. "It was appalling," she went on quietly. "It must have been horrific for you. Someday the council would like to hear the whole story—not just what Hunter knows."