"I would like to become a master spellcrafter someday," l said. "Like Mum."

Da gave me one of his rare smiles, and it transformed his thin, ravaged face into that of the father I had known so long ago. "That would be a worthy gift, son," he said. "But you have a lot of work ahead of you."

"I know," I said, sighing. I glanced over at the clock and saw that I had about half an hour till I had to leave. It would be midafternoon in England. I had a phone call to make. "Ah, I think I'll ring Kennet now, while I have the chance," I said offhandedly.

The truth was, I was dreading this phone call. A few weeks ago, following our battle with the dark wave, I had decided that I was quitting my position as a Seeker for the International Council of Witches. At seventeen I had become the youngest Seeker in history, and for a time I'd had complete faith in the ICOW's judgement. I had taken great pride in my work, in making the world a safer place for good witches. But that was before the council has failed me in several key areas: neglecting to tell me that they'd found my parents, for one, a decision that resulted in my mum dying before I had the chance to see her and say good-bye. Also, they has failed to warn Morgan and me that her father, Ciaran MacEwan, the leader of a dark coven called Amyranth, had escaped from captivity and might be coming to Widow's Vale to harm us (or to send the dark wave after us, as turned out to be the case).

Da was quiet for a moment. I knew he had reservations about my quitting the council, but I also knew that I couldn't continue serving a system I no longer trusted. Kennet Muir had once been my mentor and my friend, but he wasn't any longer as far as I was concerned. "Are you quite sure?" Da asked.