"Morgan, just stop it!" Mary K. pleaded. "You're freaking me out. You want to read witch books? Fine. Read witch books, light candles, whatever. But quit saying you're really a witch. That's bullshit!"

Mom snapped her gaze to Mary K., startled. "Scuse me," Mary K. muttered.

"I'm sorry, Mary K.," I said. "It's not something I wanted to happen. But it's true." A thought occurred to me. "You must be one, too," I said, finding that idea fascinating. I looked up at her, excited. "Mary K., you must be a witch, too!"

"She is not a witch!" my mom shrieked, and I stopped, frozen by the sound of her voice. She looked enraged, the veins in her neck standing out, her face flushed. "You leave her out of it!"

"But—," I began.

"Mary K. is not a witch, Morgan," my dad said harshly.

I shook my head. "But she has to be," I said. "I mean, it's genetic. And if I am, and you are, then…"

"Nobody is a witch," my mom said shortly, not meeting my eyes. "Certainly not Mary Kathleen."

They were in denial. But why?

"Mom, it's okay. Really. More than okay. Being a witch is a wonderful thing," I said, thinking back to the feelings I'd hid last night. "It's like being—"

"Will you stop?" Mom burst out. "Why are you doing this? Why can't you just listen to us?" She sounded on the verge of tears, and I was getting angry again.

"I can't listen to you because you're wrong!" I said loudly. "Why are you denying all of this?"

"We're not witches!" my mom screeched, practically rattling my windows.

She glared at me. My dad's mouth was open, and Mary K. looked miserable. I felt the first hint of fear.

"Oh," I snapped. "I guess I'm a witch, but you're not, right?" I snorted, furious at their stubbornness, their lies. "Then what?" I crossed my arms and looked at them. "Was I adopted?"