Cal. Every thought led back to him. I stared out my window, trying to blink back tears and not succeeding. I wiped them away with the back of my hand.

Gradually it dawned on me that I didn't recognize the road we were on. "Where are we going?" I asked. "This isn't the way to my house."

"It's the way to my house. I thought it would be better if you washed up first, got the smell of smoke out of your hair and so forth, before you faced your parents."

I nodded, relieved that once again he'd thought it out. My parents—my adoptive parents, really—weren't comfortable with my powers or with me practicing witchcraft. Besides the fact that they're Catholic, they were frightened by what had happened to my birth mother, Maeve Riordan. Sixteen years ago Maeve and my biological father, Angus Bramson, had burned to death. No one knew exactly how it had happened, but it seemed pretty clear that the fact that they were witches had had everything to do with it.

I pressed my hand against my mouth, trying desperately to make sense of the last few weeks. Just a month ago I'd discovered that I was adopted and that by birth I was a descendent of one of the Seven Great Wiccan Clans—a blood witch. My birth parents had died when I was only a baby. Tonight I had almost shared their fate.

And it had been at Cal's hands. At the hands of the guy with whom I'd hoped to share the rest of my life.

Ahead of us, a fat brown rabbit sat frozen in the middle of the icy road, paralyzed by my car's headlight Hunter brought the car to a stop, and we waited.

"Can you tell me what happened tonight?" he asked, surprisingly gently.

"No." My hand was still pressed against my mouth, and I had to take it away to explain. "Not right now." My voice cracked with a sob. "It hurts too much."