Despite the darkness, he could see the girl sitting in the backseat of the police car. A pale blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders. It helped to think of her warm and safe.

Lightning streaked through the sky overhead again, and Mateo remembered dimly that standing next to a large tree was probably not the smartest thing he could be doing right now. But shock had numbed him past the ability to move.

Besides—he knew he wouldn’t be killed by lightning tonight.

He knew.

All day, he’d tried to ignore the dream he’d had. He’d told himself that it was a nightmare like any other—the vision of the storm, the crash, the beautiful girl trapped in the wreckage. But when the sun had set and the rain had come, Mateo had been unable to ignore the dream any longer.

He’d come out here in the hopes of proving to himself that it wasn’t true. For hours, he’d stood in the rain, watching and waiting, pissed off at himself for even believing this was possible, yet more hopeful as time ticked on and nothing happened.

And then—right when he’d begun to believe it really was only a dream—everything had happened just as he’d known it would.

She’s real, he thought. If the crash happened like I saw it would, then so will everything else I’ve seen.

Shaky and cold with horror, Mateo closed his eyes against the realization that he was doomed.

And if the girl from his dreams didn’t stay far away from him—she’d be doomed, too.

2

DESPITE WHIPLASH AND THE BANDAGES ON HER SORE arm, Nadia got to work unpacking right away. Dad couldn’t manage much with his ribs broken, Cole was way too young to help with anything besides putting away his toys, and besides—there were certain items she wanted to be positive nobody else saw.

Like, say, her witchcraft supplies.

I could come up with an explanation for the glass jars, like, they were for makeup or something, Nadia mused as she unwrapped them from wads of newspaper. But the powdered bone? Forget it. Dad would probably think I was on drugs.

It felt stupid to have kept everything. Without Mom, there was no hope of continuing her training; witchcraft was a closely held secret, passed down between female relatives in the rare bloodlines that had the power. Mom had never revealed the other members of her coven to Nadia—which was just how things were. Nadia wouldn’t have expected to learn any of their names until she was a true witch herself and able to join the coven in her own right.

Still, she’d thought one of them might reveal herself after the divorce—come forward and offer to teach Nadia, or at least give some advice—

But nothing. Mom probably hadn’t even told them that she’d abandoned her own daughter half-trained, with only enough knowledge to get herself in trouble, not nearly enough to solve any of her problems.

No matter how good a student she’d been, no matter how hard she’d worked her whole life—Nadia would never get to become a witch now. Mom had taken that with her, too.

Even as her throat tightened with unshed tears, Nadia tried to snap herself out of it. You know enough to do some things. It’s still useful, right?

Useful enough to get us in a car crash. If I’d faced facts and ditched my Book of Shadows—

But no. She could never do that. A Book of Shadows—even one as new as hers—had power. You couldn’t leave that lying around. And she didn’t have the heart to destroy it.

Despite everything, Nadia didn’t have the heart to walk away from the Craft yet.

As she thought of the wreck, the images of that night swept over her so vividly that it was like she was back there in that ditch. The way the storm had crashed and rolled overhead. The terror of feeling herself sliding down into the cold muck, not knowing whether she could escape.

And Mateo’s face, outlined by lightning, as he reached in to save her—

Nadia’s breath caught in her throat. Who was he? And how had he known her?

But that wasn’t the biggest mystery of that night, and Nadia knew it. The biggest mystery was—who had put up that magical barrier around Captive’s Sound?

And why?

“Make a Mickey Mouse one!”

Nadia poured the pancake batter into three circles, two small ones for the ears and a big one for Mickey’s face. “No whipped cream for the smile today, buddy, but you’re going to eat him too fast for that, anyway, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.” Cole walked to the kitchen table with his glass of milk—way too full, Nadia saw, but he didn’t spill any.

“What’s this?” Dad came into the kitchen of their new house; he was moving easily now, without pain, but the stark white of his bandages still showed through his dress shirt. “I was going to make you guys breakfast. To celebrate the big day.”

“Nobody celebrates the first day of school,” Cole said as he took his seat, tiny sneakered feet now dangling above the wood floor. He was in such a good mood—so confident and easygoing—and Nadia and her father exchanged a look. Cole was finally doing better; maybe the fresh start was working precisely like they’d hoped.

“Making breakfast is no big deal,” Nadia said. “Anyway, I’m a better cook than you, and you know it.”

Dad nodded, acknowledging this, as he took his seat. “But how else am I going to learn?”

Cooking wasn’t a chore for her; it was a hobby, even a passion. She’d filled some of the hours that had once gone to her witchcraft lessons with studying cookbooks and experimenting. Still—one way or the other, she wouldn’t be at home full-time after graduation, so maybe she ought to teach him a few things, just to make sure they wouldn’t starve. “I’ll give you lessons. Wait and see.”