Late at night, Nadia sat up in her attic, both Books of Shadows open in front of her.

Every time she deciphered one of Goodwife Hale’s old spells into modern terms, she jotted it into her own book. Not only would it be easier to reference this way, but the spell’s power would also become part of her Book of Shadows.

So she ought to have felt more confident as she transcribed more and more of it. Instead, the fear only got stronger.

She understood so little of this. When she’d been working with her mother, Nadia had felt confident. Mom swore her power was exceptional; she’d studied hard and practiced every single day to make sure that power reached its full potential. All Nadia had ever wanted was to be a real witch, the best one she could possibly be.

Well, now that she didn’t have a teacher, it looked like the best witch she could possibly be sucked.

This book of Goodwife Hale’s—the one she’d thought could give her so many tricks and tips—most of it was completely incomprehensible to her. The terms used were centuries old, archaic. Some of the items needed for more complex spells were things nobody had today—a “spindle from a wheel”? Good luck getting her hands on that. “The first butter from the churn”? Probably Parkay wasn’t going to work.

Even worse, sometimes Nadia could work through the old-timey language enough to realize that complex, intricate magic was described in the book … but she didn’t have the knowledge that would allow her to understand it, much less use it.

Like the final journal entry Goodwife Hale had ever made—it was either far over Nadia’s head or it was nothing but nonsense.

She tried to put it in her own words, to see if she could parse it out. “Magic forms the bars of the cage. The bars of the cage lie beneath us all. To cut through the bars, the magic will be stolen, and only magic can replace it. The strongest force is not in opposition; it is in … partnership. Or something.”

What was that even about?

Head aching, she turned back to the last spell she’d managed to decipher—one for forecasting weather, which would be handy if not exactly life-altering—stuck in a bookmark, and slammed the covers shut. It was well after one a.m.; tomorrow was going to be a four-Diet-Cokes day. Nadia lowered the attic stepladder and made her way down—

—then stopped short as she saw her father standing in the hallway, in pajama pants and an old Northwestern T-shirt. His arms were crossed in front of his chest as he leaned against the wall, obviously waiting for her.

“Did I wake you?” she whispered. The attic steps were close to the door of Cole’s room.

“No.”

Nadia glanced toward Cole’s door. “Oh, no—did he have another nightmare about the monsters?”

“Cole’s fine. I was worried about you.”

She tried to smile for him. “You know I don’t need as much sleep as normal humans.”

But Dad wasn’t going for the joke. “It’s not just the staying up late. You’ve been on edge all week. Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

Like she could ever talk to him about any of this. She’d had to tell Mateo about magic, but he was the only guy she would ever, ever be able to discuss it with. Her dad was totally cut out of this part of her life, forever. And it wasn’t just the magic, either; Dad had spent more time at his law firm than his house until Mom left and forced his hand. He hadn’t been around for virtually any of the most important moments in Nadia’s life. Why did he even pretend to understand her?

Before she could stop herself, she shot back, “The person I need to talk to is Mom.”

His expression crumpled. Nadia had thought it was impossible to feel stupider than she had while getting lost in those ancient spells—but she’d been so wrong. Now she felt stupid and evil.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I just—I need to go to bed.” Nadia pushed past her father to get to her own room. He didn’t follow her, or knock after she shut the door.

So she was alone as she lay there in bed, tears streaming down her face. It was weird how hurting someone you loved was even worse than being hurt. That stayed with you longer, and weighed you down all through the night into dawn.

13

“SO, ARE YOU WEARING A COSTUME TO THE HALLOWEEN carnival?”

Mateo looked up from the stuff in his plastic cup. “What?”

Kendall Bender—who was the one throwing the party, or at any rate was the one who brought the cooler now holding the beers—shouted over the music. “Are you, like, wearing a costume? Because I know sometimes guys are like, that’s so g*y, not g*y as in actual g*y but g*y as in not cool, except I guess maybe some costumes are actual g*y if they’re, like, drag and makeup or something, but then on the other hand some guys like to wear, like, horror costumes and look all badass and so I was wondering if you were going to maybe do something like that?”

He shrugged. Halloween was too far away to care about.

Somehow Kendall took this as encouragement. “I’m going to go as a geisha girl, but, like, a sexy geisha girl, so the kimono is, like, all short and stuff, and I saw the costume comes with this wig, and I was going to do this makeup with my eyes but then somebody said that was racist, and I went, um, you are way too PC, and, like, you have to think for yourself. Right?”

“I wouldn’t treat someone else’s race as a costume.”