professor in the anthropology department,” Vivian said with pride. “He and Abby have been a welcome addition to the community.”
“Nice to meet you,” I murmured. The whole coven must shop at the Cost Cutter on Thursday.
“Only when we need to talk business,” Abby said, reading my mind with ease. So far as I could tell, she had considerably less magical talent than Vivian or Caleb, but there was obviously some power in her blood. “We expected to see Sarah today, but she’s avoiding us. Is she okay?”
“Not really.” I hesitated. Once the Madison coven had represented everything I wanted to deny about myself and about being a Bishop. But the witches of London had taught me that there was a price to pay for living cut off from other witches. And the simple truth was that Matthew and I couldn’t manage on our own. Not after everything that had transpired at Sept-Tours.
“Something you want to say, Diana?” Vivian looked at me shrewdly.
“I think we need your help.” The words slipped out easily. My astonishment must have shown, for the three witches all started to laugh.
“Good. That’s what we’re here for,” she said, casting an approving smile at me. “What’s the problem?”
“Sarah’s stuck,” I said bluntly. “And Matthew and I are in trouble.”
“I know. My thumbs have been bothering me for weeks,” Caleb said, bouncing Grace on his hip.
“At first I thought it was just the vampires.”
“It’s more than that.” My voice was grim. “It involves witches, too. And the Congregation. My mother may have had a premonition about it, but I don’t know where to begin searching for more information.”
“What does Sarah say?” Vivian asked.
“Not much. She’s mourning Emily all over again. Sarah sits by the fireplace, watches the tree growing out of the hearth, and waits for the ghosts to come back.”
“And your husband?” Caleb’s eyebrows lifted.
“Matthew’s replacing fence posts.” I pushed a hand through my hair, lifting the damp strands from my neck. If it got any warmer, you’d be able to fry an egg on Sarah’s car.
“A classic example of displaced aggression,” Caleb said thoughtfully, “as well as a need to establish firm boundaries.”
“What kind of magic is that?” I was astonished that he could know so much about Matthew from my few words.
“It’s anthropology.” Caleb grinned.
“Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else.” Vivian smiled warmly at the growing crowd of onlookers in the produce section. The few humans in the store couldn’t help noticing the gathering of four otherworldly creatures, and several were openly listening in on our conversation while pretending to judge the ripeness of cantaloupes and watermelons.
“I’ll meet you back at Sarah’s in twenty minutes,” I said, eager to get away. “The arborio rice is in aisle five,” Caleb said helpfully, handing Grace back to Abby. “It’s the closest thing to paella rice in Hamilton. If that’s not good enough, you can stop by and see Maureen at the health-food store. She’ll special-order some Spanish rice for you. Otherwise you’ll have to drive to Syracuse.”
“Thanks,” I said weakly. There would be no stops at the health-food store, which was the local hangout for witches when they weren’t at the Cost Cutter. I pushed my cart in the direction of aisle five.
“Good idea.”
“Don’t forget the milk!” Abby called after me.
When I got back home, Matthew and Fernando were standing in the field, deep in conversation. I put the groceries away and found the bucket in the sink where I’d left it. My fingers automatically reached for the tap, ready to twist it open so that the water flowed.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I muttered, pulling the empty bucket out of the sink. I carried it back to the stillroom and let the door swing shut.
This room had seen some of my greatest humiliations as a witch. Even though I understood that my past difficulties with magic had come about because I was a weaver and spellbound to boot, it was still difficult to leave the memories of failure behind.
But it was time to try.
Placing the bucket on the hearth, I felt for the tide that always flowed through me. Thanks to my father, not only was I a weaver, but my blood was full of water. Crouching next to the pail, I directed my hand into the shape of a spout and focused on my desires.
Clean. Fresh. New.
Within moments my hand looked like metal rather than flesh and water poured from my fingers, hitting the plastic with a dull thud. Once the