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that I could say about that, but I hardly knew where to start, and given Mom’s mood, I was a little bit afraid of ending up cocooned myself. Yet, despite my better judgment, everything just bubbled over. “What just happened? He said he was my father and all sorts of crazy stuff, like I’m some kind of princess. Was he for real?”
    “I still can’t believe you let him in over the threshold. Now we have to up the wards,” Mom continued, completely ignoring my questions. She put her palms flat on the wood of the door.
    “Wards? Seriously?” Did Mom really mean what she seemed to be implying? Did an invitation really matter?
    “You broke it. Help me fix it.” Mom waited expectantly at the door until I joined her in the same position.
    Mom closed her eyes, and I tried to conjure my stillness. But it was much harder than usual, with all the questions running through my head. I mean, WTF? If Ramses wasn’t my dad, Mom wasn’t doing a great job at denying it. In fact, standing here upping the wards like he was some kind of threat . . . well, that just made this whole crazy event that much more plausible.
    I sneaked a peek at Mom. Her eyes were closed the way they often were when she concentrated on magic, but I could see tension creasing the corners of her mouth.
    Mom’s magic flowed out into the door. It quickly surrounded the entire house in a kind of protective bubble. Jealously, I sensed the texture and strength of Mom’s magic. Instead of wind, this energy felt more solid, like earth. I could smell something, like loam or moss, ancient and intense. Mom whispered something in Latin, a language she saved for only the most powerful spells.
    She shook herself out and straightened her shirt. “Well done.” She patted me on the shoulder, like I’d been of some help. “Well, we should probably finish dinner before it gets cold.”
    Dinner? Who could think of food right now? I looked at Mom like she was insane. Totally casually, like nothing had happened, she headed back to the kitchen.
    I stood at the door, stunned into inaction. Two seconds later, my mouth started up. “Was that really my dad? And did you seriously just wrap him in a spiderweb and leave him on the curb like the recycling?”
    The clank of dishes.
    Finally, Mom replied, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    No surprise there.
    Cautiously, I moved aside the heavy lace curtain that covered the window nearest the door. Though it was still dark, an old-fashioned streetlamp illuminated the neighbor’s boulevard. Shreds of white fluff were scattered on the neatly manicured lawn. There was no sign of . . . I wasn’t sure what to call him anymore. It was beginning to seem like he was more than just some stranger who’d happened to show up on my birthday. But it wasn’t as if I knew him enough, really, to call him Dad. I settled on Ramses. It was the name we shared, after all.
    Still. Seeing the shreds of cottony fluff sent relief sighing through my nerves. Maybe he was okay after all. Then I tensed again as I wondered, what of the people he’d said attacked him? Could they have carried him away?
    “Who do you think is after Dad?” I decided I’d call Ramses Dad when talking to Mom. It was sure to annoy her. “And what did he mean when he said I shouldn’t go to the Initiation? Do you think someone will try to sabotage it or something?”
    There was a long silence from the kitchen, and I dared to hope Mom was actually considering an answer instead of more evasion. But all she said was, “Your curry is getting cold.”
    “Yeah, and this avoidance is getting really old,” I shot back, gearing up for a fight.
    The foyer was dark, and the light from the kitchen glowed brightly. At first, I wondered if Mom had heard me, but then I detected the soft sounds of sobbing.
    Mom crying? The fight in me instantly deflated at the sound. Mom never cried. Surely this was one of the seven signs of the apocalypse. I rushed into the kitchen.
    Mom sat with