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wall of light. Written words that were her voice in death.
    I’d read the grimoires many times. They spoke to me. As though the essence of my ancestors resided in the paper. The imprint of their souls seeped through the indentations of ink on the pages. Books filled with strange symbols, drawings, and incantations. Some dating back to 1690. I’d read them all, although they didn’t make much sense. I searched for a solution, answers, but found none. I felt better just holding them in a world where no one believed in magick.
    I never had a chance to question my aunt Lauren after she gave me the trunk. To ask her about either the books or the prophecy. After that, she wasn’t allowed in our house. No one would tell me why. But I’d heard. Statements hurled out like spears. Hurtful words that could never be taken back once spoken. A family divided by silence.
    It sucked, because my family used to be close. Since my tenth birthday, my aunt Lauren and my grandparents, Grandma Naomi and Grandpa Samuel, didn’t come around as much. I missed them. Their absence caused me to feel even more alone in the world.
    On impulse, I decided I needed someone to talk to. Someone who knew something about magick. I walked down the hall to my parents’ room and nudged the door open with my foot. I peeked inside. Jillian sat hunched over, reading a worn, leather-bound book. A lit black candle and rose petals lay on the vanity table.
    She glanced up, saw my reflection in the mirror, and pressed a hand against her heart. “What?” she snapped, shoving everything into a wooden chest.
    “What are you doing?”
    Jillian ignored me. She inserted a small key into the metal lock on the chest and twisted it. She opened a drawer and dropped the key inside, then closed it with a bang. She looked up and arched a raised brow. “Well?”
    We stared at each other. I swallowed. “Never mind.”
    “Good. Run along—I’m busy.” She turned away. “And shut my door, please.”
    I sighed and returned to my room. Sometimes I thought it would be nice to move to a place where the whole freaking town didn’t know about my family history. I wanted to live among people who didn’t look at me sideways with speculation or unease or anxiety. Small towns—ugh. I put the books back in the trunk and slid them under the bed. I decided I’d spend all day tomorrow working on constructing a stronger psychic barricade.
    I had a feeling I was gonna need it.
    ~~~

    On Tuesday morning, after smashing the shrieking alarm clock with my fist, my first thought was if I would see Trent at school. Yawning, I shuffled into the bathroom where I took a quick shower and brushed my teeth. My mind kept returning to Trent. Would he be there? Would we get a chance to talk? Thick fog was all I could see out the bathroom window. The choke of claustrophobia edged over me.
    Normally, I had toast and coffee before heading off to school, but this morning I couldn’t eat. The toast was dry and stuck in my throat. Thinking about Trent and his sexy green eyes made my stomach rebel with nervous anticipation. I was fluttery at the thought of seeing him again. The feeling tightened my chest.
    Whispering Pines High was a one-level structure with a brown slate roof and a cream painted exterior that hovered within a blanket of fog. When I arrived after walking two miles, the parking lot was already full of cars and people. Ashley Witheridge and the Trendies ascended the steps ahead of me, walking into the school. Ashley had hair the same color as mine that flowed around her like spun silk brushing her shoulders. In her slim jeans, she was svelte, with super long legs and minimal curves. Her best friend, Kayla Bishop, threw back her head,   copper-colored hair flying, and laughed loudly at something Ashley said. Kayla hurried on short, fake-tanned legs to catch up with Ashley’s longer strides as they entered the building, joining the throng of urban yuppie students that predominated the