When we returned to Pagan's place, Luke announced that he had some research to do before the next ritual. He grabbed a half dozen books off various shelves scattered around the room and piled them onto the dining room table.

He met my offer of assistance with a half-smile and a "No thanks, I've got this."

Left to my own devices, I paced around the living room. Waiting for my family's spirits to appear meant that I was more than a bit on edge. Every noise had me jumping. When I grew tired of pacing, I spent a long time flipping through magazines I found on the coffee table. An hour passed...then another.

Nothing happened.

I wondered what Luke was doing and why he didn't want my help. He'd been distant since we left the hospital. I guessed that maybe he was just lost in thought, but now, as I sat alone in the living room and time ticked by, I had to wonder what was running through his mind. I knew he was worried about the last ritual, and he wasn't the only one. Another ritual. I sighed. Another chance of losing myself even more to the darkness.

Thunder rumbled overhead. A storm had been brewing outside, and it was finally making its appearance. The dark clouds opened up, and rain slid against the windows. I sat watching the trees blow back and forth in the wind. The temperature in the room dropped, but this time the chill was nature's doing. It was getting quite cold outside.

It was also chilly inside. I rubbed my hands together and looked over at the dying fire. A stack of wood leaned against the wall, so I got up and threw a couple of logs on. I spent quite a bit of time sitting in front of the flames, stabbing at them with a long, black fire iron.

More time passed. How long will I have to sit here? I wondered impatiently. I was bored and extremely hungry. I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, and when my stomach growled for the second time, I dropped the fire iron and headed into the kitchen. It was time to make myself something to eat.

I passed Luke sitting at the table bent over a book. Whatever he was reading had captured his full attention.

I stopped and sat down in the chair next to him. "How's it going?"

He didn't look up. "Fine. Everything's fine. Any contact from your family yet?"

"No, no spirits," I admitted. All he cared about was my family coming to me. He didn't ask me how I was feeling or what I'd been up to. I watched his eyes scan the pages of the book in front of him. I knew he was trying to do whatever preparation he had to for the next ritual. Deep down, I knew he wasn't ignoring me on purpose—or at least I hoped he wasn't.

Another book lay open on the table in front of me. I took a closer look. It was big and covered in brown leather, the pages yellow with age. Intricate drawings done in black ink covered the pages. I leaned closer and studied a picture of a man standing before a big block of stone, a dozen faces floating around him. Those must be banshees. Other things surrounded the banshees—bigger, darker things. I wondered what they were.

"How's your research going?" I reached out to tug the book closer.

Luke grabbed my hand and pulled it back. "Don't touch the books."

"I just want to take a look. I'll be careful."

His expression was serious. "I'm not worried about the books. I'm worried about you." He held up the book he'd been reading. "These have power. You're still untrained and wide open. There's no telling what could happen."

I yanked my hand away and pushed my chair back. Talking to the dead was more than enough for me to handle at the moment. The last thing I wanted or needed was more freaky and scary in my life.

I waved my hand at the table. "Does this stuff have something to do with the last ritual?"

He closed the book in front of him. "Not this one." He pointed to another book. "That one has the spells I've got to do for the ritual."

"Spells? There's more than one?" I didn't like the sound of that.

He ran his hand through his hair, looking tired. "It's a complicated ritual. I told you before, I've never done them—I've only watched others do them. But this last one, it's very tricky, and I've only seen it performed a couple of times."

"But you can do it?"

He looked away for a few moments before answering. "I think I can."

His reluctance didn't make me feel any better.

"Did you get what you needed?"

He gave me a questioning look.

"At the hospital, did you get what you needed to do the spell?" I asked.

He replied in a low voice, "We can do the last ritual tomorrow night."

Tomorrow night. I was going through the last ritual tomorrow night. I wondered how bad it was going to be and if Luke would give me some kind of warning at the last minute—a speech like he'd given me before the first two rituals about how things didn't always turn out well, and how the people who'd messed them up weren't around anymore. I gave myself a mental shake. I'd survived the first two rituals. I could survive this last one.

"Until tomorrow night, what's the plan of action?" I took a few steps back. Better to give the books some distance. I didn't like the idea that they had spells swirling around them.

"We wait for your family to contact you."

"And if they don't?" They hadn't so far. I was starting to wonder if they ever would.

He looked at me in silence for a long moment and then said, "They will." He sounded so confident. He turned back to the table, grabbed another one of the books, and started flipping through the pages. "We need to know where they're keeping Darla. Without that, putting you through the last ritual will be pointless. Once we find out where she is, we can make plans. Then we can go through the last ritual so you can have some magic of your own to help me and protect yourself."

Luke seemed more stressed and preoccupied with this ritual than any of the others. Why is this one so different? I wanted to ask, but I swallowed my question. Did I really want to know? First, I'd been strangled and then brought back to life. Then I'd had a spirit possess me. Goddess only knew what this next trial would entail. But we weren't doing it until tomorrow night. The more I knew, the more time I had to worry about what might happen.

"I'm going to make myself something to eat. Are you hungry?"

He looked up and gave me a smile. "No, but thanks for asking." He motioned toward the books. "I'm just going to get back to this."

"Okay. Good luck." I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't exactly demand that he stop working and pay attention to me. That would make me sound like a whiny girlfriend.

Girlfriend. Had that word really just popped into my mind?

In a moment of utter embarrassment, I realized I was literally standing there, gawking at him. He was poring over books, trying to figure out how to do the last ritual, worrying over his sister and what was I doing? Just standing there like an idiot, wondering if he would ever pay attention to me again.

All of a sudden, the room felt stifling. I quickly turned and made my way into the kitchen.

I hunted around the cupboards and the fridge. If we were going to stay here any longer, we would need to get more food. There weren't a lot of choices grub wise. I poured myself a glass of milk, slapped together a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and then, food in hand, made my way back to the living room.

I ate in front of the fire. When I finished, I decided to lie down and close my eyes. There was no reason not to take a nap. Nothing pressing had to be done. If my family wanted to contact me, they would. There wasn't anything I could do to speed up the process.

A blanket lay on the back of one of the chairs. I grabbed it and pulled it over me as I settled down on the couch. I closed my eyes and tried to empty my mind. After a while, I drifted off to sleep.

And the dreams began.

I was back in the pantry. James closed the doors in front of me and whispered the spell that locked me in. I watched in horror as men surrounded my family. My father fought. He struggled hard, using magic to keep the men at bay, but the defensive magic of a healer is no match for the physical and magical forces he was facing. They quickly overpowered him, grabbed him from both sides, and forced him down to his knees.

A man I didn't recognize pulled out a knife and raised it high in the air.

"Join us and live, or refuse us and die," the man demanded.

"Macaven, I'll never be a part of your madness!" my father yelled.

Before I could cry out, the man brought the knife down fast and hard against my father's throat. Blood gushed out. Desperation filled my father's eyes as he struggled to get free. The more he struggled, the faster his blood spilled. It ran down his shirt and splattered onto the floor. Gradually, he stopped resisting. His body went limp. The men let go of his arms, and my father fell forward, crashing to the floor.

I cried out. I screamed. I pushed and shoved against the pantry doors. My fingers bled as I clawed at the wooden slats, trying to force my way through. But I couldn't get out.

I watched the man holding my mother throw her across the room. She fell to the floor, and then she was up on her feet and started running. But she only took two steps before her body lurched forward. A bullet tore through her and embedded itself into the wall. A red spot appeared on her forehead as she twisted around and fell backward. She slammed into the wall and slid to the ground.

I closed my eyes, covered my face with my hands, and screamed "No!" over and over. I slumped forward, tears streaming down my face. I was crying so hard, I could barely breathe. I don't know how long I was there, on the floor. There was only grief and pain filling my mind and body. Time seemed to stand still.

I kept telling myself that this wasn't happening. That it was a nightmare I would wake from any moment. That's when I heard James's screams. I sat up and forced myself back on my feet. I made myself look again through the wooden slats.

James stood on the other end of the room, his hands raised in the air. Magic flowed from his fingers, but it wasn't enough. The powerful mages' magic came crashing down around him and forced him back. Another scream ripped from his throat.

I watched in horror as they scooped James's spirit from his body.

It was some sort of magic I had never seen before; magic that skipped the step of murder and went straight to stealing the victim's soul. They tore James' soul from his body. They forced it out and cast it into the sea of unrest. I could hear James's anguish as his spirit left this world and was sucked into the ether. His screams lingered until I didn't think I could take it any longer.

I clamped my hands over my ears, praying to wake from this horrible nightmare.

And then my eyes opened.

Luke stood over me, gently shaking my shoulder. "You were crying out in your sleep."

"I was?" I touched my cheeks, which were wet with tears, and sat up. "What time is it?"

He sat down next to me. "It's late." He reached out and took my hand in his.

Even through the shock of reliving my family's death, I felt cold rage wiping away the fear. "Luke, his name is Macaven—the guy who ordered my family's murder."

Macaven. I savored the name, tying it to the hate that had been driving me. How had I not recalled it before? I finally had someone to hold accountable for my family's death. I would make him pay for what he had done, and for what he was making me now become.

I turned until I was facing Luke and looked into those dark eyes. He never wanted to hurt me. I'd begged him to lead me down the path of the Death Arts, and he'd done it, but the whole time he'd feared for my safety. He cares about me.

He let go of my hand and reached up to my face. His fingertips glided softly across my cheek as he wiped away the tears. He whispered my name. "Colina." Those dark eyes were full of emotions. Emotions that I was sure were mirrored in my own eyes.

Luke was not evil. He was a death dealer, and yes, there was darkness inside him, but now that same darkness was inside of me.

He took a deep breath and got up off the couch. When he looked back at me, he was more in control, more composed. "You were calling out in your sleep," he said.

And all I could think as I stared at him was, why don't you take me in your arms again. I felt suddenly cold without those arms around me.

"Colina, did your brother's spirit come to you?" he asked.

"No," I answered.

"But I heard you calling out his name."

"It was just a nightmare about what happened to my family." The same nightmare I'd had so often since my family was killed. Now I felt the anger and frustration I saw in Luke swirling inside me. My family's murderers need—no, Macaven needs to pay for what he's done. No matter the price.

Luke looked grim. "There's been no contact with your family?"

"None," I whispered.

Luke's fist came down hard on the coffee table. "It doesn't make sense!"

"Maybe they went to the light."

"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. He turned and watched the fire. "But their deaths were so sudden and unexpected." He turned back to me. "The way they died, so violently, I was so sure they'd come to you."

Images rushed into my mind again, those last terrible moments of my family's lives forever embedded in my mind. I tried to force the horrific memories away.

We watched the fire for a while in silence.

"There's something we can try. It's not something I would normally even think about doing because it is dangerous, but we're running out of options."

"More dangerous than the rituals?" I whispered.

"Have you ever used a Ouija board?"

At his question, I sucked in a breath. I was brought up to fear things like Ouija boards. "My parents never allowed one in the house."

"My kind doesn't need the boards to communicate with those on the other side. You're almost one of us—since you've gone through the first two rituals—you can contact any spirit that wants to communicate with you. But since they aren't coming to you, there's a way we can persuade them to communicate."

"Force them like you force banshees?" The notion of binding my family like that made me ill.

His voice was low. "This is different. The banshee is a spirit that willingly comes to you. Once you're in contact with a spirit, you can bind it to you—make them do your bidding. You create the banshee. If your family is out there and their spirits are unsettled, we can use the board and do a spell that will call them to you. Forcing a spirit forward isn't something we normally do. When spirits come to you this way, they can get angry and upset."

Upset, angry spirits. Not something I wanted to deal with. Ever.

"Spirits do have power. They can hurt you physically," Luke said.

I touched the marks on my arm. They were scabbed over now. "Like the scratches I got from the banshee." I couldn't imagine that my family would ever hurt me, even if they were in spirit form and angry that I had called them forth.

"If they're angry enough, they can touch the living and manipulate objects."

I jumped to my feet. "You mean move things?"

He nodded his head. "Knock things over, throw things."

I didn't like the sound of that. I didn't like the idea of seeing my parents as spirits. I longed to see them again, but not as wisps of their former selves, not knowing they were tortured by the horror they'd been through. Were they still reliving those awful moments over and over? Would their faces be full of that pain when I looked into their ghostly eyes? I turned away and walked toward the fire. I stood there watching the flames for a long while before asking, "We do this spell, and my parents will come?"

Luke came to my side. "If they're around, yes."

"And then what?"

"Then we try to get any information we can that will help us find Darla." He put his hand on my shoulder.

I turned and looked at him. "Okay, let's do it."

He looked surprised at my answer.

I shrugged. "We don't have a choice, right? Without their help, we've no idea where to start looking for your sister." I didn't want him to go through the same nightmare I had. I didn't want him to lose those he loved. If it was in my power to spare him that torture, I would.

He looked around the room. "Pagan has a Ouija board somewhere. We can use it—the board is a catalyst to the other side on its own. The spell just amps it up and focuses it and sort of pings the other side. Puts out a call, beckoning whatever spirit you're searching for to come to you. If they're around, they'll make an appearance. They've no choice." He looked more than uneasy. "Unfortunately, if something else is out there, it might also try to break through. This could get a bit tricky. We have to be on our guard and keep anything unwanted from answering the call we put out."

I didn't like the whole idea of "something else" breaking through. I imagined dark things, like what I'd felt when my control had been shoved aside during the possession. "How many times have you done this?" I hoped to hear "a zillion."

"A few."

Terrific. I sighed out loud and stared at the wall in silence for a long moment. Then I looked back at him and asked, "What do we need for the spell?"

"Some candles and a medallion."

"Like the medallion the traveler used to heal you?"

"Yes. There are different kinds of focus items. You can fill them with spells, give them power, and then release that power when you need to."

We were about to mess about with Ouija board. Communicating with spirits was considered unnatural...something evil. But, then again, spirits would communicate with me now whether I wanted them to or not. Did it really matter how I talked to them?