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about the chaos you will bring.”
    With a thunderclap, she was gone. I sank back into a chair. “I am getting so tired of these melodramatic exits!” I muttered. “Don’t goddesses ever use the door?”
    On the floor behind me, Mom let out a strangled chuckle. In a second, she was laughing hysterically. Quickly, I knelt beside her. It sounded like she might start crying at any time, and I didn’t think I could handle that on top of everything else.
    “Mom, she’s gone. Get up. It’s okay.” Talking to her like I would a two-year-old, I slowly coaxed Mom from her crouch on the floor and seated her at the table. Gradually, her laughter died down, and I could feel her eyes on me. I couldn’t look at her; what would she think of me now? Desperate for something to do, I put the kettle on the stove and started to make tea. Mom kept her loose herbs in neatly labeled jars on the top of the cabinets, and I climbed up on the counter to reach for the peppermint. It would soothe us both. Pausing for a moment, I grabbed the jar of dried roses, too. A little bit of joy wouldn’t hurt, especially if Mom had heard as much as I was afraid she had. Like so many things, tea can have two purposes for Witches: we drink it because we like the taste, just like Nons, but we are more intentional about the ingredients. A well-prepared cup of tea can be a spell, affecting the person who drinks it in different ways depending on the properties of the herbs used.
    Mom didn’t speak, even when the kettle began to whistle and I poured the water into the mugs. When the infusion had steeped long enough, I took the mugs to the table. Mom clutched her cup reflexively and closed her eyes as the steam washed over her face.
    I sat across from her and eyed her nervously. She was sipping at the tea slowly, but she wouldn’t look up or meet my eye. We couldn’t ignore what had happened forever, and after a few sips of the still-hot tea, I took a deep breath.
    “Mom. We need to talk about this.”
    My words sounded surprisingly adult, and she glanced up at me. I faltered for a minute, but I kept talking.
    “I don’t care what Hecate says; none of this is your fault.”
    Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked rapidly. I kept talking, trying to distract her.
    “I chose this, Mom. I still don’t really know what I’ve picked—” I forced a laugh to lighten the mood, but she didn’t even crack a smile, so I went on, “I don’t know what it is that I am now, but I picked it. Nobody forced me to do this, and you certainly didn’t raise me wrong. You and Dad are amazing. It’s just that Hecate only likes to talk to weak Witches; strong ones irritate her.” Even as I said it, I realized it was true, but I stopped talking for a moment in confusion. Had I just called my mother a weak Witch? Worse, had I implied that I was strong enough to make Hecate uncomfortable? I took a sip of tea and tried to collect my scattered thoughts. Before I could speak again, however, Mom began talking.
    “Darlena, if she’s mad, that means that something about you isn’t what she thought. That might be a good thing or a bad thing, but it’s definitely dangerous for you to make the Queen of Witches angry. We have to try to figure out what upset her. Why did she come here today?” Mom looked at me, searchingly, and I drew a shuddering breath. So she hadn’t heard about the car accident. I wished I could pretend it had never happened, but I realized that I was in way over my head. Maybe confiding in Mom would make things easier.
    Quickly, I told her about the morning. She stared at me intently, and raised an eyebrow when I repeated what Hecate had said about me altering the fate of the man in the car. When I finished, she was still. What if she ordered me out of her sight? I don’t know why I thought that—confrontation isn’t Mom’s style—but telling her about the horrors of the morning had been hard. Hearing the words coming out of my mouth made me feel