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was sure that you were going to be a Green Witch like me.”
    Silence filled the kitchen, and I stared at her back for a moment. Dad had always talked about how great it would be if the whole family was Green, but Mom had never pushed. I should have realized that she’d want me to follow in her footsteps, but it had never occurred to me. And the fact that I’d declared to a weird and dangerous form of magic that was about as far away from Green as I could get probably wasn’t helping the situation. I struggled for a minute, trying to think of something I could say, but I gave up and turned my attention back to the dough. We continued our work in tense silence.
    She was peeling apples over the sink while I rolled out the piecrust when I heard her gasp.
    “Oh, sugar and salt!” Her tone was sharp, despite her quaint words, and I turned around quickly, hiding a smile.
    “Can’t you just say shit , Mom? What’s wrong?”
    The blood on her hand answered my question.
    “It’s just a little nick. I was clumsy, that’s all.” She wrapped her finger in a paper towel and sat down at the table. I couldn’t look away from her blood, and instead of feeling unsettled, I realized I was—hungry. I felt my head begin to spin, and even though she kept talking, her words sounded as if she were underwater.
    “Darlena! What is it, sweetie?” Mom leaped up in concern, her own injury forgotten at the sight of my pale, confused expression.
    “I don’t know. The blood—”
    Mom glanced down at the crimson-stained paper towel and shrugged. “But it’s not a deep cut, sweetie. Don’t worry about me; I’ll be okay.” She put her uninjured hand against my forehead. “You’re cold as ice! Go lie down in the living room. I’ll finish up in here.”
    I wanted to stay in the kitchen with her. The blood wasn’t making me woozy; it was making me excited. With a shudder of disgust, I wrenched my eyes away and headed into the living room, trying to ignore the strange thoughts that were flitting through my mind. Xerxes curled up immediately on my stomach, and his rhythmic purr eased my nerves. Gradually, the scent of blood faded from my nostrils, and I stroked the cat. What in the world was wrong with me? Blood shouldn’t excite me; that was a freakish reaction. It was becoming impossible to deny that Red magic had changed me in ways I wasn’t prepared to deal with.
     
    ***
     
    When I felt well enough to climb the stairs, I retreated to my room. I began restlessly scanning my bookshelves for something that would distract me. I paused, and stared intently at my shelf. I’m a little OCD, and I keep my books in alphabetical order, filed under the author’s last name, just like in a library. Rochelle teases me about it, but I like to be able to grab any book I want without having to waste time looking for it. I wouldn’t have noticed the error if it weren’t such a gigantic book, but my Complete Works of Shakespeare wasn’t where it belonged. I skimmed the shelf again: it wasn’t there.
    I started rooting around my room, wondering where it could have gotten to. I didn’t particularly feel the need to read any of the plays right now, but I was curious. I dug through the stack of boxes under my bed without success. My hand brushed the pile of newspapers and I felt a chill down my spine. Would I be the cause of a headline tomorrow?
    I kept looking for that book. I even went so far as to poke my nose into my closet, even though there was no way the book could have wandered in there on its own, and I’m the only one who can enter the closet. When I was young, I used one of the first powerful spells I ever mastered to ward my closet. No one could enter without my consent, including Mom. The closet had been the messiest part of my room for years because Mom got zapped the first time she tried to clean it after my spell. She’d avoided it ever since, and I liked the mess: it made a good place to hide things. The clothes didn’t look