Pagan's house was in shambles. Shattered glass and shredded papers covered the floor. Someone had taken a knife to the couch and pulled most of the stuffing out through the long, jagged slits in the leather. The dining room table was turned over, and some of the wooden chairs looked like they'd been slammed against the ground until parts of them had finally flown off.

What was the point of all the destruction? Had they been searching for something?

Luke picked a book up off the floor. Someone had ruthlessly vandalized the once ornate cover and ripped out a handful of pages. He flipped through them. "This is one of the books I need. We need to find the missing pages."

He's got to be kidding—he wants to stay here and go through this mess? What if those maniacs come back? What'll they do to us if they were this violent to inanimate objects?

"It's cold in here. I'll start a fire." He scanned the broken furniture before giving me a half grin. "Shouldn't be hard to find kindling."

He's making jokes? I expected Luke to be enraged at the destruction; instead, he seemed cool and collected.

He gestured toward the kitchen. "Can you see if they left anything for us to eat? I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

I made my way into the kitchen. All the cupboard doors were wide open. Anything breakable was in pieces on the floor. I stepped carefully over broken glass and looked through the cupboards. There were a few tins of food. I found more on the floor by the back wall. I ran my hand down the wall, which was now covered in dents—they must have flung the cans at it. That was the only way to explain all the divots. I leaned over, picked up a can of chili, and found a couple of pots a few feet away. When I left the pantry, glass crunched under my foot. If I was going to try and cook anything in here, I had to clean up. I found a broom and dustpan in a closet. By the time Luke came into the kitchen, I had most of the mess swept up.

I pointed at the cans sitting on the counter. "There's some chili and a can of corn."

"Great. I have the fire going. I found about half the books I was looking for." He had one under his arm that seemed to have made it through the attack unscathed.

"Find anything about your draugrs in those books?"

"A couple references, but nothing that will help us."

I started opening one of the cans, a hot and spicy southwestern chili. "You still think that's what those things were?" I poured the can's contents into a pot and turned on the burner.

"Draugrs are the only type of magical creature that comes close to what we saw." He reached over and handed me the other can. "I got the fire going. I tried to clean up a bit in the living room, but the place is still a disaster."

I looked out into the living room. "They did a number on this whole place."

Luke ran a hand through his hair. "I just don't see the point. Why trash it?"

I remembered what they had done to the magic shop. "For the fun of it?"

"Who are these guys?"

"A bunch of murdering crazies," I muttered under my breath, opening the can of sweet corn.

Luke nodded, staring pointedly at the pot of chili. "How long until we eat?"

I poured the corn into another pot and turned on the burner. "Not long. It should take about ten minutes to warm everything up."

Luke opened the book in his hands and looked down at the pages. "Sounds good. I'll keep searching for the other books I need."

Snapping the book in his hands shut, Luke headed off to search, looking desperately for answers to all the questions swirling through both our heads. What type of magic had I wielded at the hospital? I raised the dead. I couldn't be the first to have done so. What evil spell was Macaven and his men trying to perform? Did Luke's books speak of the forbidden magics?

We were flying blind and about to head off into the unknown against a group of men we knew very little about. There wasn't much else to do other than barrel ahead and hope that, whatever happened, we would all survive it. I turned my attention back to the stove and our dinner.

We ate sitting in front of the fire on the floor. It had been no small job sweeping up the living room. Debris now lay in a pile in the corner.

"It's too bad about the couch." I looked over at a pile of white stuffing Luke had swept against the wall.

Luke's expression turned grim. "Pagan picked out all the furniture herself for this place. She's going to be devastated when she sees what they've done to her house."

I leaned closer to the fire, watching Luke pick at his food. He'd been distracted ever since we got back. And what about me? I wasn't sure how I felt. I should've been scared or panicked at the thought of dealing with banshees, but instead I felt numb.

Luke looked over at me. "We should try and get some sleep."

"I'm not tired. If we're going to do this banshee binding thing, I'd rather do it now." I was sick of waiting. It seemed better to just get it over with.

Luke put down his bowl, reached over, and threw another log onto the fire. He picked up the black fire iron and fiddled with the coals for a while before turning back and asking me, "Are you sure you feel up to trying it tonight?"

Whenever we'd talked about creating banshees, I'd always argued with him. To me, binding spirits seemed just plain wrong. Luke, on the other hand, always defends his people's practice. I could tell by the way he was looking at me now that he anticipated another argument. I guess I should've fought him about it, but I honestly didn't feel anger. I didn't feel anything.

"I'm guess I'm ready," I said.

Luke got to his feet and left the room. When he came back, he was carrying all the things he'd used when he performed the spell to call on my family's spirits: candles, bowls, a bottle of red liquid, raven feathers, and the Ouija board and planchette. Around his neck hung the medallion. He walked over to the table and laid everything out. The Ouija board now sat in the center of the table, and on top of it, the planchette. Luke gestured for me to join him.

I sat down across from him. The last time we'd used the board, something not so pleasant had shown up, and so had my mother.

Luke lit the candles. He did everything exactly the way he had the first time: he poured the contents of the bottle into the bowl, placed his fingers in the liquid, closed his eyes, and hung onto the medallion. He opened his eyes again, said a few words in Latin, and spread his fingers across the board, smearing the red liquid against the surface of the polished wood. He then reached across the table. I placed my hands in his.

Every time he touched me, my skin seemed to come alive, I could feel an energy, an electricity every place his skin touched mine. I looked into his face. His expression was one of concentration. We were about to perform another spell, but all I could seem to do was wish we were sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in each other's arms instead.

"Now the prayer." He evoked the prayer, saying each word slowly, before letting go of my hands.

I started to place my fingertips on the pointer.

He stopped me. "This spell is a little different than the last one we did. We're going to call on the dead like we did during the second ritual."

"You're not going to tie me to a chair or make me wear a funky white dress, are you?"

He laughed and shook his head. "This time you have more power, but you still don't have any training in the arts, which makes you vulnerable. I'm hoping a spirit will show up who you can control." He lifted the medallion over his head and handed it to me. "Take this."

I reached out and took the medallion from him. The metal felt cool against my skin. I looked down at the etching, my fingers tracing the outline of the phoenix.

"It'll help you focus your abilities. Hold it tight in one hand and put your other hand on the planchette."

I grasped the medallion, reached out, and gently put my fingertips on the pointer.

"Okay. This time close your eyes," he instructed. "I need you to focus your thoughts on the room. Only think of this room and what you can feel within it."

I closed my eyes, but this time I didn't feel freaked out. There was no fear racing through me—instead, I felt a deep calm.

"That's it," Luke said in a soft voice. "Focus on the room. See the walls of the room in your mind."

I took a deep breath and tried to imagine Pagan's ruined living room. As I did, I felt the now familiar sensation of something rushing toward me.

"There's a spirit here," I whispered.

"Ask for a name."

"Who are you?" I spoke out, and the pointer started to slide. I opened my eyes and followed its journey across the board.

It stopped on T, then slid to the letters H, O, M, and A. It finally came to rest on the letter S.

Thomas. The boy I'd felt the other day in the kitchen. I looked over at Luke. "It's Thomas."

Luke looked pleased. "Good, good. Now I want you to reach out to Thomas with your mind and your spirit."

A cold breeze blew across my face. I tilted my head as the tail end of a whisper floated past my ears. I concentrated harder, trying to make out the raspy whisper. "I can hear him, he's close by, talking to me."

***