Paige Winterbourne was always either too young or too rebellious to succeed her mother as leader of one of the world’s most powerful elite organizations—the American Coven of Witches. Now, at twenty-three, with Paige’s mother dead, the Elders can no longer deny her. But even Paige’s wildest antics don’t hold a candle to those of her new charge—an orphaned teenager who is all too willing to use her budding powers for evil…and evil is all too willing to claim her. For she is being pursued by a dark faction of the supernatural underworld. They are a vicious group who will do anything to woo the young, malleable, and extremely powerful neophyte, including commit murder—and frame Paige for the crime. It’s an initiation into adulthood, womanhood, and the brutal side of magic, and Paige will have to do everything within her power to make sure they both survive….

Leah hadn’t settled for placing an anonymous call to the station’s overnight answering service. No, she’d called the local sheriff, Ted Fowler, at home, babbling hysterically about strange lights and screams coming from the woods behind my house.

Fowler had thrown on clothing that looked like it came from his bedroom floor and driven straight over. In reward for his haste, he found the smoldering remains of a Satanic altar a scant ten feet beyond my backyard.

By dawn my house and yard were crawling with cops. By disposing of the cat corpses, I’d only made things worse. When Fowler saw traces of blood and no bodies, his imagination leaped to the worst possible conclusion. Murder.

Savannah and I spent the next several hours huddled in my bedroom, alternately answering questions and listening to the sound of strangers tearing apart our home.

“Ms. Winterbourne?”

I spun to see the lead detective from the state police in my bedroom doorway.

“We found cats,” he said.

“Cats?” I repeated.

“Three dead cats buried a short distance from the scene.”

I motioned toward Savannah and lifted a finger to my lips, gesturing that I didn’t want this discussed in front of her. The detective moved to the living room, where several officers were lounging on my sofa and chairs, muddy shoes propped on my antique coffee table. I swallowed my outrage and turned to the detective.

“So it was cat’s blood?” I said.

“Apparently, though we’ll run tests to be sure. Killing cats might not be on the same scale as murder, but it’s still a serious offense. Very serious.”

“It should be. Anyone who’d do that…” I didn’t have to fake my shudder, needing only to remember the sight of those maimed bodies. “I can’t believe someone would stage a Satanic altar behind my yard.”

“What makes you think it was staged?”