“There is nothing to stop us naming a day, a date that reflects a respectable pause, of course, but at least it would be a date. A fixed point. Something for us all to look forward to.”

“I really can’t think of weddings, not now. I have new responsibilities. New challenges I must rise to.”

“You will make an excellent Head Witch. I know it.”

I look quickly about me. I am uncomfortable even saying the words to myself in private, let alone somewhere where they might be overheard.

Louis takes my hands in his.

“Darling Lily. You don’t have to do this alone. I will support you in every way possible, if only you’ll let me. You must know that.” He looks at me with disarming affection. I believe he is fond of me, that his interest in me extends beyond pleasing his father. Beyond even simple desire. Is it love, then? Is that what he feels? Why can I not feel it for him?

“Thank you, Louis. I do value your friendship, and, of course, I too look forward to the day when we can be married. But the coven must come first now.” I smile back at him, but it is a guarded, polite smile, and he knows it. I withdraw my hands. “You will attend the inauguration, won’t you?” I ask him.

“Nothing would keep me away. Are you nervous?”

“About the ceremony? No. About stepping into the role my father played so well? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t daunted.”

“You will be magnificent. And wise.”

I shake my head. Louis grins. “You agreed to marry me one day,” he says. “Best dashed demonstration of wisdom I ever saw.”

This time my smile is warmer. “I will need a friend, Louis.”

“You have one, right here at your side. Always.”

I am about to say something more on the matter when I am distracted by the sound of whispering, which grows to shouting. The noise is so unexpected and so forceful it shocks me, blotting out all other sounds. I put my hands over my ears as the voice grows louder, more insistent. I recognize the echoey, distant, reedy quality of the speech of the dead. I am accustomed to listening to them, of course, but this is different. This is not one of the familiar spirits who have become friends to me over the years. Nor is it a spirit I have called or summoned. This voice belongs to another, a soul who is somehow more disturbed, and who is shouting, demanding my attention in a disturbing manner. As the volume increases and the words become clearer I recognize the speaker as the same one who came uncalled into my thoughts at Father’s funeral. The spirit is saying, no, shouting my name, over and over, the sound booming in my mind so that with a gasp I throw my hands over my ears in a futile attempt to shut it out.