“I know,” Liz said, clucking her tongue. “They’ve made us weaker by excluding the fey. They even tried to ban Talbot and Loomis, but we objected and got them admitted.”

“Exclusion is the hobgoblin of little minds,” Loomis Pagan began, but then the entrance of the Grove members silenced her.

Six figures filed into the room. For a moment they appeared to be wearing hooded robes and beaked masks, but then that illusion faded and I saw they were all wearing somber dark suits. They filed behind the table and each stood for a moment behind a chair. The slide show resolved into a single image of the tree-encircled glade and the light brightened as if the sun had come to stand directly above the open clearing. I looked down at my hands and saw that they were dappled with leaf shadow … and something else. A shadow of wings passed overhead just as the sound of wings on the soundtrack grew louder. I looked around, half expecting some giant bird to come swooping down from the ceiling, but there was nothing except a stirring that seemed to be coming from the shadowy niches – as if the luminaries enclosed in them were trying to get a better view of the proceedings.

Adelaide’s two blond companions stood at either ends of the table. I was surprised that they were actually on the board. I’d thought the Grove was an all women’s club and that the men were security guards, but perhaps they were representatives from the London Seraphim Club. My grandmother stood at the center, between an older woman and a young woman with bangs and horn-rimmed glasses. Except for the blond twins the council was made up of women in sensible, boxy suits and low-heeled pumps. It could have been the board of the local PTA or Garden Club instead of the governing body of an ancient order of witches.

A bell rang and the six Grove members pulled out their chairs and sat. The audio loop grew quieter and the light grew brighter over the long table. My grandmother clasped her hands, leaned forward, and addressed our side of the table as if we were a large crowd a long way off.

“As Chancellor of the Oak, I call this meeting between the Grove and the Institute of Magical Professionals to order.” I thought I saw the two blond minions sneer a bit at the word professionals. Adelaide turned to the older woman on her right. “Miss Davis, do you have the report on Fairwick?”

“That’s Garnette Davis,” Liz whispered. “She’s descended from a witch who was executed at Salem.”