There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. That was Shakespeare, she was pretty sure. Had it come from Hamlet? She wasn’t sure, but wherever it had come from, it was true.

She’d spent most of the evening stunned that she wasn’t more surprised by the contents of the book and by what had happened to her. In an odd way, the information she’d been given completed a circle of knowledge within herself. She’d always known there was something more, that she was something more, but until now she hadn’t known what.

Like a puzzle piece finally fitting into place. Now she had the complete picture.

Her mother had been crazy, there was no doubt about that, but maybe she hadn’t been quite as crazy as everyone thought.

Ugh.

She couldn’t think about her birth mother without a cold knot settling in the pit of her stomach. As she always did, Sarafina turned her mind from the woman who’d given her life . . . then had tried to kill her. Anything else caused too much pain.

And who knew that witches were men, too? She’d always thought that women were witches and men were . . . wizards or warlocks or something. The term witch had always meant something feminine to her.

There was certainly nothing feminine about Theodosius Winters.

Why did she have to keep thinking about him? He was like some kind of virus she couldn’t shake.

It was true she did feel better with the wards up around her apartment. If she concentrated, she could sense them: solid, unyielding, better than a moat around a castle. Ironically, Theo would help her sleep tonight.

Forcing Theo and the book from her mind, she closed her eyes. After her foster mother’s death, she’d taken all her paid vacation from work and planned to use the time to get her head together. She would just have to ask her landlord to give her an extension on her rent. If she gave blood or something, maybe she could actually afford a few groceries and some dog food.

Double ugh.

First thing on her agenda tomorrow was a trip back to the Coven. That meant she needed to get some rest tonight.

Eventually, she drifted off only to be awoken by a crash in her living room. Grosset jumped up and started barking. Sarafina shushed him so she could hear.

More movement.

Panic sending an icy jolt through her body, she threw the covers off and grabbed the baseball bat she kept by the side of her bed. She still wasn’t comfortable enough with her fire magick to use it as a weapon. Thanks to the warding, at least she knew it couldn’t be Stefan or any other warlock—well, she hoped like crazy, anyway—but it could be a burglar. The way her luck had been running, she wouldn’t doubt it.