What's on the back of the book:Holly Cathers' world shatters when her parents are killed in a terrible accident. Wrenched from her home in San Francisco, she is sent to Seattle to live with her relatives, Aunt Marie-Claire and her twin cousins, Amanda and Nicole.
But as Holly struggles to settle into her new home, her sorrow and grief soon gives way to bewilderment at the strange incidents going on around her. Such as how any wish Holly whispers to her cat seems to come true. Or the way a friend is injured after a freak attack by a vicious falcon. And then there's her undeniable, magnetic attraction to a boy she barely knows . . .
Holly and her cousins, Amanda and Nicole, are about to be drawn into a family feud spanning generations. And as they uncover a dark legacy of witches, secrets, and alliances, where ancient magic yields dangerous results, the girls learn of a shared destiny that is beyond their wildest imaginations . . .
A piece from the book:
"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Marie-Claire screamed as she came to.
She had fallen asleep on her way from the motel, and now her car was out of control. As her headlights bounced off the trees and the road and the stars, careening around her in a dervish, she grabbed at the wheel and slammed her foot on the brake.
The squeal of her tires was earsplitting; the car spun into a 360. I'm going to die, she thought as she rode it out. Part of her mind was completely rational. I'll look hideous. Closed coffin . . .
From somewhere in the dim recesses of her memory, she remembered her driver's ed class. Take your foot off the brake, she ordered herself. But she was paralyzed with fear; she could do nothing but stare straight ahead as the car wheeled around like an overwound music box.
Then something, an unseen force, seemed to grab hold of her foot. Something compelled her to turn off the engine.
It's my guardian angel, she thought.
The car spun again, then lurched to a stop.
"God," she whispered, exhaling. She let go of the wheel with shaking hands and wiped her eyes. Tears clouded her vision, and as she tried to remember how to breathe, she clamped her right hand over her mouth to keep herself from becoming violently ill.
With her other hand she punched open the electric window. The whirring was covered by the sound of footfalls racing towards her. A shadowed figure was waving at her with both hands above its head.
It was Michael's son, Jer.
What's he doing out here in the middle of the night? she thought. Shame flooded through her; she didn't want to speak to him, as if somehow he would be able to tell by looking at her that she had been with his father at a tawdry motel a few miles from the Deveraux house.
Before he could reach the car, she turned the key in the ignition, put the car in reverse, and skidded backward. Then she slammed it into drive, made a sharp left, and drove away as fast as she could, as if he might be able to catch up with her.
I don't think he saw me, she said, glancing fretfully into the rearview mirror. I'm safe.
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