Hallowed Circle

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It's your decisions about what to focus on, what things mean to you, and what you're going to do about them that will determine your ultimate destiny.

— Anthony Robbins

"What do you mean, you nominated me?" I held my breath.

"Oh, dear. Shouldn't I have?"

Lydia Whitmore, a dear old witch who lived about ten minutes from me, was on the other end of the phone line. I could imagine her startled expression. With her kindly smile and snowy hair, always secure in a precise bun, her looks epitomized those of the cookie-baking granny. She also cornered the local market on being the goody-goody, saccharine-sweet variety of witch—what society's more mundane humans wanted all us witches to be.

She had called to inform me that the Witch Elders Council had announced their plans to find a replacement for Vivian Diamond, the Cleveland Coven's high priestess who had mysteriously gone missing.

Not that it was a mystery to me: I'd handed Vivian over to the vampire she'd betrayed. Chances were she'd be missing a very long time.

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