The house is bright with light and laughter. Candlelight reflects on the dark window panes as the wind blows through the valley. The party echoes late into the night, Amun playing bartender and my mom regaling the coven with stories of her escape attempts.

At three in the morning, the witching hour, our guests become more serious.

“We thought it was right that your first circle,” Bernadette nods at my mother and at me. “Was a circle that will celebrate our ...