Disclaimer: I own nothing. Zilch. Nada. And it makes me sad…

Author's Note: I am sorry about the confusion about the characters and what's happening: I hope the chapter clears some of it up. As always, your ideas and thoughts are welcome!

Things were decidedly tense at home. She avoided her father, and she avoided Tymmie. She avoided Jimena, naturally.

The funny thing was, she wasn't sure anymore exactly how she felt about Jimena. Her first impulse, naturally, was to hate her. After all, according to her father, Jimena was single-handedly responsible for her mother's death.

Of course, when her mind really pursued the subject, she found that she was no longer sure what to believe on this matter. She had always heard the saying, "There are two sides to every story."

Well, it was probably true. All she knew was her father's, if she admitted it to herself, rather bias opinion. Her father was definitely ready to believe the worst of Jimena. And besides, her father still talked occasionally about "Wendy"—something that made Castrata wonder about the sanity of her father. So what was Jimena's story?

As soon as she pursued this line of thought, she backed away. Jimena was awful, guilty, a murderess, she would remind herself. But was she?

Confusion, Castrata decided, was the worst of all emotions. Unlike jealousy, or rage, it didn't fade in time, but remained until the problem was solved.

Meanwhile, Castrata had other things to worry about.

AKA: Tymmie. AKA: her father. AKA: the other Daughters.

Traditionally, she was told, the Magna Carter (whatever that was) was in charge of the training of the Daughters. As in, the regulating and expanding of their powers. The problem with this was, as Castrata did not trust nor except Jimena's guidance, she was utterly alone in the ways of training her power. For that matter, she wasn't even positive what her power was. She knew that it had to be connected somehow with mind reading, or how would she be able to block the Followers or converse with them? This, however, remained an unsolved mystery.

"Is there a way to exhaust our power?" Castrata asked Ariasti, one day after school, when the Daughters were practicing with their abilities.

Ariasti frowned. "I don't think so. I mean, they get weaker and all as the moon wanes, but I don't think we can use them up. I think that we can tire ourselves out… but that's all. I think. Jadyn?"

Jadyn frowned slightly, "Let me check."

The Daughters often asked Jadyn for answers to questions that could have occurred long ago. It was a perk of Jadyn's power—unlike Jimena's, Jadyn could read the past, present, and future whenever she wished. And she could read it about anything she wished.

They had often discussed the reasons behind Jadyn's ability. Castrata was in personal opinion that Jadyn could "see" back in time because of her mother, Catty. It only made sense, she reasoned, that if Catty could jump back in time to whenever she wished, that Jadyn be able to "see" whenever she wished. However, Jadyn could go back as far as she wanted—the farthest had been back to see the building of the Coliseum. (A/N: I know I didn't spell that right…)

"Nope." Jadyn said, a moment later. "Daughters are only unable to use their powers if they are physically not able to. Or mentally. But it can't be taken away… as far as I can see."

Ariasti and Lanya nodded, and went back to their training. Ariasti was becoming ever better at shape shifting. She could not only become a shadow or air and travel in an instant (like a Follower) but also become another person. She had also perfected her ability to change the image and voice of others.

"Lanya—do you mind secluding your storm?" Castrata asked, "It's distracting."

"Sure," Lanya said, and obliged. Lanya was a "Weather Witch" as they liked to call her. She was the creator of storms and hurricanes, a mover of lightning, and a holder of thunder.

During these sessions, Castrata, not knowing her power, would help the others. Today, she was working with Jadyn. "Fall of the Roman Empire" she said.

And Jadyn proceeded to tell her exactly which events had led to the fall of the Roman Empire.

After practice, Castrata went home. For once, her father was home, and would remain home all night. Without the company of any of his friends.

"Dad," Castrata asked, picking at her broccoli. She didn't care for broccoli, but her father was going through a "let's-eat-healthy" stage in life. "What do you do? I mean, why are you always trying to 'get' the Daughters? I mean, I know its your job, but what's the motive?"

Her father shrugged and helped himself to more mashed potatoes. "Do you want any?" He asked.

Castrata shook her head. "I mean, what's so wrong with hope? Are you… I don't know…jealous?"

"Of?" Her father looked up—she had finally caught his attention.

"Our hope. That we can hold on and hold on when you can't."

Dad's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Then he relaxed. "I suppose you could say that. But it's more than just jealousy. It's a hunger—a need. As if, unless you steal someone's hope, that you will… it's hard to explain."

Castrata nodded. "That's what Zahi meant, right? You didn't turn me—why?"

Her father sighed. "Castrata, its hard to explain, okay?" He was wearying of their conversation, Castrata could tell that much.

"Dad—just tell me one thing. Do you hate me?"

"What?" Her father stared.

"Do you hate me, for having hope. For being…"

"A Daughter," Dad finished.

Castrata ducked her head. "Well… yeah."

Her father was silent for a moment. "No."

The silence stretched out—interminable.

"Do you know what your gift is?" Dad asked.

"No," Castrata admitted.

"I could help," Dad offered.

"Dad—you're on the other side," Castrata said, exasperatedly.

Dad smiled slightly. "Yeah. I know." He sounded sad.

"Fine," Castrata consented.

"Close your eyes," Her father instructed, "and take down your barriers."

Castrata obliged. Her fathers mind in hers was soft and warm… comforting.

"It's hard to be sure—" Dad said, haltingly, as he pulled from her mind.

"Why?"

"I think because of the rather—unique blending of parentage," Dad muttered, "But I—that just can't be right."

"What can't be right?" Castrata asked exasperatedly.

"I can't see—" Her father stopped again, "I can't see any boundaries on your power."

Goosebumps traveled up Castrata arms and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. "Why?"

Her father shrugged. "It could have just been me. Or—it could be true. A daughter of the Prince of the Night and the Daughter's Key/Hecate's Chosen would naturally possess some… unusual… talents." Catching her look, he added. "Don't worry about it—you've already blocked yourself off from most of it."

Not altogether that reassuring. Castrata shivered, and went back to toying with her broccoli.

Author's Note: Sorry for both the short chapter and the long period of time where I did not update! Thank you to everyone for your wonderful reviews—and, as always, your thoughts and ideas are welcomed! I think, actually, that I will try and incorporate as many ideas as I can… so… if you have an idea… share it! I will try and update again soon. 