“I’ll abide by them. You have my word.”

“Very well. You may sleep for an hour before lessons.”

“I’m not tired, honest. I feel … really good.”

“In that case, take your energy, deal with the chickens and the cow before you make breakfast and bring in more firewood. Later you’ll harvest from the greenhouse what you need to make soup.”

“Why am I doing all the chores?”

“A small punishment for the scope of the crime. We’ll see if you can earn Faol Ban’s trust, and regain mine.”

“Are you still going to teach me to use a sword? I had a vision about the sword—the one on the mantel, and the sword and shield I use to fight.”

“Damnable girl! You wait so long to tell me.”

“You were mad.” And still was, she realized.

“Tell me now.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes to bring back the words if not the feeling that had coursed through her, and told him.

“I almost felt them in my hands. It’s hard to explain, but I almost felt them. The sword in my right, the shield in my left. I can’t take up that sword until I take up the one on the mantel and learn how to use it.”

“Yes, a clever girl—and yes, no less true for the slyness. Do your chores, and do them well. If I’m satisfied, you’ll take up the sword chosen to teach you.”

When she gave a quick cheer and raced off, Mallick looked toward the heavens. He prayed to all the gods he had the strength to deal with the child and prepare the warrior.

Despite Mallick’s charm on the blades to prevent them from breaking flesh and drawing blood, Fallon ended her first lesson bruised, aching, and exhilarated.

At dusk she walked out, hard biscuits in her pocket, to meet Mick, who waited at the edge of the woods.

She took her bow and quiver as well. They’d see who was such a dead shot.

“Hey. So did you really find Faol Ban or did you just make it up because Mallick was pissed at you?”

“I don’t make things up. I found him, and I’ll find him again.”

“Maybe. You have to be crazy to go into the woods on Samhain night. You could have spirits walking around, and not all of them friendly. Plus, the faeries like to play tricks.”

“I can take care of myself. You’re only here because Mallick made me. Besides, I met my father last night.”

“The dead one? Are you making that …” He shrugged, ran up a tree and down again. The hawk feather he’d added to his braid fluttered. “You don’t make stuff up, so that’s cool. I’ve never talked to a real spirit. What was it like?”

“It was my father, my sire. It was a gift.”

“My mom died right after I was born. I guess I’d like to talk to her.”

Because she knew the pain and the wondering, she softened a little. “Maybe you will one day.”

“Maybe. Hey, you cut your hair. Why’d you do that?”

“I wanted to.” Or some part of her must have. “It’ll be easier to deal with short. If you keep talking, we’re never going to get anywhere near the wolf.”

Mick snorted. “He can hear us breathe. You won’t find him unless he wants you to. And why would he, since you want to steal his collar?”

“I’m not going to steal it. I’m going to borrow it—with permission.” She felt the shadow of the owl pass over her, and smirked. “I’m not the one who shoots arrows at owl gods to steal their apple.”

Mick shrugged it off, leaped up ten feet to a branch, dived off, flipped, and landed lightly on his feet.

If she had to be stuck with him, Fallon thought, maybe he could teach her to do tricks like that. After she found the wolf.

When the wolf stepped onto the path in front of them, Mick fell into a rare and reverent silence.

Fallon took one of the hard, round biscuits she’d made, crouched down and held it out.

“Wow. He’s really big.”

“Quiet,” Fallon hissed.

“I never thought I’d actually get to see him.”

“Be quiet! Be still.”

“Like he’s going to take that cookie out of your hand. He’s a freaking god.”

“He’s just a boy,” Fallon told Faol Ban. “And he talks too much. I made this for you. A tribute. Can you read me, Faol Ban, as I read you? Can you see my heart, my head? What I am respects and honors what you are.”

She tossed the biscuit. The wolf sniffed it, picked it up in his jaws, and melted away.

“Told you.”

“He took the tribute,” Fallon pointed out. “I don’t expect him to eat from my hand yet. It takes time.”

“Could you read him?”

“A little. Dogs and horses and cats are easier. He’s powerful, and he’s not ready to let me in. It’ll take time,” she repeated.

“You want to track him?”

“No,” she decided. “I think it’s better if I let him find me when he wants to.”

“We’ve got nearly the whole two hours left.”

“That’s all right. You can start teaching me how to flip in the air and run up a tree.”

“You’re not an elf.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

For two weeks the nightly routine remained essentially the same. Mick would wait for her to join him, then talk too much. Faol Ban would step onto the path, take a biscuit, and slip away.

But to Fallon’s mind, he stayed a little longer each time. And he began to watch her practice her flips and tumbles from the shadows where she felt him linger.

In deep November, after a hard frost that made the ground ring and the waters of the pool mist, she met Mick on a night of a white moon and cold stars.

“You’re going to be a million years old before he lets you get within a foot of him. Probably older than a million. Why don’t you …” Mick flicked his fingers. “You’re supposed to be a witch, you’re supposed to have powers.”

“I am a witch, and I do have powers. It’s just going to take time.”

“You always say that. We could trick him.”

“Didn’t you learn anything from Taibhse? He won’t be tricked, and it’s disrespectful to try. Taibhse offered me the apple because I didn’t trick him, and I bled rather than see him hurt.”

“I can shoot an arrow at him, and you can get in the way again.”

Fallon only let out a sigh. “Ignore him,” she said to Faol Ban when he stepped onto the path. “He’s an idiot.”

“You’re the one bringing cookies to a wolf god every night, and I’m the idiot?”

Insulted, determined to prove himself, Mick lunged forward. Fallon sent him tumbling back with a wave of her hand.

“He doesn’t mean any harm.” This time instead of crouching, she knelt. “I am Fallon Swift, daughter of the Tuatha de Danann. I am of the light and the sword. I am of the woods and the glade, the valley and the hill, the great city and the humble cottage. I am all who came before me, all who come after. As I am bound to Taibhse, the owl god …” She lifted her arm, elbow cocked. Taibhse glided down to her. “So will I bind myself to you.”

She took out a biscuit. “It’s a small thing, a small tribute, but made with my hands to please you. Will you honor me and take it?”

He stared into her eyes, and she felt him slip into her. A test, she thought, of her courage and her spirit.

Then he stepped forward, came toward her until they were face-to-face. And he took the offering from her hand. Watching his eyes, she laid her hand on his head, stroked his silky fur.

“I can’t take the collar. I won’t. It’s yours. Will you come, show yourself to Mallick so he knows I’ve completed the second quest?”

As she rose, Mick poked at her back. “Can I touch him?”

“I wouldn’t,” Fallon said shortly. “Not after you talked about shooting an arrow at him.”

“Not at him. I’d never … He took food from your hand. He let you touch him.”

She glanced back, saw awe and a little fear on Mick’s face. “I’m the same person I was before. I have to skip the practice tonight. I need to tell Mallick.”