“They have each other, that’s the bonding. He’d take you up if you wanted.”

“I think I’ll stick with feet on the ground for now. I should get back. Nan—There’s someone in the water.”

Afraid someone was drowning, she started to rush forward, but Morena put a hand on her arm.

“It’s just Ala. She’s a bit shy, and you’ll frighten her.”

Morena waved, and after a moment an arm waved back. The bobbing head with its streaming blond hair vanished under the surface. A shimmering tail of greens and golds and hints of red broke the surface, then vanished.

“A mermaid,” Breen managed. “A shy mermaid.”

“She’s but ten, I think, and curious, but a bit shy with it. She’ll likely come back if you bring the pup again.”

So saying, she lifted her arm. The hawk soared down to land on it.

“You’re not wearing a glove.”

“I wore one when we met again, as you’d expect it. But Amish would never hurt me. We’ll walk with you to the road, then I have to get home myself. I’ve chores of my own.”

“I’m going back to my cottage tomorrow,” Breen told her. “I think I need a couple days there, to think all this through. But I’ll come back.”

“I know you will. Give Marg and Sedric my greeting.”

“I will. Ah, give mine to your grandparents.”

“And so I will. Light the fire, Breen,” Morena added as she veered off.

Breen spent the rest of the day learning about teas, about plants and roots and herbs. How to identify, how to harvest and dry and prepare and blend.

She found it fascinating as well as practical.

“You learn quickly.”

“I know how to study. I studied my brains out for a degree I didn’t want. This is interesting and fun—and it feels productive. And, well, natural.”

She fed the pup, helped feed the horse, and tried not to make any major mistakes as she helped prepare dinner on a rainy evening.

“It’s a lack of confidence you have more than a lack of skill.”

“I think it’s both.” But she could smell the potatoes she’d helped quarter and coat in oil and herbs roasting. So she thought she’d done okay there.

And they tasted just fine, she decided, as did the fish Sedric caught only that afternoon and the peas she’d helped shell.

Breen waited until they’d finished the meal before she brought up what she thought might be a difficult topic.

“I need to go back tomorrow,” she began. “I need time, and I need my own space. I’m not saying this well. I’d never lived on my own before the cottage, and I need to.”

“Independence is a valuable thing.”

“I didn’t know how important it was to me,” she told Marg, “until I had it. Honestly, I didn’t know how much I enjoyed solitude until I had that. I know I’d close myself off too much, so I need to be careful there. Marco, well, he’d never let me, but he’s not here. So I wondered if, after a couple of days, I—we—could work out . . . Not a schedule, that’s so rigid. I don’t want to be rigid.”

At a loss, she picked up her wine, stared into it. Set it down again.

“Breen, tell us what you want.”

“I would if I knew. For now, I think I’d like to try living in the cottage, but coming here. If I could come here after I write in the morning, and you could teach me more. I could go back in the evening. Maybe stay here with you on the weekends. I don’t know if you even have weekends.”

“I understand your meaning.”

“I know it’ll take longer to learn or practice or train, but—”

“Balance is what you seek, and it’s a wise choice.”

“I don’t know if I can do or be what you hope for, but if I could take the time, this way, before I’m supposed to go back to Philadelphia, I think I could make a more, well, informed decision.”

With a nod, Marg rose, patted Breen’s shoulder. “Wait.”

“I’ve upset her,” Breen murmured. “I knew I would. I’m not—”

“You’re mistaken.” Sedric sipped his wine. “She doesn’t want impulse or obligation in you—such things weaken with time. Myself, I’d have thought less of you if you’d let either lead you in this.”

Marg came back, set a large book on the table. Carved on the dark brown leather cover was a dragon.

“The dragon, always your favorite. And he guards the magicks inside. I made this for you, began it the night you were born.”

“It’s beautiful.” Breen opened the cover, saw her name, the date of her birth, in beautiful handwriting on thick parchment.

She turned a page.

“The first part you’d call recipes—such as we practiced today.”

“The illustrations are wonderful. You drew them?”

“Some I did, and some Sedric drew, as he’s a fine hand at it.”

Breen looked at him. “A were-artist?”

That brought on the slow smile. “You could say.”

“Drawings help you identify the ingredients,” Marg went on, “the plants and roots and so on. From teas to potions, lotions, balms. And on to crystals and stones and their meanings, uses. And then to spells, from the casting of a circle and beyond.

“It’s yours, to take, to keep. I hope to study and learn, but yours nonetheless. I would ask you not to attempt any spell or ceremony without my guidance.”

“You can rest easy on that one. Thank you. I will study it. And . . .”

It wasn’t impulse so much as yearning that had her looking at the candle on the counter. She drew in her breath, set it to flame. “I’ll learn.”

In the morning, she walked the road with her book in her backpack and her dog at her side. She heard hoofbeats coming fast, stepped over to the side. A good thing, she decided, as the horse thundered its way toward her.

When Keegan pulled it up, her first thought was of course, just of course he’d have a huge gleaming black horse—probably a stallion.

And she’d seen the horse before, as she’d seen the rider.

In dreams.

He looked down at her, lifted an eyebrow. “Leaving, are you?”

“I’m coming back in a couple of days.”

“Are you now?”

“I said I was. Look, I get you’re king around here, but you’re not in charge of me.”

“I’m no king. We have no king.”

Because the idea clearly irritated him, she shrugged. “Whatever you call it. I’ve had other people running my life for twenty-six years. It’s my turn.”

Now he cocked his head. “And whose fault would it be you let others run your life?”

“People like you can’t understand people like me.”

He swung off the horse, studied her with curiosity. “Who are people like me and people like you?”

How did he see himself? she wondered. She knew how she saw him.

Tall, strong, gloriously handsome, and absolutely sure of himself.

“People like you are born confident. They take charge, command respect, maybe some healthy fear. People like me are taught and expected to follow rules, to keep expectations low, rock no boats, make no waves.”

“Well, rules matter in a civilized world, don’t they? But a low expectation doesn’t risk failure or success, so what’s the point of that? If you rock no boat, you never end up in the water to see where the waves might take you.”

“That’s all very true and literal.”

The horse turned his head, nuzzled her shoulder. Without thinking, she stroked his cheek. “You need to go. He’s thirsty and wants his carrot.”

The minute she said it—knew it—she stepped back in shock.

Keegan merely nodded, his eyes on her face. “Aye, he does, as we’ve had a good, strong ride.”

He bent down, gave Bollocks a rub, then swung back onto the horse.

“Safe journeys, Breen Siobhan.”

When he rode off, she let out a breath. “The horse is Merlin, after Arthur’s sorcerer. I know that as well as I know my own name. Let’s go, Bollocks. I have a lot of studying to do.”

Something about the quiet alone soothed her like a warm bath, so she spent two days soaking in it. She wrote, she studied, tended the garden with only the dog for company.

She lit candles—the new way—and after considerable effort sent the fire crackling in the hearth.

“I’m a witch,” she told Bollocks as she sat with him in front of that fire with the echoes of power still vibrating inside her. “And it doesn’t feel surprising anymore.”

She stroked the head he laid on her knee, gave his beard a gentle tug. “Just like having a dog doesn’t feel surprising now, though what I’m going to do with you if I go back to Philadelphia, I don’t know.”

If, she realized—and that did surprise. She’d said, and thought, if, not when.

“Of course I’ll go back—I have to go back. Marco and Sally and Derrick are there, and my mother, everything I know is there. This is just . . .”

A bridge? she wondered.

Like she was.

“No point thinking about it now. We’ll reward ourselves for a good day of work with a walk before it gets too dark.”

One moon, she thought as the dog raced straight for the bay. Nearly three-quarters full and hazed by clouds.

Tomorrow, after her morning writing, she’d leave her solitude behind for a world with two moons.

And even that didn’t seem so shocking anymore.

She left at noon with the dog leading the way. She wore the red stone around her neck, added her father’s ring to the chain. She’d pulled on a light hoodie the color of the forest with a T-shirt and jeans.

When they reached the tree, Bollocks didn’t hesitate. With a happy bark, he climbed up and through. Breen followed, and stepped into the wonder of a thin, soft drizzle the sun turned into a double rainbow.