“I—You’d be my agent?”

“That’s the plan on my end. I’m happy to send you a client list, answer any questions you have.”

Questions? She should have a list of questions, but she could barely remember her own name.

“Can I just say yes, and thank you?”

That got a laugh. “Fine with me. I’m going to email you a contract. Read it over. Call or email me with any questions or concerns. When and if you’re satisfied, sign it and send it back, and we’ll get started. I’d love to see anything else you’re working on.”

“I started another with Bollocks, but it’s only the opening of a first draft because . . . I’ve been writing an adult novel, a fantasy. It’s not—”

“Can you send me the first couple chapters of the novel?”

Could a heart explode? Was it physically possible?

“You want to see it? Really?”

“Yes, I do. You’re very talented, Breen. Your writing’s fresh and fun, and Bollocks is a gem.”

“Yes,” Breen murmured, stroking his head. “He is.”

“I want to help you build your career. I’m going to get ahead of myself for a minute. I’m confident I can pitch and sell your YA as a series with an initial three-book deal. If your adult novel shows the same fresh voice and sense of story and world-building, I’ll work hard to put it in the hands of the right publisher.”

“Thank you. I never really expected to get this far.”

“Oh, I promise you, we’re just beginning. I’ll lay all this out for you in a cover letter so you have it in writing, and attach the contract. You contact me, anytime, with any questions. And send me those chapters.”

“I will.”

“Have a lovely evening, and we’ll talk soon.”

“Yes. Thank you. Bye.”

She stared at the phone. “I’m not dreaming. That happened. That happened.” She slid out of bed to hug the joyful dog. “Look what you’ve given me!” Overwhelmed, she pressed her face into the dog’s curls. “You are a gem. My magic gem. My lucky charm. Who can sleep now? Let’s go down, get you a treat, and send those chapters. I have to call Marco!”

She jumped up. “No, no, I might jinx it. Tell no one. It’s just you and me for now, my canine muse.”

She did read the contract, and in her blissful haze found every word thrilling. As she composed a cover letter she drank a glass of wine as much to help her sleep as to celebrate. She sent back the signed contract and, with a tangle of trepidation and hope, sent the first two chapters of her novel.

She’d make a trip to the village to send the hard copy of the contract, but for now, she took the rest of her wine and the dog outside.

The cool night air on her face, and her whole future rolling out in front of her like the sea.

She took the flickers of light dancing in the dark as fireflies at first, then realized they were pixies. Did they come every night after she slept? she wondered. Were they part of her guard, her protection?

She stood here, and only a mile away others danced in the dark, or slept in their beds, or rocked a fretful baby.

Two worlds, both somehow hers. How would she ever balance them?

“I have to find a way. But I’m not going to find it tonight. Come on, Bollocks. Let’s try to get some sleep.”

Since she only managed four hours, and it showed, she tried her first glamour—not for vanity, but to ward off questions and concerns.

She lived in the world of one moon for the morning, in the world where any magick stayed below the surface, then made her way to the land of the Fey.

“You seem distracted.”

With Marg, Breen stood in the circle she’d cast. She’d brought the fire under the cauldron, selected the ingredients. And with Sedric’s help—as she could barely draw stick figures—had sketched the image of the athame she would create for herself.

Some tools, Marg told her, could and should be passed on or gifted. Others should come from the one who would use it.

“Did I make a mistake?”

“Not at all, but I can see your mind go somewhere. You said you didn’t dream.”

“I didn’t. But I didn’t sleep long. I got caught up writing.”

Not a lie, she thought, as she’d written the cover letter and a brief synopsis to go with the two chapters.

“You ask much of yourself.”

“I do?”

“My darling girl.” Gently, Marg rubbed a hand along Breen’s arm. “You have your stories, and this is work. You ask me to push you harder, and I have. You ask Keegan to train you harder, and he does. I know this, as Morena spends time watching your training.”

“She’s my cheerleader.”

“And she tells me you’ve improved there, but at a cost. You should take a day for joy.”

“This gives me joy, what you’ve taught me gives me joy. I can’t claim joy from my sessions with Keegan, but I’m getting some satisfaction from them. I destroyed two wraith demons yesterday. One at a time, but I got them.”

She hesitated, then spoke her mind. “That part of it—the fighting—it still feels surreal. Like a hard, physical game I don’t especially like playing. But this, what I do with you? It’s as natural as breathing to me.”

“Then breathe, mo stór, and do the spell.”

A complex one, Marg had warned her, requiring precision and concentration.

Pushing everything else aside, she quieted her mind, opened her heart. It did come naturally now, like the rain, like the sun. And she prized it.

“First the silver mined from the deep by trolls who go where dragons sleep.” She slid seven balls of it into the cauldron. “And out of seven will form one.

“For light and strength crystals charged by the moons, and for wisdom three stone runes. Now mix and merge in my cauldron. A feather from a dove, the symbol of peace, and for beauty heather from the heath. Bubble and swirl what I have begun.”

She stepped back to pick up her grandmother’s athame.

She felt out of herself, beyond herself, and yet more centered in herself than she could remember.

“Rise smoke, rise white to carry my words into the light. A single drop of my blood to bind this spell, and three times I ring the bell. And last this image I desire I cast into the blessed fire. Burn bright in the light, and so my spell is done.

“What comes I will use faithfully. As I will, so mote it be.”

She circled the cauldron three times, then extinguished the fire.

“You glow.” Tears, ripe with pride and love, thickened Marg’s voice. “From the power, but, aye, from the joy. Take what’s yours, child of my child, child of the Fey, blood of my blood. And know you have proved yourself this day.”

Breen reached into the cauldron, drew out the knife. The ogham script—COURAGE—ran down the blade, and on the hilt, in the center circle of the fivefold symbol, a single dragon’s heart stone glinted red.

“It’s beautiful. I never thought about a knife being beautiful, but it is. It feels like mine.”

“As it is.”

Still riding on the spell, Breen turned the knife in her hand. “Nan, there’s a dragon carved on the back of the blade. We didn’t sketch that. Did you add it?”

“I didn’t, no.” Laying a hand on Breen’s wrist, Marg studied the dragon in flight. “A gift from the gods. You did very well. Come, close the circle. You’ll have a meal before you go to Keegan.”

Then Marg hugged her, held her. Breen felt not only centered but loved.

From the sublime to the painful, Breen thought as she walked to the farm. She paused, one hand on Bollocks’s head, to look up, watch the hawk soar.

She could feel Bollocks vibrate under her hand, could hear him think: Don’t stop. Let’s go. Dogs, kids, fun.

“Go ahead.” She gave him a rub. “I’ll catch up.”

A pair of dragons glided overhead, one burnished silver, the other spring-leaf green. Both carried riders. She found she could envy them the flight even while being grateful her feet stayed on the ground.

As she watched, Morena walked down to meet her.

“They’re so incredibly beautiful.”

“And brave with it. Scouting now. It looks like Deaglan and Bria Mac Aodha—you’d say Magee. Twins they are. You wouldn’t have seen them about before, as they live nearer the Capital than here. And how did it go with your nan today?” she asked as they started walking.

“It was amazing, especially the last part. I made an athame.” She drew it out of the sheath on her belt. “I was going to leave it in the workshop, but Nan said I should carry it with me for a day. Sort of a bonding.”

“Of course. You conjured this?”

“About an hour ago. I’m still feeling a little rush.”

Morena shook her head when Breen offered it. “For the day, it should only know your hand. It’s brilliant, that’s the truth. What’s more is most don’t succeed in this level of alchemy until they’ve had years of study and practice.”

She gave Breen an assessing look. “You should be very proud, as no doubt Marg is.”

“I’m more just really happy. I’ve had an amazing day. Now you can come watch me be taken down several pegs.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of the pegs, as you’re holding your own well enough. But I can’t watch today. For one I saw Keegan saddling horses, so I’d say you’re riding somewhere. And for another I promised Harken I’d help him shear the next round of sheep. Gods help me. Never give a promise to a man when you’re still all soft and warm and tingly under him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, should I ever have the opportunity again.”

Morena elbowed her. “I told you before, you could all but have your pick.”

“By the time Keegan’s done with me every day, I don’t have the energy for tingly. Good luck with the sheep.”