“Soon it will be truth.”

“Wake,” Keegan ordered, and though enough of Odran seeped into the vision to singe along his skin, he reached out to grip Breen’s hand. “Come with me, and wake.”

He dragged her back, dragged both of them back.

“Dead, everyone dead.”

When her head lolled, he shook her.

“No, a deception, an illusion. Cast it aside.”

“He struck you down while I watched. Your blood on my hands. I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.”

“Lies. I’m here, aren’t I?” He shook her again. “Look!”

When she did, the shuddering started. “Is this real? Are you real?”

“Aye, this is real, as I am. The rest was lies.”

“They came so fast, so many. The screams, the fires, the smoke. I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t enough.”

“More lies. You let him see your weakness, and he used it to wind the vision. Mine as well,” he admitted. “As when I joined you there, I believed. Here now, you’ve frightened the dog.”

“Bollocks.” She shifted to wrap her arms around the dog and weep. “He killed him. He just flicked his fingers and set Bollocks on fire. I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save anyone.”

“Stop.” Keegan pulled her back. “He wants you weak, afraid, full of doubt. Will you give him what he wants so readily?”

“It felt real, all of it. What if it was a vision of what’s coming?”

He didn’t know, couldn’t know, but gave her what she needed.

“It wasn’t, and when I saw through the lies, his power broke. But you’re bringing it with you now, and you mustn’t. You need a potion. Where do you keep them?”

“No. I need to see.”

She pushed away, ran to the window, flung it open.

“And do you see? The moon, the pixies, the shadow of the hills, how the trees move and whisper in the night?”

She nodded, and when he stepped behind her, turned her, she leaned against him. “He said everyone would die unless I went with him. He said he’d make me a queen, and I could choose the world I wanted to rule.”

“More lies.” He stroked her hair, but thought of the pixies who’d sent no warning.

“He found a way to close it in. I didn’t feel any of his darkness until I came inside. He found a way, so we’ll find a way to counter.”

“I didn’t use a charm or rosemary. I thought if I had a vision, a dream, something, I might learn something.”

Brave of her, he thought. Maybe foolish as well, but brave. “And sure you did, and I did as well. He fears you.”

She’d have laughed at that if she had a laugh left in her. “That’s not what I learned.”

“Then, once more, you don’t pay attention, do you now? He used his powers to try to make you feel weak, then blame yourself for it. He does this because he knows you’re strong, but you have doubts. Your mother did much the same near the whole of your life because she fears you.”

“She—what?”

“Think.” So she’d look at him, see the truth as he believed it, he snapped her back. “She fears what you are, what you have. Her fears of you may come from fears for you—I don’t know what’s in her heart. But she does the same, makes you feel weak, feel less than you are and could be so you forget the power she fears, so it’s buried so deep you can’t find it, use it. He does this to weaken you, to damage your spirit.”

After he let her go, to settle himself, he paced a moment. “If you won’t have a potion, will you have wine?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I will.” He put in his mind where she’d gotten the bottle, the glasses, and because he didn’t want to leave her alone, brought a glass of wine to his hand.

“I could use some water.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. Coddling wouldn’t help her. “See it, will it, bring it.”

She sighed, closed her eyes. No point in telling him her head throbbed like a bad tooth. He’d just tell her to fix it.

When she opened her eyes again, she held a glass. An empty one.

“I got it half right.”

She assumed she must have looked as bad as she felt, because he lifted a hand, tipped it down, and filled the glass with water.

“Just water?”

“Only water.”

He paced, drank wine while she sat and sipped water.

“Not through the protection,” he muttered. “Not through the pixies or the charms. Through you.”

He stopped, studied her. “So it was only here, inside, as you were inside. Aye, this is how it’s done. You said he felt you, perhaps saw you when you had the vision of the black castle. And sure, oh, aye, he devised this spell—Yseult—and he’s been waiting for you to open enough to let him in with it.”

“How do I stop it? Do I just use charms to block dreams and visions?”

“You could, but no.” More canniness, more calculation needed here, he thought. “You’ll leave a window open when you sleep, and when you’re alone here altogether. It won’t stop the visions, but there’ll be a warning. As for the rest, denying him the control of them, I’ve some ideas on it. I’ll work on it.”

“We’ll work on it, please.”

“All right then.” He nodded. “You’ve a right on it. But now, you’re weary, so back to bed with you.”

She didn’t argue, not with her head throbbing and her body hollowed out.

When he took off his sword, she wanted to weep again. In relief. “You’re staying.”

“Not for mating. For sleep.” Then he stopped, stared at her. “Are you thinking I’d leave you alone after you’ve had such a time of it?”

Avoiding the simple yes that popped into her head, she climbed into bed. “I’m too tired to think at all.”

“Then sleep.” The minute her head hit the pillow, he put her under. “For quiet rest,” he began, and started to soothe her mind. “Ah, bugger it, why didn’t you tell me you have pain?”

He soothed the headache, then sat to take off his boots. “She’s a puzzle to me, friend,” he said to the dog, who watched and waited. “Women are often puzzles to a man, but she’s more puzzling than most to my way of thinking.”

He didn’t undress, but lay back to consider the ceiling and think how best to help her control her visions.

By the fire, the dog circled his bed three times, as they were wont, then settled down to sleep.

A long time passed before Keegan found his own.

They worked on a nightly spell to help Breen recognize and fight off illusionary dreams. Rain or shine, night or day, she left a window open.

She didn’t think it was the curse of self-doubt telling her she’d reached her pinnacle in sword-fighting skill. She felt she’d qualify as solidly above average under most circumstances in that area. But if it ever came to actual combat, she knew she’d have to stretch high to reach the average mark.

She didn’t think it was wishful thinking she’d improved—vastly—in spell-casting and other magicks, or in focus and control.

And she came to realize she had more skill in bed than either of her two previous lovers had given her credit for. Then again, neither of them had been Keegan. Undoubtedly having an exceptional bed partner made a difference.

Confidence in her writing went up, went down, but the joy of it never abated.

When she shut down after a productive morning, she sighed, content. She could see the end of the book—weeks off yet, but she could see it. And Bollocks’s next adventure had started to take shape.

How lucky was she? she thought, to be able to bounce from one story to the other, from one world to the other. From one life, really, to the other.

When she started to get up, prepare for that other world, her tablet signaled a FaceTime.

Though it wasn’t their usual time, she accepted the signal from Marco.

“Hey! You just caught me before I . . . went for a walk.”

“I was hoping.” He grinned at her. “Girl, you look fine!”

“I feel fine. It’s really early for you.” So early, she noted, he still wore the Spider-Man T-shirt he often slept in. “What’re you doing up?”

“I couldn’t wait. Breen, I think I found the house.”

“The house?”

“You wanted something with some land so you could have a garden—and now you’ve got yourself a dog. I’ve been poking around at it—not real hard, but this one just sort of boom! It’s got four bedrooms, so you could have a writing space, and maybe we could have like, a music room. A really nice kitchen, too, and that whole open- concept deal. It’s not right in the city like now, but hey, a freaking acre.

“You still want a garden and all, right?”

She had to talk over the flutter in the back of her throat. “Yes.”

“I can commute into work, no problemo. It’s in a nice neighborhood, too—no Gayborhood, but there’s only one of them. Not one of those Stepford developments or anything either. Derrick’s cousin’s bestie’s a real estate lady, and she gave me the heads-up. It’s not on the market yet. They had a deal, but it fell through, so they’re juggling whatever, then tossing it back up in a few days.

“I’m gonna send you a link for the listing and pictures so you can see it, think about it, maybe talk to the money guy about it. You’re going to be home in a week, so I thought, well, shit some bricks, this is like meant.”

“A week.” She knew that, in her head, but she hadn’t said it out loud. She hadn’t made it real.

“You take a look. Maybe I’m off the mark, but I think I bull’seyed.” Then he frowned. “You still want a house, right?”

“Yes. Yes, I want a house.”

But where?