“So you think of houses and your pride. Do you forget the vision, the screams and the smoke?”

Eyes hard, dark and hard, she lifted her face. “I’ll never forget it.”

“Do you understand Odran knows you’ve awakened? He will continue to push against the portals, to send his scouts and demons. He will do whatever he can to push into your dreams.”

“I have the spell—”

“But no one to help should it fail.”

“Then I’ll have to be good enough.”

“And if you’re not, and he can use what you have, Talamh is lost. And when lost, so will your world be, as you are the bridge.”

“I’ll have to be good enough,” she repeated. “Before I came here a handful of people—less—believed I was good enough, and I wasn’t one of them.”

It cut to the bone to realize he wasn’t one of them either.

“It’s harder to go than to stay. You won’t understand that, but that’s my choice. To go, to do what I need to do, then come back and give whatever I have to the Fey.”

“Then I won’t waste my time or my breath. And since there’s no point in the training of you now, I’ll spend both where they can be of more use.”

“I still have today, and tomorrow, and—”

“It’s not likely, is it, you’ll be needing a sword in your Philadelphia.” He sheathed his with a decisive snick, picked up hers. “So go, Breen Siobhan, and do what you feel you must, for it seems what’s human in you burns stronger than what is Fey.”

He walked away from her, and moments later she saw his dragon dive out of the sky. He mounted. Without a backward glance, they soared up to disappear into the clouds.

She didn’t go to the farm again. As she doubted she’d be welcomed, she spent much of her remaining time with her grandmother, with Sedric. She visited Morena and her grandparents, watched the young Feys race the roads and woods.

On the evening before her departure, she left Bollocks with Marg.

He whined for her, and the plaintive sound of it stayed with her as she walked from the cottage, the gardens, and to the road.

She’d stretched her time until dusk, when the light softened to a pearl gray and the far hills stood cloaked in shadows.

A time, she knew, when Talamh fell quiet with the workday done, the evening meal finished. A time, she thought, for reading by the fire or conversations as the children slept. For music, and she heard that now as the lovely sad strains of a violin drifted from the farmhouse.

It sounded like tears. Nothing could have suited her mood more.

Lights shone in the windows of the house where she’d been born, and her father before her. Her heart wrenched as she walked past it with the mournful tune following her like a ghost.

Morena sat on the wall with the Welcoming Tree behind her, and stood as Breen approached.

“I thought to say a last goodbye.”

Saying nothing at all, Breen walked to her, wrapped around her, held on.

“It hurts you to go. Anyone can see it, so the need to go must be fierce.”

“It is. I can’t explain it, but it is.”

“You’ve explained well enough for me.” With a last squeeze, Morena pulled back, glanced toward the farmhouse. “If not for all.”

“Harken plays like an angel. A grieving one.”

“Harken can play, and more than well, but that would be Keegan.”

“Keegan? I didn’t know he played at all.”

“Your own father taught him, and Harken and Aisling as well. I suppose he didn’t mention the matter when the two of you tucked up in bed.”

She knew, Breen thought. Of course she did. Probably everyone knew. “No, he didn’t. And he’s too angry with me now to mention anything.”

“He has worlds on his shoulders, in his heart and hands as well.”

“I get that, I really do. It’s why I can’t be angry back when it would be a lot easier.”

“You’ll mend it all when you come back.”

“I’ll come back, but mending’s something else.” She tried a shrug and a smile. “I think I may be the only woman in history to be dumped in two worlds.”

“Men are fragile creatures at the base of it.”

“Are they?” Breen asked wistfully.

“Take my word on it. Now, you gave me a gift when you came, so I’ve one for you for your leaving.”

She handed Breen a small wooden box etched with magical symbols.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Oh, well, the box is fine enough, but what’s inside is the real gift.”

As she opened it, Morena flicked on some faerie lights so Breen could clearly see what she held in the palm of her hand.

“It’s Nan’s cottage. It’s a perfect miniature of Nan’s cottage, with the garden in front, and the door open as she likes it.”

“I first thought to make one of the cottage on the other side, where you’ve been living.”

“You made this? It’s incredible.”

“I’m pleased you think so. I thought of the farm as well, as you’ve such ties there. But in the end, I thought for sentiment, it would be Marg’s cottage for you to take on your journey.”

“I couldn’t love it more, or you for knowing what it would mean to me. Oh, Morena, I’m going to miss you.”

“Don’t miss me too long then. I’ll be here when you return.”

Carefully, Breen placed the miniature back in the velvet padding inside the box. “Look in on Nan and Bollocks for me.”

“I will, of course.”

“I have to go.”

“I know it. Fair journey to you.”

Breen walked across the field, up the short steps, then turned to look back where Morena still stood.

“I think I’m the only woman who has the best of best friends in two worlds.”

Then, with the box pressed against her heart, she stepped from one world to another.

The entire day of travel passed like a dream. Loading the car, checking the cottage one last time, then the drive through a soft rain that made the green glow like drenched emeralds.

When she finally walked into the airport, the noise, the crowds, the movement hit as a hard culture shock that nearly woke her. But she focused on getting through, just getting through all the steps and stages. When she finally sat in the relative quiet of the lounge to wait for her flight, she stuck with water. She already felt outside her body, and her hands shook a little as she raised the glass.

As she boarded, she thought how she’d flown on a dragon once, and that was real. Then she answered Marco’s cheerful text to try to ground herself to what was real now.

As the plane rose, she didn’t look out the window. Couldn’t bear to look at what she left behind. She didn’t want a movie or a book, but tried to lose herself in writing for a time.

It helped, a little, and when the story slipped away from her, she used the bathroom to take the potion, do the spell, and with the charm in her pocket, slept the time away.

Steps and stages, she reminded herself when she landed, and pushed through all of them until she wheeled her luggage out into a world of sound and rush that made her ears buzz and her stomach pitch.

She might have turned then and there and rushed for some sort of escape, but there stood Marco, both hands waving in the air. Marco, grinning from ear to ear. Marco, grabbing her in a hug that lifted her off her feet.

“Here she is!”

“Here you are,” she murmured, and, laughing and crying at once, pressed her face to his shoulder.

“Let me get a look at my best girl.” He pulled her back, blinked. “Girl, you were buff when I left, but shit my pants, you are frigging ripped. What’d you do?”

“Am I? I worked out a lot.”

Sword practice, combat training, riding, walking.

“Looks damn good on you. Where’s that dog of yours? Where do we have to go to get him?”

“I couldn’t bring him right now.” And she began to cry in earnest. “I left him with . . . I’ll explain.”

“It’s all right, baby, it’s okay. Stupid apartment.”

“I really want to get out of here, Marco.”

“Sure you do. Here, I’ll push this little mountain.” He got behind the cart. “I borrowed my cousin’s minivan—that’s an embarrassment to my breed, but it works. You just wait at the curb, and I’ll bring it around.”

“Thanks.”

“You must be worn out.”

“I guess. Everything feels so strange. Except you.” She gripped his arm as he wheeled the cart outside.

“My clock was off for days when I got back. You okay here?”

“Yeah, all good.”

No, she thought as he jogged away. No, nothing’s okay. The air smells wrong, the sky looks wrong. Too many people talking at once. Too many people and cars everywhere. The thunder of planes taking off, landing.

He pulled up in a cherry-red minivan, then hopped out to open the cargo doors. “You go on, sit and catch your breath. I’ll load up.”

“No, I’m good, and I need to move after the long flight.”

By the time she slid into the passenger seat, her head throbbed.

“It’s gonna feel weird driving on the right, I bet.” He pulled away from the curb. “I got the night off, so I’m going to fix you a good dinner. I know how you are about getting everything in its place, but you can wait till tomorrow to unpack. Just chill.”

“Maybe. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

“And I want to hear every bit of it. Especially about the Irish hunk you hooked up with.”

“That’s over.”

“Hey, maybe he’ll come over to visit you.”

She shook her head. “I had to go; he had to stay.”

“Don’t you forget about Sandy and Danny. Summer love can last.”