Becoming (The Dragon Heart Legacy, 2)

PROLOGUE

In the long ago, the worlds of gods and men and Fey coexisted. Through times of peace, through times of war, in times of plenty, in times of loss, the worlds mingled freely.

As the wheel of time turned, there came those who pushed aside the old gods for the gods of greed, for the lust of dominion over the land and the sea, for the glory of what some deemed progress.

In the dunghill of greed and lust and glory, fear and hatred bloomed. Some gods grew angry at the lessening of respect and homage, and some turned anger into a craving to possess and to destroy. More, wiser and more temperate, saw the wheel turn as it must and cast out those who used their great powers to murder and enslave.

As the worlds of man turned the gods into things of myth, those who called themselves holy persecuted any who chose to worship in the old ways. Such acts, once as common as wildflowers in a meadow, brought torture and an ugly death.

Soon, the fear and hatred aimed its brittle fingers toward the Fey. The Wise, once revered for their powers, became twisted into creatures of evil, as were the Sidhe, who no longer dared spread their wings for fear of a hunter’s arrow. Weres became cursed monsters who devoured human flesh, and Mers the sirens who lured simple seafarers to their deaths.

With fear and hatred, persecutions raged over the worlds, pitting man against man, Fey against Fey, man against Fey in a bloody, brutal time fueled by those who claimed they stood on holy ground.

So in the world of Talamh, and others, there came a time of choice. The leader of Talamh offered the Fey, all of its tribes, this choice. To turn from the old ways and follow the rules and laws of man, or to preserve their laws, their magicks by closing off from other worlds.

The Fey chose magicks.

In the end, after the windy and righteous debates such matters demanded, the taoiseach and the council found compromise. New laws were written. All were encouraged to travel to other worlds, to learn of them, to sample them. Any who chose to make their home outside Talamh must follow the laws of that world, and but one unbreakable law of Talamh.

Magicks must never be used to harm another but to save a life. And even then, such action demanded a return to Talamh and judgment on the justice of their actions.

So, for generation upon generation, Talamh held peace within its borders. Some left for other worlds; others brought mates from those worlds to settle in Talamh. Crops grew in the green fields, trolls mined the deep caves, game roamed the thick woods, and the two moons shined over the hills and the seas.

But such peaceful worlds, such green and rich land, plants hunger in dark hearts. In time, with vengeful purpose, a cast-out god slid through the worlds into Talamh. He won the heart of the young taoiseach who saw him as he willed her to see him.

Handsome and good and loving.

They made a child, as it was the child he wanted. A child in whom ran the blood of the taoiseach, of the Wise with more than a dollop of the Sidhe, and with his, blood of a god.

Each night, as the mother slept an enchanted sleep, the dark god drank power from the babe, consuming what it was to add to his own. But the mother woke, saw the god for what he was. She saved her son, and led Talamh in a great battle to cast out the fallen god.

Once this was done, and portals charmed against him and any who followed him, she gave up her staff, threw the sword of the taoiseach back into the Lake of Truth for another to lift, for another to lead.

She raised her son, and when his time came round, as the wheel decreed, he raised the sword from the waters of the lake to take his place as leader of the Fey.

And, a wise leader, he held the peace season by season, year by year. On his travels he met a human woman, and they loved. He brought her to his world, to his people, to the farm that was his and his mother’s and her family’s before her, and theirs before.

They knew joy, a joy that grew when they made a child. For three years, the child knew nothing but love and wonder and the peace her father held as firmly as he held her hand.

Such a prize was she, this girl child, the only one known who carried the blood of the Wise, the Sidhe, the gods, and the human.

The dark god came for her, using the twisted powers of a turned witch to breach the portal. He caged her in glass, deep in the pale green waters of the river where he plotted to keep her, letting her powers grow a bit longer. No babe this time he would have to sip from, but one he could, when ripe, gulp whole.

Yet she already held more power than he knew. More than she knew. Her cries reached beyond the portal, into Talamh. Her anger broke through the conjured glass, drove the god back even as the Fey, led by her father, her grandmother, raged into battle.

Even with the child safe, the god’s castle destroyed, and the portal protections reinforced, the girl’s mother could not, would not rest.

She demanded they return to the world of man, without magick she now viewed as evil, and keep their daughter there without memory of the world of her birth.

Torn between love and duty, the taoiseach lived in both worlds, making a home as best he could for his daughter, returning to Talamh to lead, and, in leading, to keep his world and his child safe.

The marriage could not survive it, and as the wheel turned, neither did the taoiseach survive his next battle, as his father murdered him.

While the girl grew, believing her father had left her, never knowing what she had inside her, raised by a mother whose fear pushed her to demand the daughter think herself less and less, another young boy raised the sword from the lake.

So they grew in their worlds from girl to woman, from boy to man. She, unhappy, did as she was bid. He, determined, guarded the peace. In Talamh, they waited, knowing the god threatened all worlds. He would again seek the blood of his blood, and the wheel would turn so the time would come when the Talamhish could no longer stop him.

She, the bridge between worlds, must return and awaken, must become, and must choose to give all, risk all to help destroy the god.

When she came to Talamh, innocent of all that had come before, she had only begun a journey into herself. Led there by a grandmother’s open heart, she learned, she grieved, she embraced.

And awakened.

Like her father, she had love and duty in two worlds. That love and duty drew her back to the world where she’d been raised, but with a promise to return.

With her heart torn, she prepared to leave what she had known and risk all she was. On the knife’s edge, with the taoiseach and Talamh waiting, she shared all with the brother of her heart, a friend like no other.

As she stepped into the portal, he, as true as ever was, leaped with her.

Caught between worlds, between loves, between duties, she began her journey into becoming.

CHAPTER ONE

With the wind whipping a gale in the portal, Breen felt her grip on Marco’s hand start to slip. She couldn’t see, as the light had gone bright and blinding. She couldn’t hear through the roar of that wind.

As if tossed by the gale, she tumbled, with Keegan’s hand a vise grip on hers, and her desperate fingers barely clinging to Marco’s.

Then, like a switch flipped, she fell. The air went cool and damp, the light snapped off, and the wind died.

She landed hard enough to rattle bones. On a dirt road, she realized, wet from the soft rain still falling. And in the rain, she smelled Talamh.

Breathless, she rolled to hunker over Marco. He sprawled, limp and still, with eyes wide and shocked.

“Are you okay? Let me see. Marco, you idiot!” Searching, she ran her hands over him. “Nothing’s broken.”

Now she stroked her hand over Marco’s face as she whipped her head around to snarl at Keegan.

“What the hell was that? Even the first time I came through, it wasn’t like that.”

He shoved his hand through his hair. “I didn’t account for the extra passenger. Or all your bloody luggage. And still I got us back, didn’t I?”

“What the actual fuck?”

As Marco stirred, she turned back to him. “Don’t try to get up yet. You’re going to be dizzy and shaky, but you’re okay.”

He just stared at her, his brown eyes huge and glassy with shock. “Did all this crazy make you a doctor, too?”

“Not exactly. Just catch your breath. What the hell do we do now?” she shot at Keegan.

“Get out of the fecking rain, to start.” He pushed to his feet, a tall, irritated man with dark hair curling in the damp. “I aimed to bring us back in the dooryard of the farmhouse.” He gestured. “And wasn’t far off, considering what came with us.”

She could see the stone house now, the silhouette of it a few yards away and across the road.

“Marco isn’t a what.”

Keegan just strode over, crouched down. “All right now, brother, sit yourself up. Take it slow.”

“My laptop!” When Breen spotted it on the road, she scrambled up, sprinted over to grab the case.

“Well now, she will have her priorities.”

In the road, in the rain, she clutched it to her. “This is as important to me as your sword is to you.”

“If it got banged up, you’ll fix it. That’s the way,” he said to Marco, “slow and easy.”

The way he spoke to Marco—slow and easy—reminded Breen that Keegan could be kind. When he wanted to be.

She strapped on the laptop case cross-body, hurried back to them.

“You’re going to feel dizzy and weird. The first time I came through I fainted.”

“Guys don’t faint.” But Marco dropped his spinning head to his updrawn knees. “We can pass out, we can get knocked out, but we don’t faint.”

“That’s the way,” Keegan said cheerfully. “Let’s get you on your feet. We could use a hand here, Breen.”

“Just let me get my suitcase.”

“Women, by the gods!” Keegan whipped out a hand, and the suitcase vanished.

“Where did it go?” Marco’s voice hitched, this time his eyes rolled. “Where’d it go?”

“Not to worry, it’s all fine. Up you come now. Lean on me, and we’ll get you there.”

“I can’t feel my knees. Are they here?”

“Right where they should be.”

Breen hurried over to wrap an arm around Marco from the other side. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s not far, see? We’re going right there.”

He managed a few shaky steps. “Men don’t faint, but they do puke. I might.”

Breen pressed a hand to his stomach, pulled out some of the churning. It made her feel a little queasy, but she told herself she’d handle it. “Better?”

“Yeah, I guess. I think I’m having a really weird dream. Breen has weird dreams,” he told Keegan in a voice that sounded a little drunk. “Scary weird sometimes. This one’s just weird.”

Keegan flicked a hand, and the gate of the dooryard swung open.

“Like that kind of weird. Smells good anyway. Like Ireland. Right, Breen?”

“Yes, but it’s not.”

“That would be way weird if we’re standing in our apartment in Philly one minute and going splat on a road in Ireland the next. ‘Beam me up, Scotty’ time.”

“Those are good stories.” Keegan flicked the door open. “Here we are now. You’ll have a lie down on the divan here.”

“Lying down’s good. Hey, Breen, there’s your suitcase. It’s real homey in here. Old-timey homey. It’s nice. Oh, thank Christ,” he said when they laid him down on the couch.

“I didn’t faint, see. Didn’t puke either. Yet.”

“I’m going to make you some tea.”

He shook his head at Breen. “Rather have a beer.”

“And who wouldn’t? I’ll get that for you. Stay with him,” Keegan ordered. “Dry him up, smooth him out.”

“He should have the tea, what I had when I came through.”

“What goes in the tea can go in the ale.”

“Drugs, right?” Marco asked as Keegan strode out. “Because he slipped us lots and lots of drugs so we’re in this weird dream together.”

“No, Marco. It’s real.”

She held out a hand to the low, simmering fire in the hearth and had the flames rising and crackling. She lit the candles around the room from where she knelt beside the sofa.

She ran her hands down Marco’s sides to dry his clothes, then brushed them over his braids to dry his hair.

“I’m voting for crazy dream.”

“You know it’s real. Why did you jump with me, Marco? Why did you grab onto me and jump?”

“I wasn’t going to let you go without me into some hole of light in our damn living room. And you were all upset. You’d been crying. You—” He looked at the ceiling. “I hear something. Somebody else is in the house.”

“Harken—Keegan’s brother—lives here. He’s a farmer. This is their farm. It was my father’s. I was born in his house.”

Marco’s gaze tracked back to hers. “That’s what he told you, but—”

“My grandmother told me, and it’s the truth. I’m remembering things I didn’t. And I’ll explain everything, I promise, but—”

She broke off when Harken and Morena came down the stairs—in clothes obviously hastily dragged on, as Morena’s shirt was inside out.

“Welcome home!” Sunflower hair unbraided and tangled, Morena rushed down to drop beside Breen and grab her in a fierce hug. “We’re so happy to see you.” She beamed at Marco, blue eyes dancing. “And you brought a friend. Is this Marco then? My nan said you were a handsome one, and she’s never wrong.”

She grabbed his hand to shake. “That’s Finola McGill, my nan. I’m Morena.”

“Okay.”

“I’m Harken Byrne, and you’re welcome here. A rough come through, was it? We’ll fix you up.”

“I’ve got it.” Keegan came in with a tankard.

Marco darted his gaze back and forth. Brothers, sure, the resemblance was apparent in the strong cheekbones, the shape of the mouth.

“Ale, is it?” Harken considered. “Well then, as long as you remembered—”

“It’s a basic potion, Harken. I can handle the basics as well as any.”

“Potion?” Marco started to push up, and his rich, dark skin went a little gray at the edges. “I say no to potions.”

“It’s a kind of medicine,” Breen assured him. “You’ll feel better for it.”

“Breen, maybe they look real good, these three, but they could be sucking you into some cult. Or—”

“Trust me.” She reached up to take the tankard from Keegan. “We’ve always trusted each other. I know it’s all hard to believe, or even begin to understand. But of anyone I know, it’s going to be easier for you. You already believe in multiverses.”

“Maybe you’re a pod-person Breen and not my real Breen.”

“Would a pod-person Breen know we sang a Gaga duet while you got a tattoo of an Irish harp inked in Galway? Here now, take a sip. Or would she have packed the pink frog mug you made for me when we were kids?”

“You packed that?” He took a sip when she held the tankard for him. “This messed up my head really good.”

“I know the feeling. Drink a little more.”

When he had, he scanned the three who stood watching him. “So … you’re all, like, witches.”

“Not me.” Smiling, Morena spread her silver-tipped violet wings. “I’m a faerie. Breen has a bit of Sidhe in her as well, but not enough for wings. She wished for them when we were little.”

Morena sat on the edge of the couch. “We were friends, you see, good, strong friends—the same as sisters—when we were littles. I know you’ve been a good, strong friend to her—the same as a brother—for a long time on the other side.”

Sitting back on her heels, Breen let Morena take the lead with a cheerful voice and understanding eyes.

“She missed you through the summer, but more, she felt the weight of not telling you, her dear friend, all of this. Now, as her good, strong friend, you’ll stand with her, and by her and for her. As we all will.”

“That was well done,” Harken said quietly, and laid a hand on Morena’s shoulder. “You’ll feel steadier after the potion, and hungry with it. Such a journey empties you out.”

“I’d say that part goes for the lot of us. We didn’t come through the Welcoming Tree,” Keegan told him. “I had to make a temporary portal, and to add to it, only formed it to bring two.”

“Ah well, you’ll be starving then. There’s enough stew left from supper to fill the holes. I’ll warm it up.”

“Is everybody really, really pretty here?” Marco wondered.

Morena gave him a light punch on the arm. “Aren’t you the one. Well, I’m no hand in the kitchen, but I’ll give Harken what I have with the food. You’ll be staying what’s left of the night, I take it. There’s room enough.”

“I wouldn’t want Marco to have to go through again so soon, so we couldn’t stay in the cottage tonight. And I’d rather not wake Nan and Sedric.” Breen looked at Keegan. “I’d appreciate staying for the night.”

“You’re welcome, of course. Coming around then, are you, Marco?”

“Yeah, actually. I feel good. Better than good. Thanks.” Then he frowned at the tankard as he sat fully up. “What’s in here?”

“What you needed. Finish that ale, brother, then Breen will bring you in for the meal. Harken’s more than a decent cook, so you won’t go hungry.”

When Keegan left them, Marco looked down at his ale. “You and me, girl, we need to have a real long talk.”

“I know it, and we will. And the flash drive I gave you, everything’s there. I wrote it as it happened, right back to meeting Morena and her hawk at Dromoland.”

“She’s the hawk girl?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let me borrow your laptop, and I’ll read what you wrote. Then we can talk.”

“The laptop won’t work here. No tech in Talamh.”

For a moment, he—a worshipper of technology—could only stare. “You are shitting me. You can travel the multiverse, light candles across the room, grow wings, but you don’t have Wi-Fi?”

“It’s a thing. I’ll explain everything. I promise. Tomorrow, we’ll go back through, and to the cottage—our cottage on the bay. And you can read, and call Sally. You’re going to want a couple of nights off. We’ll just—we’ll say you decided to come back to Ireland with me for a few days, get me settled in again. You can’t tell him any of this, Marco.”

His eyes filled with dread. “We have to go through one of those portals again?”

“Yes, but it’ll be easier. I promise. Come on, you need food, and you need some sleep. Tomorrow … we’ll deal with everything else tomorrow.”

“How much else is there?”

“A lot.” She stroked his face, his clever little beard. “A big lot of else.”

“You were afraid to come back. I could see that. If it’s all magicks and faerie wings, why were you afraid?” He looked toward where Keegan and the others had gone. “Not of any of them. I could see that, too.”

“No, not of any of them. It’s a long story, Marco. For tonight, let’s just say there’s a Big Bad.”

“How big?”

“Big as they come. I’d be stupid not to be afraid, but I’m stronger than I was. And I’m going to get even stronger.”

He took her hand when he got to his feet. “You were always stronger than you thought. If this place helped you see that, it gets some points.”

“This place, these people, and others I want you to meet before you go home.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Now let’s eat, because I can smell that stew, and I’m starving.”

He let it go, mostly because he couldn’t fit any more in his head at one time. Though after he ate he didn’t expect to sleep, he dropped off the moment he rolled into the bed Keegan showed him.

The rooster woke him, which was strange enough. Added to it, he woke in a room not his own with a low fire simmering in a hearth, pale sunlight streaming through the lacy curtains at the windows, and the unsettling realization that none of the night before had been a dream.

He wanted Breen, and coffee, and a long, hot shower, and wasn’t sure where to find any of them.

He got up, and the fastidious Marco saw he’d slept in his clothes. Maybe one of the smoking-hot brothers could lend him something to wear after he got that shower.

He looked at his watch—one that let him keep track of his sleep, his steps, as well as the time—and frowned at the black display.

He crept out of the room—who knew what time it was—and tiptoed his way downstairs.

He heard voices—girl voices—and followed them into the kitchen he’d seen the night before.

At a little worktable that doubled as a small eating space sat Breen and Morena.

Breen popped up. “You’re awake. I thought you’d sleep longer.”

“There was a rooster. I think.”

“Well, it is a farm. Sit, I’ll get you some tea.”

“Coffee, Breen. My life for coffee.”

“Oh. Well.”

He could only cover his eyes with his hand. “Don’t tell me that.”

“The blend of tea’s really strong. Next best thing. Hungry?”

“I really need a shower.”

She sent him that sorry look again. “Oh. Well.”

Now he sat, put his head in his hands. “How does anybody get through a day here without coffee, without showers?”

“We’ve WCs—water closets,” Morena told him. “And nice big tubs.”

“Marco’s not a tub person.”

“You’re just sitting there in the dirt you washed off.”

“You’ve a point there, don’t you?” Morena decided. “I can do you a shower outside.”

“You can?”

“Faeries are connected to the elements. You want a spot of nice warm rain, I can help with that. Outside, of course.”

“Sure, of course. Outside.” He took the cup Breen held out, gulped down tea. Blinked. “I think the enamel just melted off my teeth. Any chance of borrowing some fresh clothes?”

“There’s less of you than there is of Harken, but I can get you a shirt and trousers. Let’s find a spot for your shower.” She opened a cupboard, took out a cake of brown soap. “I like your braids,” Morena said as she opened the back door. “I wouldn’t have the patience to do so many. The far side of the little silo, I think. Private enough.”

“I appreciate this.”

“The friend of my friend is mine. You’ll want the grass under you or you’ll end up standing in mud. So.” She put her hands on her hips. “How warm for you?”

“Hot. I mean, not burning, but good and hot.”

“Hot it is,” she said, and handed him the soap.

In her trousers and boots—her shirt right side out now—Morena lifted her hands, palms up. And she curled her fingers in the air as if drawing something to her.

A thin rain, light as feathers, began to fall. As she continued to draw, it came stronger, harder in an area no more than six feet square.

Marco knew his mouth fell open, but he couldn’t seem to close it.

“You can test it with your hand if you like, see if it’s hot enough for you.”

Marco held out his hand, felt the heat, the wet, the wonder. “Yeah, it’s good. It’s … amazing. Jesus, I don’t know how to handle all this.”

“I think you’re doing more than fine.” Morena stepped back. “We’ll get you some clothes and a towel.”

“Thanks. Um. How do I turn it off?”

“I’ve called it for fifteen minutes. So you’d best get started.”

After she strolled away, Marco wasted nearly another minute staring at the magick shower before he stripped down and stepped into its bliss.

Once he’d dressed in what he thought of as farm chic, fortified himself with a fried egg on toast, he felt almost normal.

“I know we need to talk,” Breen began, “and go over to the cottage, but I need to see my grandmother first. I need to see her, and I want to get Bollocks.”

“I want to meet this dog, and yeah, your granny.”

“She doesn’t live far. It’s a nice walk.”

“Okay. I’m trying to roll with this.” He stepped outside with her. “It looks like Ireland. They sound Irish. Are you sure it’s not—”

“It’s not. You tried to use your phone, didn’t you?”

Marco rubbed a hand on a pocket of the borrowed trousers. “Yeah. Nothing. And yeah, I took a faerie shower about an hour ago. Best shower of my life. It doesn’t feel real.”

“I know.”

“I mean there’s the bay, but it’s not the bay in Ireland where we stayed. And I see mountains way over there, but they’re not the same ones. Flowers all over, lots of sheep and cows. Horses. Horses on the farm. Did you learn to ride on one of those?”

“Yeah.” She decided not to point out the area on the farm where she’d learned to use a sword—poorly—under Keegan’s unrelenting training. “You have to know how to ride here. No cars.”

“No cars.”

“No tech, no machines. They chose magick.”

“No toaster,” he recalled. “Toast the bread on a rack in the wood stove. Water from a well—or a faerie. You were okay with all that?”

“I had the cottage on the other side for working. But there are ways to write over here—magick ways. And it’s pure, Marco. And peaceful, and alive. I guess I fell in love.”

“Sense memory—remember? You were actually born here, you said. Are those the hot bros out there in that field?”

“The hot bros? Oh.” She laughed, linked her arm with his. “Yes. Harken’s a farmer right down to his toes. Keegan’s more a soldier, but he loves the farm, and he works it when he can. He has so much responsibility as taoiseach.”

“As what, now?”

“It means leader. He’s the leader of Talamh, of the Fey.”

“Like King Keegan?”

“No, it’s not like that.”

So strange, she realized, to explain to him things she’d only learned—or remembered—a few months before.

“No kings here, no rulers. He leads. Chosen and choosing. It’s a long tradition with its roots in lore. There’s a lake,” she began, but Marco grabbed her.

“Holy fuck, Breen. Run. Into those woods there.”

“What is— Oh, no, no, it’s okay. It’s Keegan’s dragon.”

“His what the fuck?”

“Just breathe. They have dragons—but not like the virgin princess eaters in some stories. I rode that one.”

His arm stayed around her in an iron grip. “You did the hell not.”

“I the hell did, and it was glorious. They’re loyal—they bond with someone, and they’re loyal. And they’re beautiful. My father had one.”

“I might have to sit down. I don’t want to wimp out on you, girl, but my knees are going again.”

Before he could, right on the road, a joyful bark sounded. Bollocks, topknot and little beard bouncing, bounded toward Breen.

“There you are! There you are.” With a laugh, she stumbled back when he leaped on her, every part of him wagging, from that topknot to the skinny whip of his tail. “Oh, you’re bigger. You grew on me. I missed you, too. I missed you so much!”

She went down on the road with him for kisses and hugs and rubs. “It’s Bollocks.”

“I figured. Jeez, he’s sort of purple, like you said. Purple Haze so maybe you should’ve named him Hendrix. Aren’t you something, puppy! Aren’t you something else all over again.”

Dragon forgotten, Marco crouched down. Bollocks rewarded him with a lapping tongue and wags.

“He likes me!”

“He’s the sweetest dog ever. Nan knows I’m here. He knows, so she knows. Come on. Let’s go see Nan.”

Bollocks ran a few feet ahead, wagged, waited, ran back and forth.

“That’s one happy dog. So, your grandmother. She’s what now?”

“Of the Wise. A witch, with a little Sidhe. She was taoiseach once.”

“So it’s got, like, term limits.”

“No, she gave it up, so there was another. And then my father led. Now it’s Keegan. I’ll explain.”

“What about your grandfather?”

“He’s not here, and we want to keep it that way. He’s the Big Bad.”

She took Marco’s hand, turned on the road that led to Mairghread’s cottage. “So much to tell you.”

“It’s sure piling up.”

“She let me go, though it hurt her. After my father died, she sent the money my mother hid from me. And for reasons I’ll explain, but one I can tell you now—because she knew I was unhappy—she worked it out so I found out about the money. After that, the choices were mine. To quit teaching, to come to Ireland. And she made me the cottage and sent me Bollocks. He led me here.

“She loves me, in a way I barely remembered my father loving me. The way you and Sally and Derrick love me. For me. And she opened my world.”

“Then I guess I’m going to love her, too.”

Flowers pooled and spread, spicing the air with autumn. The cottage stood, sturdy stone under its thatched roof with its bold blue door open.

Mairghread stepped out, wearing one of her long dresses in forest green. Her bright red hair crowned her head. And with her misty blue eyes going damp, she laid a hand on her heart.

“You look a lot like her,” Marco murmured. “And she don’t look like nobody’s granny.”

“I know. Nan!”

Marg stretched out her arms as Breen ran into them.

“Mo stór. Welcome home. Welcome. My sweet girl. You’re well.” She lifted Breen’s face in her hands. “I can feel it, and see it, too. My heart’s so full.”

She drew Breen to her again, and smiled at Marco over Breen’s shoulder. “And it’s Marco, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome here, always.” She stretched out a hand for his. “My door is open for you. You’ve had a strange journey.”

She held his hand a moment longer as she studied his face, the deep, dark eyes, the tidy goatee, the anxious smile.

“A good friend to my Breen Siobhan you are, and a good man as well. I can see this, and thank the gods for it. Come in and sit.”

She led them through the living room, with its simmering fire and sofa plumped with pretty needlepoint pillows, into the kitchen.

“Kitchens are for family. We’ll have some tea, and didn’t Sedric bake lemon biscuits just this morning?”

“Where is he?”

“Oh, around and about,” Marg told Breen.

“No, I’ll get the tea, Nan. You sit with Marco.”

“Then I will.” Marg sat at the small square table, patted her hand on it so Marco joined her. “And you’re a musician.”

“I try to be.” He saw Breen in her, and Breen’s dad—a man he’d loved. “I pay the rent tending bar.”

“At Sally’s. Breen told me all about Sally and Derrick and their place of business. Sedric says they have good craic.”

“He’s been there?”

“The silver-haired man you thought I imagined,” Breen said as she measured out tea leaves from one of the jars on a shelf.

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

“We worried for Breen, you see. In this last year or two, more and more we worried. Dragging herself to the classroom when she didn’t feel suited for teaching.”

“I wasn’t.” Breen filled the blue teapot with water from the copper kettle on the stove, then pressed her hands on it to steep the leaves.

“That you weren’t, but you were a good teacher just the same, and far better than you gave yourself credit for. This was a worry, you see,” Marg said to Marco. “She thought so little of herself, expected so little for herself.”

The resemblance had already cracked the ice for him. Her words melted it away. “Speaking to the choir.”

That made Marg laugh and lean in as if sharing secrets. “Cover her pretty hair with brown so as not to be noticed, and wearing such dull clothes to hide her fine body.”

“Sing it.”

Marg laughed again as Breen rolled her eyes. “Would the two of you like to be alone?”

Marco ignored her as Breen set the teapot on the table, went back for white cups and plates. “Her mom pushed her that way. Mrs. Kelly was always good to me, but…”

“You won’t hear me speak against her. A mother is a mother, and when she and Eian made Breen, they made her with love as true as any.”

“I loved him. I want to say how sorry I am he’s gone. He gave me music, he taught me. He gave me a guitar on my ninth birthday, and changed my world.”

“He spoke of you.”

“He did?”

“Oh aye, and often. I knew you as a boy as well through my boy. Such talent, he told me, such a bright light. And as good and true a friend to his girl as he could wish for. He loved you, Marco.”

When his eyes filled, Marg reached over to take his hand. “Breen will take you to where he rests while you’re here. It’s a holy place. I know your visit here wasn’t planned, but if I’m honest, I’m so pleased you came. I’m so pleased to meet Breen’s dearest friend from the other side.”

“I can’t get used to it.”

“Well now, it’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

“It all happened so fast, and I haven’t had time to tell him everything.” Breen set the biscuits out, started pouring the tea. “We’ll go over to the cottage if that’s all right.”

“Well, of course. It’s yours, isn’t it? Finola’s having it stocked for you right now. And she’s looking forward to seeing the handsome Marco again.”

He flushed a little. “She didn’t have to do all that. We could go into the village for supplies. Jeez, we have to change money, Breen. I don’t know how much I’ve got on me.”

“You don’t need any in Talamh.” She sat, took a biscuit. “They don’t use money here.”

“Well, how do you get stuff?”

“Barter and trade,” Marg said as she sipped her tea. “And it’s our pleasure to make Fey Cottage welcome for you.”

“Breen said her dad, then you, sent the money to her.”

“That we did. There are ways to come by coin. Trolls mine, and we’ve craftsmen and so on. We have those on the other side, in other worlds, who buy and sell.”

“Ma’am, it changed her life. Not just the money, but the knowing her dad looked out for her. That she could use it to stop doing what she didn’t love, and try doing what she did.”

He looked down to where Bollocks happily snacked on the biscuit Breen had given him. “The book she wrote about this guy? It’s just great. Did you get to read it?”

“I did. So bright and fun, like its namesake.”

“She’s got the other going, the one for grown-ups. She won’t let me read that one.”

“Nor me.”

“It’s not nearly finished,” Breen put in. “I still feel like I should take a walk and leave the two of you alone.”

“We’ve considerable catching up to do, don’t we, Marco?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh now, call me Marg, as most do. Or, as you’re a brother to my girl, you can call me Nan.”

As she spoke, the back door opened, and Marco saw, for the first time, the silver-haired man.

Breen jumped up to embrace him, and Marco recognized pleased surprise. “Welcome home, Breen Siobhan. And welcome to you, Marco Olsen.”

“You really are real. Sorry I didn’t believe you were.”

“Ah well, you wouldn’t be the first.”

“Sit. No, sit,” Breen insisted. “I’ll get the desk chair from my room. Is it still there?”

“It will always be there,” Marg assured her.

Breen got another cup, another little plate. “When I came back to Philadelphia, and went to confront my mother … It was hard.”

“I know, honey,” Marco said.

“I walked a long way when I left her house, trying to settle myself. She kept all of this from me, all of this, my heritage, my gifts, put me in a box. I know it was fear for me,” she added before Marg could speak. “But when I sat down, finally, at the bus stop, Sedric was there. He was there because I needed someone to be. I won’t forget that. And I won’t forget what Keegan told me. That it’s fear of me for her, too. Fear of what I am, what I have. And I think, one day, I’ll be able to forgive her because of that.

“I’ll get another chair.”

When she left, Marg sighed. “Her heart will be easier when she’s able to forgive.” She picked up the pot, poured Sedric’s tea. “Now, Marco, you came through without having a moment to bring what you might need or want during your stay. You’ve only to make a list for Sedric, and he’ll fetch what you like.”

“You can do that?”

“I can, and I’d be happy to.”

“Because you’re … a witch? Wizard?”

“Just a touch of that. I’m a Were.”

Marco’s hand froze as he reached for a lemon biscuit. “You’re a werewolf?”

“Not a’tall, though I’ve the acquaintance of several. Who do not go mad for flesh and blood at the full of the moon, I promise you. A were-cat, I am.”

“Like a lion?”

Marg snickered, waved a hand. “Go on then, Sedric, show the lad.”

Sedric shrugged, smiled. And became a cat.

Under the table, Bollocks’s tail whipped with delight.

“Oh!” Breen carried in the chair as Marco goggled. “I’ve never seen you transform before. It’s so effortless.”

The cat became a man, who reached for his tea. “We’re one, the man, the spirit animal. For the traveling to worlds, the witch in my bloodline helps. Tell me what you need, and I’ll bring it over for you.”

Marco held up a finger. “We’re going to have really big drinks later.”

“We have some lovely wine,” Marg began.

“Thanks, but even with this, it’s a little early for me. Later, though, really big drinks. And what I’m going to need, I guess, depends. Breen was scared to come back. Damned determined, but scared. Keegan, there was stuff he said—it was all really fast, really confusing—but he said stuff about releasing her from her duty, her promise.”

“Did he?” Marg acknowledged.

“Yeah, and Breen told me there’s a Big Bad, and she’ll explain all that. But I don’t know what I’m going to need until I know why he wants to hurt Breen.”

“You haven’t told him about Odran?”

“Nan, I didn’t know he’d jump into the portal that way, and he was—you can imagine—shaken up and sick. I have it all written down, and want Marco to read it all, and I’ll tell him all of it.”

“This much he should know here and now, and early of day or not, a sip of apple wine hurts no one.”

Sedric patted Marg’s shoulder. “I’ll see to it.”