“Wait,” Caitriona said, shocked. “But that would mean…”

  My heart throbbed with the unspoken. You would leave us.

  Suddenly, I knew who the upstairs flat was for.

  Olwen balanced her empty cup on the rim of the bathtub and clasped her sister’s hand, stroking the back of it. “Dear heart, you’ve always known I’ve never had the same appetite for adventure as you. What I desire most of all is to be able to learn, to be of use to those who need it. I need to find a place for myself in this world, as do you.”

  Caitriona looked troubled. “If…if that’s what you want.”

  “All the more reason to drop in for visits,” Neve told her.

  “Please, no,” the Bonecutter said, stirring the contents of the cauldron with seven clockwise strokes, then seven counterclockwise. “Besides, you’ll be quite busy with your adventuring.”

  “What do you mean?” Neve asked.

  The Bonecutter nodded toward a small cream envelope resting haphazardly on the top of one of the chairs piled high with scrolls. “A pooka flew in yesterday and dropped that off for you. I assume you know the one.”

  “Griflet?” I asked. “Seriously?”

  “Smelled the same to me,” the Bonecutter said, her small fingers adding flakes of something crimson to the cauldron. “Though I’ll leave it to you to confirm that suspicion. And when you do, please inform it I am not a post office.”

  Neve picked the envelope up gently, holding it as if she believed it might turn to dust in her hands.

  “Open it,” I told her.

  She flicked the wax seal open, pulling the single sheet of paper out. Her eyes skimmed over the short message there once, then again. She showed it to Caitriona.

  Olwen took a tentative step toward her. “Neve?”

  “Neve, you’re killing me,” I said. “What does it say?”

  “Your father and I would have done anything to see you grow up, and have only ever desired to keep you safe. But there are more enemies in this world than you know,” Neve read. “They killed your father, and now, unless I finish this, they will take you from me as well. Please do not try to find me. Return to your aunt. I love you.”

  Neve seemed almost stymied by her own hope as she looked up at us.

  “Your mother sent the pooka,” Olwen said, thinking aloud. “To keep watch over you.”

  “She should have come herself,” Neve said simply, crumpling the paper in her fist. Caitriona took it from her, before she could destroy it, slipping it into the pocket of her jeans. “She didn’t even tell me my father’s name. Only that he’s dead.”

  “When you find your mother, you can ask,” I told her. “You can ask her about anything and everything.”

  “She said not to,” Neve said softly. “She doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Are you going to let her decide that?” I asked. “I want you safe too, but I know you’re capable of making your own decisions.”

  Caitriona’s expression turned contemplative, her eyes narrowing with focus on the Bonecutter. “Where can we begin our search?”

  “I thought you might ask.”

  The Bonecutter retrieved a massive tome from one of her many sagging bookcases and brought it over to the worktable. It exhaled a thick cloud of dust as she flipped the heavy cover over. “Now, I believe I may have an idea of where to begin looking for your mother, Caniad…”

  I listened in as theories were spun out of sightings and rumors, clasping a hand over the weathered bracelet around my wrist. Olwen touched my hand with a questioning look, but I returned it with a shake of my head.

  I had promised Neve that I would help her find her mother, and I would. I was thrilled for her to have the answers she craved, and to have the opportunity to seek out more. But some part of me felt only loss.

  What family I’d had was gone, and the one we’d built among us four was breaking apart. Wherever Neve and Caitriona began their search, I knew I couldn’t follow them. Not yet.

  For now, a different fate awaited me.

  My gaze drifted back toward the empty staircase, watching for someone who never arrived.

  Three Months Later

  Boston, Massachusetts

  No matter what they say, or how much they lie to themselves, people don’t want the truth.

  They want the story, or that secret wish, already living inside them. Not because they’re in denial, or even delusional, but when it’s too hard to believe yourself, there’s comfort in hearing someone else promise things will get better. That your pain wasn’t for nothing. That the potential in you will bloom. That your heart will heal.

  The tinny wind chimes coming through my cell phone’s speaker faded into a dreamy melody. A battery-powered candle dimmed and flickered, warning that it was almost out of juice. After another six-hour shift slinging tarot cards for tourists at the Mystic Maven, I was just about there as well.

  I brought Myrtle’s beaded shawl up around my shoulders again, watching my client closely as he studied the cards spread in front of him with an increasingly distressed look.

  Franklin, the red-haired college student who worked at the Stop&Shop market down the street from my apartment, had become a repeat customer in the last three months. It was hard not to feel increasingly distressed myself every time he appeared in the appointment book.

  The two of us were locked in a seemingly endless cycle of the same questions, in the same dark, cramped room, with the same crystals collecting dust on the shelves around us. And while I appreciated being able to pay my electric bill, it was getting harder and harder to keep the charade up. The sight of his freckled face tonight had drawn a long sigh out of me I hadn’t bothered to hide.

  He ran his hands through his riot of curly hair with a low sound of frustration, then jabbed a pale, freckled finger at one of the cards.

  “Aw, man,” he began miserably. “The Devil card again? What does it mean this time? Is it her? No, it’s the other guy, isn’t it?”

  The Devil was in the position of external influences, and he was there to tell Franklin for the dozenth time that he had some bad patterns of codependency and other toxic traits in his former relationship that weren’t worth fixing. Olivia, his ex, had seemingly figured that out months ago and was now happy in a new relationship.

  I’d been very careful to avoid telling him any of that, both because there was no actual divine force channeling a message for him through me and a deck of cards, and because, apparently, I no longer had the heart to crush anyone’s spirit.

  “The Devil usually shows up when there’s a need to break with bad habits or temptation,” I began, watching the line of his lips tighten. I eased into a lighter, supportive tone. “What does that mean to you?”

  The digital timer next to me beeped as his hour ran out. I switched it off, then leaned back over the table, trying to catch his eye.

  “Does that…resonate with you at all?” I asked him, watching the pain flicker over his face.

  Just as I’d suspected, he already knew all of this; the questions he asked over and over, about when he and Olivia would get back together, about what she saw in her new partner—all of them were secondary to the question he was too afraid to ask.

  I ignored the meaning of the rest of the cards—and really, Franklin seemed to have a knack for picking the most disastrous ones—and waved a hand over them. “Do you know what these cards say to me, Frankie—can I call you Frankie?”

  “Erm—yes?” He leaned forward over the table too, as if expecting me to whisper it in his ear.

  “They say that you are a wonderful person who is loved by many in your life,” I told him. “They say that she didn’t break up with you because you aren’t lovable, or because you’re bad in any way. It just wasn’t a good match for either of you, and she cared enough to let you go to find happiness with someone else.”

  His lips quivered as he pressed them together. When he sniffed, rubbing the back of his hand over his nose, I knew the arrow had struck true.

  A single tear slipped past his defenses, then another.

  Oh no, I thought, panic flaring in me. Unsure of what to do as the minutes ticked on, filled with his quiet crying, I reached over and patted him on the head, dying a little inside.

  “No…you’re…okay.” Where was Neve when I needed her? “So…be okay. Okay?”

  He cleared his throat again, his face pink with the effort to leash his emotions after they’d already escaped.

  “They also say that when things don’t work out, it’s usually because there’s something—in this case, someone—better waiting for you,” I told him. “And they want you to release the dream of what could have been, so you’re ready for what’s ahead.”

  “They really…” His voice squeaked with emotion, forcing him to clear his throat to lower it. “They really say that?”

  No.

  “Yes,” I told him. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask them?”

  He shook his head, rising slowly from his chair opposite me. He was still silent as he retrieved his schoolbag, but he looked calmer now, at least. “Thanks, Tamsin.”

  “No problem,” I said, picking up the big, floppy appointment book. “Same time next week…?”

  “Maybe…I might have to work?” he said, even though both of us knew he didn’t work on Wednesdays.

  “Okay,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face. There went my one regular. “Just text to let me know.”

  I waited until he was down the rickety stairs and the front door slammed shut before resting my forehead on the table with a sigh. I felt with my hand along the table, fumbling for my phone to turn off the music.

  I needed to start locking up for the day, but the weariness that had been building over the hours—over the last three months—held me there.

  The Moon card stared up at me from the floor, where I’d intentionally dropped it earlier. Mocking, almost.

  Really, what was the point of going back to the empty apartment? Cabell was gone, locked in a prison of his choosing. Neve and Caitriona were off in Paris, following a lead on Neve’s mom, and they wouldn’t be home for another few days. I’d quickly worn out my welcome visiting Olwen at the pub using the Vein Neve had set up in the apartment. The Bonecutter had advanced me the money I needed to pay off what I owed in back rent and then some, for future finder’s work, just to get me to leave.

  I took on as many shifts as I could slinging tarot. It kept me busy, and if there was only one thing I was damn sure of now, it was that my friends would have a real home to return to whenever they needed it.

  I drew in a deep breath, still surprised to find it brimming with tangy spices, rather than the stench of dead sea animals. Lobster Larry’s hadn’t survived my time in Avalon, but rather than another seafood restaurant, a taco joint had taken its place. It was strangely reassuring in a way—almost like, if that pattern could be broken, maybe they all could.

  Franklin’s.

  Mine.

  But as it turned out, three months was just enough time to start to lose hope.

  Twenty days into March, with the air shedding some of its iciness and the city coming out of hibernation, I was finally starting to accept that the coin hadn’t worked. That I’d done something fatally wrong, or missed some unknown element of the spell.

  I hadn’t tried to go back to the Council of Sistren because I couldn’t figure out a way to check on the coin without the sorceresses finding out about it. And somehow I just knew they’d be about as excited to see me as I was to see them.

  It’s all right, I thought. There’s the library. The cats.

  I’d assigned myself the project of helping Librarian go through the remains of the library, repairing the structure and sorting through what was left of the collection. Some of the other members of my guild, the ones who hadn’t fallen in with Endymion and the Wild Hunt, had begun to help too, and for the first time, I’d felt myself warm to them, and them to me. But others had simply transferred their membership to another guild, leaving the tragedy behind in a way I never could.

  Come on, I told myself. Time to go home.

  I glanced at my phone’s screen again, just to be doubly sure I hadn’t missed a message from Neve. But no. The last one on the thread included a selfie of the two of them in the Jardin des Tuileries. Neve was beaming with happiness, but Caitriona’s expression made me laugh each time I saw it—slightly bewildered at what the sorceress was doing with the phone, but enthusiastically trying to please her.

  “I hear you take walk-ins?”

  The phone slipped from my hand, banging down onto the table. My heart followed, dropping inside my chest with such swiftness, my breath came out as a faint gasp.

  He straightened from where he’d been leaning in the doorway, running a hand through his mussed chestnut hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it. He wore jeans and a simple forest-green sweater. As he sat in the vacant chair, the wool of his coat breathed out a bit of the cold still clinging to it, and I was momentarily overcome by the smell of greenery and pine. His mismatched eyes glinted playfully.

  “How does this work?” Emrys asked, examining the Celtic Cross I’d done for Franklin. He reached over to spread out the remaining stack of cards. “Should I just pick a few?”

  Exhilaration was sparking beneath my skin until it felt like I was floating.

  When I could trust my voice, I said, “Pick three.”

  He’s here. The words sang in my mind, the sweetest of songs. He’s here.

  “Hmmm…,” he deliberated, stroking his clean-shaven chin. The scar there was gone. “Let’s do this one, and this—and yeah, I like this one.”

  He rested an elbow on the table, and his chin on his palm, watching me with a soft smile. “So tell me, Mystic Maven Bird, what does Fate have in store for me?”

  His past, present, and future were laid out between us, waiting to be told. My jaw worked as I swallowed, fighting to hold back the emotion rising in me. The loneliness. The fear. Hope.

  I picked up the first card. “The Hanged Man. It can denote a sacrifice, but also a wait for something that you…that you desire. Perhaps you took your sweet time arriving at your destination?”

  “Well, I suppose that’s true, but good things take time, don’t they?” he said reasonably. “Say, for example, you spring up from the herb garden of a powerful council of sorceresses, naked as the day you were born. There’d be a lot of questions to answer, wouldn’t there? And that’s even before you find your mother there, being healed.”

  My pulse skipped again. I’d contacted the Mage Robin about Cerys Dye to see if there was a way to help her.

  “The Fool,” I said, picking up the second card.

  “I probably deserve that, don’t I?” he mused.

  “The cards don’t lie,” I told him pointedly. “But here it means you’re presently being offered a new beginning. That you’ve reached the start of a journey.”

  His left hand stroked mine, making the card tremble in my grip. His fingers brushed down over my wrist, then back again, tracing patterns in my skin. The warmth of his touch sent sparks racing along my spine. There was a heavy tug low in my belly, urging me to lean closer to him.

  “What about this one?” he said, holding up the third card with a little smirk. His brows rose. “I like this one.”

  The Lovers.

  I closed my eyes, unable to stop the heat and pressure building there. My chest felt like it was cracking open with relief. With happiness. I hated that I was crying, that I couldn’t find the right words to tell him any of it yet.

  “What took you so long?” I whispered.

  His hands cupped my face, his skin soft and new as he thumbed away the tears spilling onto my cheeks. “Every seedling needs a little time to grow.”

  He pulled back a moment, casting a frustrated look at the table between us, and stood. I rose on trembling legs, feeling as if my blood had turned to champagne. His eyes were full of laughter and hunger as he came to stand in front of me.

  Sliding his hands back through my hair, he leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine. I released a soft, shuddering breath as he said, “But to tell you the truth, Bird, I’ve never been a particularly patient person, and I may die a third time if you make me wait another second to kiss you.”

  “Well.” I angled my face up, letting my lips ghost over his smiling ones. My hands slid around his back, feeling his muscles jump everywhere I touched. “Wouldn’t want that. I’m fresh out of coins.”

  His head slanted over mine, and nothing else existed beyond that kiss—the desperation of it devoured everything other than the sensation of his body pressing against mine. He kissed as if he’d been starved for my touch, as if he could feel my own soul stirring with the joy of being near his again.

  For all the changes of his new body, for the brightness that had returned to his eyes, this was the same. The firm, soft press of his mouth against mine, that thrilling push and pull between us. I could feel it then, the way our fates were weaving together again.

  I bumped back into the table, sending the cards scattering to the floor. The kiss slowed, deepened, as if he was luxuriating in it. His fingers curled in the loose strands of my hair, cradling my head like I was a sacred treasure.

  I needed to feel more of him—I needed the reassurance that this wasn’t some cruel dream that could be torn away from me again. My hands skimmed over his chest, until they found the beautiful sensation of his heart racing beneath his skin.

  Only then did I pull away, my lungs burning for the air that suddenly felt secondary to everything but him. I looked up to find him watching me in return. There were no shadows in his eyes now. No secrets left between us.

  “Let’s go home,” I told him, breathless.

  He smiled, pressing his cheek to mine, and nodded.