Cold. Everything was so very, very cold. Marcus clutched his scabby knees, willing the mists to go away. They’d taken Evan-and they kept coming back for him.
He cowered under his bed, watching mist-laden fingers crawling toward his toes. If you screamed, they just came faster.
And somewhere in the distance-laughter. The mists knew he was weak.
Maybe it was time to let them eat him. Just like they’d eaten Evan.
And then the cold touched his toes and the pain hurtled Marcus out of his ball of fear.
You can’t have me!
Desperate now, he pulled magic into his puny hands. Water power just made the mists grow, so it was air he pulled. He’d been practicing, every hour of every day. Maybe tonight, it would finally be enough.
For one moment of terrible hope, the mists hesitated.
And then he knew, just like he always did. He wasn’t strong enough. Marcus lunged out of his bed, howling at the mists and the cold and the awful noise ringing in his ears.
And realized it wasn’t his bed, he wasn’t five-and the child in his arms was ice cold.
Morgan! He pushed for her mind, as hard as he dared. MORGAN!
Her whimper cut through the shrilling alarm, the cold, and the icy fear in his heart. She wasn’t gone. The mists hadn’t taken her. He could feel her now, drowsy, unhappy, and oh, so cold.
With a clenched fist, he waved off the monitoring spell’s red alert. It had done its job.
Lurching to the door, he sucked in great, gulping swallows of night air. No mists in sight-just a day-bright moon. Clutching Morgan to his chest, he ran under its cool light. He needed a healer. Now.
Moira added one last cornflower to Lizzie’s wreath. Perfect. Just right for a little girl’s first moon dance. “Try it on, sweetheart.” She lifted it up-and realized she was about to crown thin air.
Lizzie was flying toward the garden gate, calling power as she ran. Sophie was three steps ahead of her.
The madman charging in nearly trampled them both.
Marcus.
Blessed Mother.
“I need a healer.” It was his voice, ravaged beyond all recognition, that got her knees moving again.
But it was Sophie who caught him first. “We’re here, Marcus. We’re all here. Let me touch her.” Gentle hands reached for the baby he clutched to his chest.
Moira stepped forward. Morgan wasn’t their only patient. Marcus was as close to catatonic shock as she’d ever seen in a man still standing. “Bring him inside. Now. We can tend to the child there.” She tucked a hand under his arm-and discovered what it was to try to move a mountain.
It was Lizzie that got his feet moving. “Just one step at a time, Uncle Marcus. It’s nice and warm inside. Morgan needs us to warm her up a little. Take a step for me, now.”
A few lurching paces more and they had Marcus on her ample couch, Lizzie still clutching his hand. Ginia squeezed Moira’s hand and dashed for the door, in search of warm milk. Bless Elorie’s ample supply.
Sophie was bent over the baby, working around the two arms of steel that refused to let Morgan go. Already her skin was pinking up nicely. “Just cold, aren’t you, sweet girl. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
It was Marcus who had Moira scared. His skin was the terrible gray of a man two days dead.
Sophie laid a hand on Morgan’s head one last time, and then moved on to her next patient. Carefully, she set up a healing aura-and Moira smiled in impressed approval as she looped in both the baby and young Lizzie. Healers learned to find power in unexpected places.
Her eyes glanced over at Moira, and lit with humor. “We could use that, too.”
Moira looked down and realized she still clutched Lizzie’s wreath-bedecked in magic-soaked cornflowers. Hands shaking like spring petals in a stiff wind, she stretched it out to her nephew’s head. A gift of moondust and love.
Lizzie grinned up at him. “You look really lovely tonight, Uncle Marcus.”
The ghostly smile that cracked his face was the most beautiful sight Moira had seen in a very long time.
Their smallest healer touched his cheek-and began to sing.
“The moon shines bright, the baby sleeps
A warm and happy dream in creeps-”
Moira tried not to laugh. The little imp was trying to cast a sleep spell, and a very sneaky one, too. “Not just yet, sweetheart. Sophie needs a little more time to work, and we need to ask Marcus a few questions.”
Lizzie frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? He seems awfully tired.”
Moira nodded in approval. It was good for healers to ask questions. “He needs sleep, lovely girl-but he also needs for us to help him keep Morgan safe. And perhaps you can get him to drink a nice cup of tea, too.” One laced with a few things her nephew hopefully wouldn’t recognize.
I’m smart enough not to drink healer tea.
The mindvoice was raspy, like it hadn’t been used in a decade-but it warmed the very cockles of Moira’s heart. “You’ll drink what we give you. When you’ve a wee one depending on you, you can’t act like a difficult child.”
Sparks flashed in Marcus’s eyes, and something approaching healthy color flooded his cheeks. Sophie grinned and kept her head down, quietly healing while he was otherwise distracted.
Ah, it was good to be useful. Moira eyed her nephew. “Lizzie, if he gets at all disagreeable, fetch me that bottle of stinking-lily tincture.” It actually tasted rather mild, but no one ever doubted the name.
“I’m not your patient.” He scowled down at the child in his arms. “She is.”
One tiny foot kicked in apparent disagreement.
Moira had to agree with the babe-at the moment, her keeper looked the far worse for wear. She looked up as Ginia skated into the room, bottle in her hand. “Well, this ought to fix up anything else that ails her.”
Marcus held out the child, his arms still shaking like leaves.
Ginia, healer instincts far wiser than her years, simply handed him the bottle.
Moira knew better than to cheer out loud when he took it. She listened for the first sounds of suckling, and then touched his arm gently. There were things they needed to know before his strength gave out entirely. “Tell us what happened.”
“I don’t have any damn idea.”
She wondered if he had any clue how much fear and denial oozed out the cracks in his voice. “Just tell us what you know.”
“She was cold. I woke up, and she was a block of ice.”
Sophie leaned over and brushed Morgan’s forehead. “Has it happened before?”
Moira saw “no” die on Marcus’s lips. “Perhaps once. We were sleeping in the chair in my living room the first night she arrived. I thought I’d simply been incompetent and not dressed her warmly enough.”
His eyes dared them to push him any further.
Moira had never been afraid to take a dare. “Out with it, Marcus Grimald Buchanan. All of it. Help us keep her safe.”
He gazed down at the baby, happily gorging in his arms. And squeezed his eyes shut. “The mists. I dreamed of the mists tonight.”
Her heart tore in two at his pain. She nodded at Lizzie. It was time for him to sleep.
Moira reached for the baby in his arms. “I’ll rock her a while.” She waited for her nephew’s glazed eyes to look up. The terrible power of astral travel had returned in Fisher’s Cove-and she had something to say. Words forty-three years in the making.
“She’ll be safe for tonight. The mists will not get past me twice.”
Sophie looked over at the adorable pile of snoring man and six-year-old healer, and got up to slide a pillow under Lizzie’s head.
“She did the work of a full-grown healer tonight,” said Moira softly, rocking. “You’ve done beautifully with her training. Ginia’s as well.”