A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,79

the pool, chin propped on her knees. Thinking. And still not entirely convinced.

But Sophie also saw what she had most hoped for.

A witch no longer entirely afraid. And, perhaps, a friend no longer stuck.

"Music has always been the core of me." Quiet words, spoken into rippling waters. "I don't know what happens if I let that go."

The healer had no good answer for that. But the mother did. "So don't let it go." She waited for Cass's eyes to meet hers. "I don't love my husband any less because I love my son. The core of who we are can grow."

Cass set her head back down on her knees again, staring at the rippling waters.

A seed. Waiting.

It hadn't been a soothing visit to Moira's pool - but it had been a sleep-inducing one.

Cass slid farther down the inn's most comfortable couch and tugged the throw up under her chin, quite certain she wasn't the first person to be tempted into a nap in its cozy depths.

So many things to think about. Later.

Gentle sounds bubbled in the room, much as they had when she'd napped on Nan's daybed as a little girl. Moira and Lizzie sat at the table, huddled in quiet conversation over several jars of crumbly green herbs. Aaron did the accounts for the inn, keeping an eye on his twins over in the corner.

Sean sat with them, constructing an endless, looping train track and patiently rebuilding what the babies destroyed.

Cass opened her eyes all the way. There had been three babies with Sean just a moment ago.

Small hands tugged on the edge of her blanket.

Ah. Baby number three. Cass smiled at the roaming girl, noting her surprisingly droopy eyes. "Tired, are you, lovey?" In her current state, Cass had no trouble understanding that. "Want to come cuddle with me?"

Morgan held up her arms and waited for an assist.

That required more energy than Cass had planned to expend on the way to sleep, but she finally got the two of them settled, Morgan a comfortably heavy weight on her chest and already well on the way to dreamland.

The sound of the rocks humming contentedly in her ears, Cass pulled up the hand-knit blanket one more time and closed her eyes.

Morgan's quiet whiffling was adorable.

Or perhaps she was already dreaming.

Marcus had no idea how parents survived without mind magic. Even on a good day, he lost Morgan somewhere in the bowels of Fisher's Cove at least once.

A problem made larger by the number of people willing to let her in their doors, and a child who would toddle anywhere for a cookie and a hug.

He'd left her playing in Moira's house long enough to go help Uncle Billy carry a new net down to his boat and had since tracked her whereabouts through half the village.

However, he had her now. He'd been strolling past the inn when he'd caught the edge of a sleepy little mental sigh - the ones she made as she stirred in her crib just before rolling over and settling back in. Probably curled up in the parlor again. She was like a cat, always headed for the nice, warm fire.

Her mind was melting back into incoherence. Sound asleep again.

He closed the inn door gently. Not that it mattered - his girl slept through earthquakes, sword fights, and home invasions on a regular basis.

Lizzie spied him first, grinning from the table where she sat with Moira. Herbal studies. It always amused him that Lizzie could recite the properties of hundreds of green things, but wouldn't eat a single one of them.

Aaron was scowling at his computer, which could only mean it was time to do the inn's books again. The results were always good, but getting to them generally caused considerable pain.

Aaron's twins played in the corner, happily deconstructing a train track. The track's chief engineer had his head on a pillow, eyes drooping.

Marcus shook his head - it was a strange day indeed when Sean O'Reilly was about to take a nap.

Morgan must be on the couch.

Marcus moved forward, angling around the end of the biggest piece of furniture in the room.

And felt his heart stutter.

His daughter was asleep - curled up in the arms of the woman who shared her riotous curls, love of daffodils, and utter disregard for his bad moods.

They looked as though they belonged together. Possibility caught fire in his gut.

He reached out a link to Cass's mind. Needing. Wanting.

And crashed headfirst into her dream. A stage. A bright and glittery