A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,88

have a visitor by dinnertime.

She sighed, a tinge of sad sharpening the happiness, as it should. She'd still miss her small girl and her nephew and the lovely Irish witch they'd found. And she'd miss watching Marcus's face. Somewhere on that bus ride, he was going to finish the transformation into a man who lived a largely happy life.

Nan turned to the healer beside her. "And how is your wee boy doing?"

Just another of the happinesses cradled in Moira's heart. The village had been quietly abuzz for days. Dreams, vivid ones. Of music. And rocks. Her own had been of a planet's gorgeous lullaby.

But none had been more touched than their lovely, uncomfortable boy.

"He sleeps." Sophie's quiet words were drenched in gratitude. "And if he wakes, Mike sings a bit and he goes back to sleep. And he's happy."

The last Moira had seen for herself - and it warmed her to the very cockles. No one knew yet if it would stick. But it had lasted some - and his guide would be back soon enough, ready to learn more of her own powers.

It wasn't only the woman coming back to Fisher's Cove.

The witch had also chosen. She had said little - but the bus also contained half of Moira's books on healing and the old Irish clans. Set right next to a motley collection of Nova Scotia beach rocks that Cass guarded far more carefully than her million-dollar violin.

Moira grinned. They'd learned that little tidbit when Tommy had arrived and discovered Morgan holding Rosie in her lap. They'd also learned a little something of Cassidy Farrell's temper. Morgan would hold Rosie any time she wanted. It had been decreed.

The bus ride would go just fine.

Marcus moved through the crowd, Morgan in his arms, still looking gobsmacked. Moira shed a tear - it was only right.

But oh, how happy she was with what she saw. A man with surprisingly firm roots, healed enough to fly. And the woman beside him, finally daring to put down some roots of her own. Cass would be very good for Marcus - her wings were strong and tested.

And Morgan, sweet, smart girl that she was, would delight in them both.

The trio had been very quiet about the future, talking only of the journey of the next few weeks. But Marcus, bemused though he was, had given Aaron a set of detailed renovation plans.

And it had escaped no one's notice that they included a music studio.

"We should go say goodbye," said Sophie softly.

"A moment, first." Moira set her feet in Fisher's Cove soil and pulled the remaining trickles of power that were hers to call. And smiled as Sophie's much more capable magic and Nan's wise and sturdy offering joined in.

A blessing for the road. For clear skies.

For joy.

And for the travelers' safe return home.

Soon, he'd have to let her go. Marcus sat on the bus and held Cass close, breathing in the shape and smell and vibrant life of her.

In the chaos of the last few days, holding her had become his anchor.

Her fingers laced through his. Joining. Belonging.

So many things felt awkward yet. But this wasn't one of them. Gently, he tilted up her chin and kissed first one cheek, then the next. "It's time to go."

Her smile lit up things he hadn't known were dark. "Yes."

He let her go with no small regret and reached out to buckle his very inquisitive daughter into her car seat.

Cass settled into the seat beside Morgan and strapped herself in. "Ready to go see the world, sweet girl?"

Marcus felt the uncomfortable squirming of a wrong not yet made right.

"I'm sorry." He waited until she looked up, curious. And then had no idea what to say. He felt the engine of the bus rumbling to life underneath them. "The Gaelic you call her..."

"Ah." Understanding hit green eyes. "Moira is right - it's just an expression." She looked back down at Morgan and smiled. "'Sweet girl' works just fine, doesn't it, love?"

"I heard your grandmother use it. The Gaelic." Marcus swallowed - it was still hell on his equilibrium to be so open. "And your mind sings when you hear it."

"Yes." A tinge of caution now.

He wanted to banish her wariness to the dark side of the moon. "I'm old and cranky and set in my ways. And I don't love easily."

Her eyes danced, amused. She knew. And she would wait for him to find the damnable words.

He looked down at his lap, cheeks flaming. "I don't love