Page 146 of A Legacy of the Light

I smile at her weakly and we sit companionably for a time.

“Are you going to tell Tavish?” Reyne asks after we finish our drinks.

I shake my head.

“Why?”

“It’s . . . complicated. But he can’t know. You can’t tell him. Or ask any more questions beyond that.”

“Okay.”

I know she wants to ask more, but doesn’t, respecting my request.

We stand to leave and she pulls me into another tight embrace. “Thank you for sharing with me. I know that can’t have been easy. I’m proud of you, Elsie.”

There’s nothing to be proud of but I hold her a little closer anyway, grateful for the small, fierce friend that is Reyne Macleod.

◆◆◆

She doesn’t leave my side for the whole weekend after my pantry confession. She sends a note to Eòghann telling him something has come up and she needs to be with me. And while I try to get her to go home, to see him, she refuses.

She insists on staying with me, sleeping on the sofa in the living room, and I love her that little bit more for it.

We stay up late eating junk. Colin sends more tarts with extra ice cream with dinner on Friday, and we tell stories from our childhood. She even coaxes one or two out about Mom. We take a walk through the city on Saturday. Fresh snow falls around us as Seelie busy themselves for the holidays. When I ask Reyne how it’s celebrated in Elfayne, she says it’s an old tradition from the very first Seelie who would give thanks to their old gods. Ancient Seelie worshipped nature, she told me, and around this time of year they gave thanks to the elements for their home and their gifts. Since then, it has taken on more of what the human realm does, and now they give thanks to Dhia on Christmas morning.

I try hard not to focus on the presents and general merriment around me as we stroll through the streets.

We stop at the book store and browse the latest romance novels. She hasn’t tried the genre before and I help her pick one out that she promises I can borrow when she finishes.

Come Sunday evening, I know that telling her was the right thing to do. Opening my feelings just a little has made them seem lighter,and the weight on my shoulders feels easier to bear.

I have to practically shove her out the door after dinner, with a promise that I won’t shut down on her again. That I’m okay and she should go and sleep in her own bed and not on my sofa. That I needed some time alone tonight.

After a tight hug, she finally leaves to go home.

I place another log on the fire and wrap myself in the soft ivory blanket on the sofa, watching the flames dance in the hearth. My eyelids grow heavy and I snuggle into the cushions, content to doze here for a while.

After a few hours, I wake to a dying fire and darkness outside the windows. Clouds cover the moon tonight so little can be seen in the gloom. I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed, using only the light of a lamp beside the bed to guide me.

Sleepily, I stand in front of the mirror and clean my teeth, not paying attention to the room around me. I lean forward to spit into the sink and the Craobh Beatha swings from underneath my sweater. Tendrils of white mist swirl around it as it dangles below my chin.

Confused, I remove it and switch on the light.

The entire bathroom is covered in a fine layer of the magic, hovering about two inches from the ground.

I flip it over in my palm a few times, hoping that will help me figure out what’s going on. As I move across the floor back to the sink, my movement through the mist doesn’t disturb it. It remains perfectly still.

As I approach the wooden unit the sink sits on, the Craobh stops emitting the fine white fog. It pulses gently in my palm and the emerald at its center flashes a pale green.

“What’s going on?” I whisper out loud.

The magic gathered around my ankles starts to shift, forming into a small ball that hovers in front of the cabinet—the one where I normally hide the Craobh when I don’t wear it.

I take a few steps back. The pendant pulses again in my palm and I feel a tug; a gentle pull from my chest back towards the sink, urging me to take the three steps back to the unit.

Sinking to my knees, the cold stone bites through my thin leggings when they meet the ground. The soft green light from the Craobh’s center flashes again and I tentatively open the cupboard.

The ball of mist floats inside, shrinking as it moves further back. It stops above the basket of tampons.