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Oblivious to the shock on my face, Peggy plopped the bags on the bed and started doing a fair impression of Mary Poppins pulling things out of her carpetbag. After taking out a large and a small frying pan, a wooden spoon and spatula, and a few mismatched plates, bowls, and mugs from one bag, she upended the second one on the bed. A bunch of fabric tumbled out, and she pounced on a set of neatly bundled sheets, the pattern too faded to properly make out.

I sat down with a thump on the bed, my eyes wide with wonder.

“Peggy! What is all this?”

“Just a few bits and bobs we thought ye could use until yer things arrive. Nothing much. Dinna fash yerself,” she admonished gently, tossing the kitchen items back into their bag. “Noo, let’s see tae this bed, aye?”

She shoved everything made of terry cloth back into the bag, spinning to toss something large, fluffy, and white into the imposing solid wood armoire that took up most of the bedroom’s back wall. Placing the bag of kitchen things and the third bag next to the door without revealing what it contained, she shook her head with a gentle chiding noise when I glanced at it. “All in good time. Bed first, aye?” she said, tipping her head at the bed.

Grinning, I went around to the other side of the bed and grabbed the corner of the sheet she held out.

“Remind me to take ye to Creag nan Ròn one day. Ye’ll love it.”

“Craig nuh rown?” I asked, as I tucked the fitted sheet around the top corner of the mattress.

Peggy chuckled at the way my American tongue tripped over the words, garbling the pronunciation.

“Creag nan Ròn. Seals’ Craig,” she translated. “A wee outcropping of rocks near the harbor. Local legend claims that selkie women who’d lost their sealskins or had them stolen from them were drawn to that stretch of rocky shore.” Peggy paused to see if I knew what she was talking about. I’d heard about the selkies, seals who could remove their skins to take human form, but I’d forgotten the details of the legend.

“Selkies are the ones who can’t go back to the sea without their skins, right?” I asked. “So men would steal and hide them to keep the women captive?”

“Aye,” Peggy said, nodding. “Men too, on occasion.” She waggled an eyebrow suggestively and smiled when she got my intended chuckle in response.

“Ye ken? Without their skins, selkies are stripped of their true nature, their real identity,” Peggy said, resuming her tale. “The waters around Banhaven are said tae have a way of returning what has been taken. That’s where the name comes from, aye? Banhaven. Women’s haven. The selkie women arrived by sea or by land, adrift, hollowed out, not quite themselves, drawn to Creag nan Ròn where they found their skins washed up by the sea, or skins they could borrow long enough to find themselves again. They say the craig is where ye go when ye need to remember what ye’re made of.”

“That’s beautiful.” I’d heard of the selkies, but I hadn’t heard of this aspect of their legend. “I’d love to go with you one day.”

The room wasn’t perfect. The wood furniture was beautiful but dated and in dire need of dusting and waxing, and, in the case of one of the matching nightstands, something to make it a little less wobbly before I placed a lamp or a glass of water on it. The only light in the room came from an ancient bulb plugged into a naked socket dangling from the ceiling that reminded me I should have an electrician come inspect the state of the wiring. The room needed a rug and some new curtains, but it was far cozier and more inviting than what I’d thought I’d end up with before Peggy and her magical bags arrived. A few more trips to the various charity shops at the end of the high street, and I’d have the perfect haven to escape to at the end of every day.

“Noo, the rest,” she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

She scooped up the remaining bags and marched out of the bedroom without looking back, as though certain my curiosity wouldn’t allow me to resist following in her wake. Her first stop was the small bathroom, where she dropped off a set of towels along with an assortment of toiletries that she pulled seemingly out of nowhere. Then she made her way to the kitchen as though she’d been in the apartment before, which, I realized as I caught up with her, was likely the case.

Before I could ask her how she was so familiar with the layout, I gasped, spying a little gray cat curled up on the small couch.

“Where did you come from?” I cried.

“Are ye talking tae me?” Peggy called from the kitchen.

“There’s a cat!” I replied, hurrying over to get a closer look. “At least… there was a cat. I think,” I added when I found nothing on the couch where, a moment earlier, I could have sworn I’d seen a fuzzy little gray ball of fluff.

I hadn’t taken my eyes off the couch, so I would have seen it jump off. It simply was there one moment, then gone the next.

“Did ye say a wee moggy was here?” Peggy asked, turning her head to look over at me.

“Well, yes. But apparently, no. I’m not sure what I saw,” I said, joining her in the kitchen.

“Are ye sure ye dinna hae a touch o’ the sight, hen?” Peggy asked, a concerned look in her eye.

“Very,” I replied, ignoring the flutter of anxiety in my belly. I had no magic. It had been proven time and time again. Whatever was happening to me had to be something else. “What’s in the last bag?” I asked, partly out of curiosity, but mostly to change the subject.

She reached into it and gestured imperiously to the fridge, which I opened without further prompting. Almost as quickly as we’d made the bed, we filled the fridge with dairy products and an eclectic mix of condiments and fruits and veggies.

“It’s no’ much, but it’ll do ’til ye can get tae the market, aye?” she explained as she tossed a large box of tea bags, two packets of biscuits, and a few other odds and ends into the cupboard, finishing up by handing me, with a flourish, a well-loved square Quality Street chocolates tin.

When she nodded encouragingly, I pried open the lid and gasped at the assortment of scones and biscuits I found inside.

“A few treats to tide ye over until ye can get to baking yer own,” she said with a cheeky grin. “The scones are the best. Made them masel.”