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“There’s something I should have told you,” I say. “I found out right before the ball and then, well, you understand why I forgot.”

He waits, though I can tell his patience is being tested.

“You can only cross once,” I say. “The resurrection. The Bone Saints permit one return, for any given person, and that’s it. If you die again—” I stop. “I can’t bring you back. There is no second crossing. Sable told me that last night, right when she told me she was a witch and could see our tether.”

The ferry slices through the water, rocking on the waves. The captain keeps his eyes forward with the focused attention of a man who is definitely not listening.

Baz is quiet for long enough that I look at him.

He’s looking at the horizon, his hands on the railing, thinking.

“The one crossing,” he eventually says. “You didn’t know about it when you brought me back.”

“Well, no. I didn’t really know anything, really.”

“So you raised me from the dead without knowing it was permanent.”

“Yes.”

He’s quiet again for a moment. “Then I’m lucky I had one life to spare.” He gives me a quick smile. “We’ll just have to be careful.”

“Extremely careful,” I say.

“I always am,” he says and I nearly laugh, because Baz is the opposite of that and I love him anyway.

Oh.

Oh goodness.

Did I really just think that?

I must still be rattled from the events of last night.

Yes, that must be it.

He looks at me as if he heard my thoughts and I quickly turn away, my cheeks burning, and turn my attention to the sight in front of me as the ferry moves through the water and the islands ahead are closer now, the line resolving into the familiar shapes of home.

The ferry docks at Bracken Cove as the sky is going from black to grey, the plum-red fading at the edges with the coming of morning, and the captain looks all too eager to get us off his boat. The village is quiet at this hour, everyone still sleeping and all the shops shuttered. Our footsteps on the dock are the loudest thing.

Baz looks at everything like it’s a novelty. His amber eyes move across the cove, over the fishing boats, the low stone buildings with their dark windows, the smell of salt and cold and the particular damp green smell of the islands in late autumn. He looks fascinated for some reason, and also deeply pleased.

“I can see why you miss it,” he says.

“It’s not much but it’s home.”

“It’s a great deal, actually.” He looks up at the hills behind the village, at the dark tree line and the remaining yellow, orange, and red leaves hanging off the branches. “I could imagine settling somewhere like this. When things are…after.” He glances at me and while his expression is serious at first, a wicked smile twists his lips. “I’ve heard island witches are wild.”

The butterflies in my stomach are entirely inappropriate given everything we’ve survived in the last twelve hours, but I feel them anyway.

“You’ve heard correctly,” I tell him, and start up the path.

The cottage on Harrow Lane appears through the trees with the stone wall first, then the gate, then the slate roof and the dark windows and the herb bed at the front that Gibson has been keeping better than I ever did. Smoke comes up from the chimney, which is curious at this hour, as is the lamp in the kitchen window. I suppose she’s up early.

Gibson opens the door before we reach it and stares at us in surprise.

“Saturna,” he says. He looks at me and then to Baz. “I…I didn’t expect to see you. Certainly not this early. You never told me you were coming.”

I frown at him. “Is that a problem? It was an impromptu thing. Why, is my mother in a state?”