“Nan’s kitchen,” Iona realized all at once. “I miss her. She’s never done anything but love me, believe in me. She’s been the only one who has for so long. I’m what I am because of Nan.”
Branna glanced at Connor as he came over to sit on Iona’s other side. “A long trip for a first,” she murmured.
“Her heart takes her there.”
“And so will we. Do you see it, Nan’s kitchen, in the fire, in your mind?”
“It’s like yours. I mean feels like yours, not looks like. It’s smaller, and there’s no hearth. I see the walls, they’re like a warm peach and the cabinets are dark, dark brown. There’s an old butcher block table. When I sat with her there, I could tell her anything. She told me what I am, told me about the first dark witch while we sat at that table having tea and cookies—biscuits. Just like now. She keeps herbs on the windowsill, and the blue and green pottery bowl I gave her for her birthday years ago on the table. There were red apples in it the day she told me everything, not just pieces, but all. Shining red apples in the green and blue bowl. Her eyes are like mine, the same color, the same shape. And when they look at me, I believe.”
“Focus on the bowl, the colors of that, the shape of that. Let yourself lift, let yourself go where you want to go. Quiet breaths, quiet mind, quiet purpose. Lift. Float. Fly.”
She lifted, floated as if weightless. The air, the light all pulsed blue—quiet, soothing. And as she felt the first stirring of its power, of hers, she flew.
Fast, free, soaring over green hills misted by blue, over water—blue under blue.
Branna’s voice sounded in her mind. Breathe. Keep your focus.
“It’s amazing! It’s beautiful.” She threw her arms out to the side, laughed with the sheer joy of it.
Hold on now. Nan’s kitchen. See it.
She saw it in her mind, and then, she was simply there. Standing by the old butcher block table, with the blue and green bowl. Lemons and limes today, Iona thought, a bit dizzy.
And there was Nan, stepping in the back door, toeing out of her gardening shoes, taking off the wide-brimmed straw hat.
Small statured, small framed, as Iona was. Trim and pretty in her jeans and light jacket. Her hair, maintained a soft golden red, formed a stylish wedge around her face. Light, discreet makeup. Nan wouldn’t even garden before taking care of the basics.
She started to walk to the fridge, stopped. Then very slowly turned.
Her hand went to her heart, and eyes wide, she let out one short gasp. “Iona! You’re here. Oh, oh, Branna and Connor as well. Oh, look at you, my baby girl. How much you’ve learned already.”
“You can see me.”
“Sure I can see you, you’re standing right there, aren’t you? And so pretty. Sit, sit, all of you, and tell me everything.”
“Can we sit?” Iona wondered.
“There’s enough power in this room to light the next fifty kilometers.” Branna pulled out a chair, sat. “Of course we can sit.”
On a little cry, Iona rushed forward, grabbed Nan in a hug. “I can touch you. I can feel you. I’ve missed you.”
“As I’ve missed you.”
“We can’t stay long this time, cousin.” Branna smiled at them. “It’s a long distance for her first time.”
“The first?” With a laugh, a beam of amazement in her eyes, Nan hugged again. “Oh no, not long then. But long enough to say how proud and happy I am.”
“Will you come? You said you’d come to Ireland.”
“And so I will, when it’s time. I’ll know. You’re happy, but . . . there’s something unhappy.”
“She’s had a . . . disagreement,” Connor decided. “With Boyle.”
“Ah, I see. I’m sorry for it, as I’m well fond of him. If it’s right, it’ll mend.”
“He doesn’t trust me. It’s not important.”
“Of course it is.”