“I’ve much to tell you,” Bellatrix said, biting her lip and laughing. A look of mischief transformed her features so that she seemed very young, as indeed she had been when she’d died. Remembering the terrible despair she had seen so recently on that same face, Magpie was nearly overcome with a wave of emotion to think that she had played a part in Bellatrix’s happiness and Kipepeo’s freedom. Joy was bright in their eyes, and Magpie smiled, feeling warm and calm.

“Dreamdark is eager for your return, Magpie,” said Bellatrix. “The new temple is begun and many have come from afar who are eager to see you.”

Magpie knew of the temple from the luminous dreams the Magruwen sent her. She’d seen a tent camp and cook fires and faeries of every shade from golden to ebony to snow, gathered together to work. She’d glimpsed Poppy, laughing and alive, and Maniac, as grim and fierce as ever. Indeed, all her crows were mighty grim, and now that she was awake, Magpie felt a deep pang of yearning for her clan, both her feathered family and her parents and grandmother, and the West Wind too. And, she realized when a tracery spinning in her vision turned out to be not a glyph but a tattoo, for Talon.

It was time to return to the world of light.

She parted fondly from Bellatrix and Kipepeo at the doorway to her dreaming place, and Fade carried her on the top of his head back across the canyon. Sitting in the same hollow at the ridge of his brow where once Bellatrix had knelt to tell Fade the stories that would bring Magpie into being, she had her first glimpse of the seraphim. Beings of the air, they seemed formed of fluid crystal, each with a brilliant spark at its core. They were singing, and it was the most glorious sound Magpie had ever heard.

“Mags!” gasped Pup, choking on a smoke ring. “Mags!” he croaked and, still coughing, tackled her where she’d appeared. She hit the ground and rolled with him, completely enveloped in feathers. She couldn’t see and could scarcely hear or breathe but she knew when the other crows came hooting and cawing and jumped on Pup. She felt like a sprout’s dearest doll, the one that ends up with its button eyes wallowed off by love.

“Crows!” she gasped. “Please!”

When at last they let her breathe again she staggered to her feet and flung her arms around Maniac’s neck and didn’t let go for minutes. “I love you, blackbird,” she said quietly into his feathers.

“Ach, Mags,” he grumbled, patting her with his feathertips. “’Tis awful fine to see ye too.”