“Earth dwellers, holders of secrets, truth tellers, wise and worthy ones, we honor your presence,” he said. He turned inward and placed the stone carefully on the grass.

“Now. Sorcha,” said Conor quietly. I looked up at the mighty trees, stretching before me into the east. A lark burst into song high overhead, and Padriac, standing next to me, grinned with pure pleasure at the sound. The lightening sky showed dawn was upon us, though the forest masked the exact moment of the sun’s rising.

The knife was in my hands, and flowers about my feet. “Sylphs of the forest,” I whispered. “Spirits of oak, beech, and ash, dryads of rowan and hazel, hear us. You who have guided and guarded our every footstep, you whose canopy has sheltered our growth, we honor you. Lady of the Forest, Lady of the blue cloak, hear me now. Come to us in our time of need, come to us in our time of darkness. Come to us if you will.”

I lowered the knife, turning to complete the circle. Birdsong rippled around the clearing, filling the air with fluting sound. Around our feet, and over the lake surface, the mist began to dissipate with the rising sun. We stood silent, our heads bowed. The circle must not be broken. We waited as the sky turned from gray to blue, and the shine of the lake waters broke through the trailing tendrils of vapor.

And then she came. It was as if she had been with us all the time, a slight hooded figure standing alone just where the rim of the lake touched the sand; and behind her, a low dark boat drawn up next to the other. She had heard me, and she had come. She took a step across the shore toward us, and another. The curling mist clung about her skirts. But something was wrong. Linn gave a growl, deep in her throat. And then, a sudden, silent flash of warning from Finbar, from Conor.

Run, Sorcha, run!

The forest. Now. Run!

I saw the first predatory fingers of mist stretch out and writhe around my brothers’ bodies, holding them fast, and then reach out toward me where I stood on the far side of the tree, and then I saw her eyes, dark mulberry under winged brows, and the curl of auburn hair under the deep hood. She raised a white hand to slip back the covering from her head, and triumph was written bold on the lady Oonagh’s delicate features. I turned and fled, terror giving wings to my feet, over stone and boulder, scrabbling through mud and gravel, up, up the hill until the forest hid me in its still shadows. Ahead of me ran Linn, tail between her legs.

When I had gone as far as I could, I scrambled up into a great oak tree that cradled me in its massive limbs as I fought to get my breath back and still my pounding heart. Linn cowered in the undergrowth, giving tiny whimpers of unease. I had no need to see the lakeshore, for I could see through Finbar’s eyes, feeling with my brother, moment by cruel moment, the inevitable unfolding of the story.