It took her a moment to realize that the snort and the statement were unconnected. “Probably Allie,” she muttered digging it out of her pocket, “figuring she’d given me enough space. Or Auntie Gwen having spoken to Joe or . . .”

“I want to see my grandchildren.”

“Auntie Mary?”

“Did you hear what I said, Charlotte?”

“I did. Don’t you think that’s a bit risky, considering there’s barely a week before ritual?” With David anchoring first circle, it would be safest for all concerned if Auntie Mary stayed half a continent away from her only son until there was a lot less horn in the mix.

“Don’t talk to me about risk, Charlotte. If the world’s going to end . . .”

“I guarantee it’s not going to end before ritual.”

“And do you guarantee that I’ll be able to travel after ritual? After what Jane has planned for this ritual?”

Charlie spent a moment wondering what Auntie Jane had planned, then decided she didn’t want to know.

“Actually . . .” Auntie Mary sounded distinctly triumphant. “. . . can you guarantee you’ll be able to travel after ritual?”

Really, really didn’t want to know.

*   *   *

Once in the Wood, it wasn’t hard for Charlie to tease Auntie Mary’s song out of the aunties’ chorus; it still held much of the old familiar melody and a measure or two that reminded her of Allie. Once, there’d been measures that reminded her of David, but not anymore. Any tie David still had to his mother would not be maternal.

Charlie was a little surprised to step out of the Wood into the old orchard and see Auntie Mary beckoning to her from the porch. She’d expected a quick turnaround before Auntie Jane had a chance to point out, at length, what a bad idea this was.

“Auntie Ruby’s asking for you. I told her I was going,” she added as Charlie reached the house, “in case she had a message to pass on to Allie or the boys.”

“And she asked for me?”

“It was the most coherent she’s been for about five days.”

Auntie Ruby’s bedroom was on the first floor, in one of the earliest additions to the old farmhouse. The walls were a yellow so bright even October couldn’t dim them, rag rugs covered most of the exposed linoleum floor, and an ancient quilt did what it could to hide the entirely practical hospital bed. She had her own small bathroom and a low wide window that looked over the east flowerbeds where the asters remained untouched by frost and provided drifts of color shading from white to deep purple. When Auntie Ruby finally died, another elderly auntie would inherit both the space and the care that came with it.