Relief made Hæra’s head dip down. Her heart began beating again. Jonathan did not hate her.

“This mad situation’s carried me back, is all,” he continued. “Last night, I had a dream he was calling me again. I woke up half ready to walk into the ocean. Scared the hell out of me. Then you came home tonight and…” He shook his head. “Never mind that now.”

Hæra felt another chill. Years ago, when her family had tried to kill her, she’d had a vision of Sister Madeleine promising to return to Hæra. Nothing like that had happened since. Hæra had certainly not been able to call Madeleine to her side. She’d never heard of any Each-uisge doing that with their prey. Then again, no Each-uisge had failed with their prey in living memory, nor spent the sort of time that Jonathan and Asgall had together.

“You didn’t tell me about that either,” she said.

Jonathan shrugged. “It was only a dream. I just said I’ve had it off and on for decades. It makes sense, doesn’t it, after all that’s happened?”

She wouldn’t know. Each-uisge didn’t dream. Jonathan did, though. He’d know what was normal and what wasn’t. Other problems loomed larger now.

Hæra didn’t want to hurt Madeleine. She didn’t want to hurt Jonathan. She didn’t want to be found out as inhuman. She didn’t want to return to the ocean and be torn to pieces by her kin, or give herself up to a witch.

She stood, feeling heavier than she had the first time she’d stepped on land, dragging Sister Madeleine’s unconscious body with her. “I’m going out to the barn. Perhaps we can talk more later.”

Jonathan nodded, and Hæra glanced toward the computer monitor he’d been staring at for so long.

The power wasn’t on. She could see nothing but the two of them, their shapes reflected and distorted in the darkened screen.

There would be no whale mating songs for her tonight. Nor self-pleasure or any other rewarding thing.

It was after midnight. Jonathan was long abed, but Hæra couldn’t rest. Not after the events of today. She leaned against her bedroom windowsill. Her breath fogged the glass as she glared at the dark pasture outside. The farm: her gift to Jonathan.

So far, her only legacy.

She could imagine what her family would say to that—even her father Alban, who’d been so intrigued by humans. Hæra’s legacy shouldn’t be making a human man happy for a time.

That, and kissing a former nun into a state of confusion until she ran away.