“I’m glad.” Hæra scooted toward her on the ground. They didn’t touch, but it was close enough that Hæra was sharing her warmth. “In spite of everything, I’m glad all of this has come to pass. It’s shown me so much about the world. I hope it will to you, too.”

Madeleine wasn’t sure what to hope for, other than for everything to make sense again, which didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon. Only one thing was certain now.

Whatever path lay before them now, she and Hæra were destined to walk it together.

PART III

THE STORM

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ÆTLAQUOY, ONE MONTH LATER.

“Decorating your dwelling place is such a human thing to do.”

Hæra’s words rang from behind Madeleine, throughout the stone cottage’s modest living room. At the sound of them, Madeleine pivoted on her heel to stare at her. An entire month had passed since Hæra’s earth-shattering revelation, and Madeleine still wasn’t used to statements like that.

You’d think she would be. Over the last month, Hæra had been more-or-less forthcoming about her species. Madeleine had learned about the average Each-uisge lifespan (centuries), diet (carnivorous), mating rituals (brutal), and role in the natural world (unseen, impossible, magical). And yet, when Hæra referred to something ordinary as “human”—as if it were strange or absurd to her—Madeleine found herself taken aback once more.

Hæra didn’t seem to notice she’d said anything amiss. She set Madeleine’s suitcase by the front door. She’d insisted on carrying it both from the Merryweather’s curb to the car, and then from the car to the cottage.

“It’s etiquette,” she’d said as she lifted the suitcase in one fluid movement while Madeleine fought not to stare at her muscular arms.

Now Hæra looked around the cottage with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised. Her black ponytail lay draped over one broad shoulder.

She certainly looked human, if more…compelling than any human of Madeleine’s acquaintance.

Madeleine gulped. Not the time to think about that. They’d agreed.

“I’m not going to do much decorating. But it’s one thing to be in a hotel room for a month”—maybe the longest month of her life, what with Harry Duggan’s gossip—“and another to be in a cottage for…however long…without anything to look at.”

“There’s furniture,” Hæra objected.

True. The stone cottage Jim had just vacated, following his wedding, came furnished—with furniture Jim had owned as a bachelor, and which his bride refused to allow into their home. There was a faded yellow sofa whose cushion springs had seen better days. A brown Naugahyde armchair cracked on the left arm. A card table and folding chairs in place of a real kitchen set.

“There is furniture, technically,” Madeleine agreed.