Page 47 of A Kiss from the Fae (Mistress of Magic #2)

The shop was exactly as Faye left it, apart from the thick dust that had accumulated on the shelves while she’d been away.

She sank into one of the easy chairs by the old hearth with a deep sigh – five hours on the train from London followed by a taxi to Abercolme was a long time travelling.

She reached down and rubbed her swollen ankles.

She had had morning sickness, though she hadn’t realised what it was, and now other things were starting to bother her.

Faye stared around at the shop, at the pictures on the wall that were so familiar she didn’t usually see them: the Support Your Local Witches sign that Moddie had hand-drawn and hung behind the counter; the photo of Grandmother in an old gilt frame.

The comfort of being home emanated from the thick walls of the old house like heat, wrapping her back up again in its protection.

She was home. But the shop also reminded her painfully of Aisha.

She looked at her phone; there were several missed calls from Rav and a text message. I’m sorry for the way it all happened . She deleted the message immediately.

Watching a young family in the seats opposite on the train up to Edinburgh, Faye had given motherhood a lot of thought.

A mother, about her age, was keeping two little ones occupied – a toddler boy, who wanted to walk up and down the train carriage continually, and an older girl of about five, who sat quietly, colouring in a book with fierce concentration.

Faye watched the mother’s face move from bright to tired, through patience to irritation over and over again as she walked with the toddler, talked quietly to the girl about her pictures; as they played a game over lunch, and as the toddler snuggled into her for a sleep.

Could I do that? Faye wondered as the mother caught her eye and smiled.

Do I have that in me, that patience? She didn’t know.

It was another kind of power, another kind of strength, to do everything for others, all the time.

She guessed that the mother might have a day job, too.

Did she have a partner to help with it all?

Faye wondered. If Faye had the baby, she’d be alone.

And, if Moronoe was right, Levantiana would take the baby unless Faye did something drastic.

Unless she used all of her power to defeat the king and queen of Murias once and for all.

Faye wandered to the kitchenette and found a box of peppermint tea bags in the cupboard. She filled and boiled the kettle, glad she’d paid all the bills when she was away. Some part of her had known that London was temporary, even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself.

She leaned against the kitchen worktop and looked back out into the shop, thinking suddenly about Finn Beatha.

It felt like such a long time since he’d first walked into the shop and changed her life completely.

She felt a sudden urge to go to Black Sands Beach and feel the wet sand between her toes; it had always been her special place.

She drank her tea and pocketed an energy bar from a box in the cupboard, pulling her coat around her. Abercolme in January was cold, and the wind and rain had no mercy, but she went, nonetheless. It was hers; she was at home in its icy winds and under its dark skies.

The village was quiet. Faye nodded to a few people she knew; now that she’d been seen, the rumours would start.

Faye Morgan’s back. Aye, not with that boyfriend, though.

Wonder what happened there . And before long the gossip would take into account that she was pregnant.

An’ with a bairn too, with no dad . They’d shake their heads. All ye expect from a Morgan, aye.

Perhaps Faye was being unfair. The village opinion of her had certainly changed after Midsummer when she’d helped the survivors at the concert. But people only remembered their own version of events.

The beach was dark, but Faye knew her way.

The tide was halfway in, and the waves were choppy, blown by the winter wind.

Despite the cold, she took off her shoes and socks and rolled up her jeans.

She could still just about get into them – before long she’d have to start wearing those pregnancy jeans she’d seen in shops.

The ice-cold water slashed at her ankles as she waded in further, keeping in front of the point where the pebbly sand dropped off in a sudden ledge a few feet out.

Her jeans weren’t rolled up far enough, and the water soaked them on the second wave, but she didn’t care.

It was so good to be back; to feel the freshness of the air and taste the salt on her lips.

She closed her eyes and breathed the sea in as she’d done countless times.

For the first time in months, Faye relaxed.

Sorrow rose up in her throat, and she let it.

She let the tears come and the wail tear itself from her.

Spectral, it echoed over the beach, thrust back to the land by the force of the wind on the tide.

She wept for Aisha, who she hadn’t been able to save.

For Rav, who she’d met on the beach. I need help , she screamed into the night.

I can’t raise this baby alone. I don’t know what to do. Please, help me.

The wind screamed back at her. It pulled at her hair, whipping her long plait across her face like a slap. The water pushed at her feet, trying her balance. Faye dropped to her knees, despair filling her. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

There was a hand on her shoulder, and Faye cried out, stumbling to her feet.

Gabriel Black caught her, and she clutched in desperation at him, burying her head in his chest.

‘Hush, hush,’ he whispered as Faye sobbed. With a sudden drop in wind, the tide calmed, and they stood together, ankle-deep in the freezing water. ‘Faye. All will be well, I promise,’ he said. They held on to each other under the moonlight: two suffering souls that desperately needed a friend.