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Gwyn sat behind the sales counter, resting her head on top of her crossed arms and forcing slow breaths through her tight lips as another wave of nausea hit her. Whatever flu bug she'd caught, this one was tenacious. For the last week, she had awakened without a hint of nausea, but about twenty minutes later, she was rushing to the bathroom and throwing up everything but her toenails.

Thankfully, this morning had been different. She woke up feeling normal...until she entered the kennel at the back of the store, and then her stomach rebelled. The animal odor hit her in the face.

She slammed the door shut and leaned her forehead against the cool metal. Feeding the stray animals she and her sister had rescued over the last month took a back seat to the rush of bile surging up the back of her throat. She took off through the store, barely reaching the bathroom tucked into one corner of her office.

Finally, her stomach seemed to calm, and after brushing her teeth, she gingerly moved toward her desk. Once again, she laid her head on her arms, the minty taste of her toothpaste making her feel somewhat normal. Turning her head, she rested her cheek against her wrist and stared at the calendar, the only thing in her line of sight.

Her brows pushed together when her gaze fell on the bright green numbers in the upper left-hand corner of the page. She swallowed. Turning back the calendar pages, she counted. She had missed four periods.

Panic swelled in her chest. Oh gods, no... She buried her face in the crook of her arm and moaned. “How could I not realize I’d missed so many? Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered. “I can’t be pregnant.”

She glared at the page, the date mocking her. She had never been regular, so it wasn’t worrisome to miss a month, even two cycles, but not four. “So much for birth control," she muttered and, with a will of iron, stood and walked through the front door, locking it behind her.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and took deep, cold breaths, the equally chilly breeze caressing her face. For once, she was grateful for the cool spring weather. Staring at the café across the town's grand square, her stomach rumbled. She hoped it was a good sign since her last meal had been supper the night before.

She crossed over the uneven stones to her and her sister's favorite bistro. The small coffee shop's café au lait was the best in Tournai and maybe just what she needed. On a whim, she bought a warm gauffre liegeious, a delicious sugary caramelized waffle, the only other splurge she allowed herself besides coffee. When she picked up the treat from the counter, the nausea returned with a vengeance. She raced outside and hung her head over the nearby trash bin, dry heaving.

Unknown hands gathered her hair and held it between her shoulder blades. The breeze tickled the fine hairs on her neck, but she was too sick to care.

"Breathe in slow and deep through your mouth, and it will pass," a familiar male voice said above her.

She did as he directed, thankful when, a few minutes later, the nausea dissipated. She straightened from the trashcan but stood her ground, willing her stomach to mind. "Thank you," she whispered, focusing on a dirty coin beside the receptacle’s base.

"You should be in bed."

Afraid to move, she closed her eyes as he gently wiped her mouth with something, a napkin maybe, then let her hair drop down against her back. She had only been with this man one night, but with one breath of his intoxicating scent, he soothed away the stress of whatever this was—flu or pregnancy. She prayed it was the flu and took a few slower, even breaths before answering. "I've been fighting the flu, but it doesn't seem to want to go away."

"A doctor, then, would be my next suggestion."

She heard his dry tone but didn't have the energy to respond.

"Are you going to be ill again?"

She shook her head. Gathering what little courage she could muster, she raised her gaze to his. His golden eyes stared back, filled with a mix of concern and amusement. He was so handsome. A ruggedness about him, a wildness almost, stopped him from being model material, especially since most of the male models famous now were too pretty, at least in her opinion. He reached out and tucked her hair behind one ear, and the fluttery sensation in her chest and the static electricity returned, just as it had on New Year’s Eve.

"I'm fine now. Thank you. I'll just return to the store and wait for my sister to arrive. She should be here any time," she lied. Morgan was on a scouting mission, tracing a pair of husky males who disappeared from a boarding kennel in the nearby town of Mons. She wasn’t supposed to return until that evening, but he didn't need to know that.

"Let me help you then...until she arrives." He held out his arm for her to take.

She hesitated, but when her stomach did another loop-de-loop, she wrapped her hand around the bend in his elbow. The moment she touched him, the nausea disappeared, replaced by a fluttering deep inside her womb. The quivering increased, and her vision turned hazy as if a mist covered everything. She saw a tiny body floating within the grayness, its golden eyes staring back at her. Torin's eyes.

Gwyn smiled, and her breathing quickened. She recognized the beautiful face smiling back at her and had no doubt she was looking at her unborn daughter, although she wasn’t quite sure how this was possible. It had to be another latent, magical family trait coming into play. Before her death, her mother had warned them strange things would happen and to go with the flow of things. Accepting magic was much better than fighting the inevitable.

A shadow moved behind her daughter then the looped umbilical cord slid into view, partially covering her as the tiny girl kicked out her feet and shoved her thumb into her mouth. It was Gwyn’s dream come true. She longed to be a mother, but with the curse hanging over them, she could never have willingly brought an innocent life into the world to face the inevitable fate she and her sister faced.

Swallowing her gasp, she gripped Torin's arm like a lifeline and blindly followed him to the store. As shaken as she was by her vision, her trembling hands would never be able to unlock the antique lock, so she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out the large brass key, and handed it to him.

When the door swung inward, she headed to her office and curled up on the comfortable sofa, not daring to speak. Her last lucid thought before falling into an exhausted sleep was to make an appointment with her doctor before mentioning any of this to Morgan...or Torin—if she chose to tell him at all.

* * *

Yawning, Gwyn stretched one arm over her head and settled under the warm blanket. The silence cocooning her was soothing, but it was past time for her to get off the couch. She needed to get up and take care of the animals. Guilt gnawed at her for how she had treated Torin earlier. Hopefully, he was smart enough to turn the sign to the closed side before he left.

More guilt reared its ugly head at the thought of all the sales they missed while she slept. Over the past three months, their income had fallen, and she and her sister couldn't afford to lose any more money. Not if they were going to keep rescuing animals.

The gentle front door chime startled her, and she sat up. Before she could move, the familiar, deep, rumbling voice of the man who had haunted her dreams came from the other room. Dropping her head into the palms of her hands, she welcomed the pain of her elbows digging into the tops of her knees. "Oh gods, why are you still here?” she whispered.

The sound of her office door opening forced her head up. Torin stood in the doorway, a slight grin on one side of his mouth as he stared at her. He looked quite different, more relaxed with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and a smudge of something on his cheek. She liked this laid-back version, and her muscles slowly untensed.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mhmm." She didn't dare open her suddenly dry mouth and wished she had some water.

As if reading her thoughts, Torin glided to the small refrigerator she used as a side table and grabbed a bottle of water from inside. "Here." He handed her the water. "Drink it slowly. You don't want to kickstart the nausea again."

"I'll be okay now. It seems only to want to plague me once during the day, mostly when I need a coffee, which is totally annoying since I don't function well without it." She sighed and took several small sips of the cool liquid.

"Your sister never showed up, so I stayed to mind the store—even made a few sales. I hope you don’t mind?”

She met his gaze, the same curious, soothing sensation moving through her again, and smiled. "You didn't have to do that but thank you. Closing the store means no income, and we're rather partial to living in our current home."

"I looked for your sister's number but didn't know her name. I realize we agreed to no last names, but if we're going to continue running into each other, it could get kind of awkward...Hi, this is Torin. Your sister and I have known one another for a while now, but she won't tell me her last name..." He wiggled his brows. "See what I mean? Awkward. I'll go first. My name is Torin O'Roark."

She swallowed and pursed her lips. Remaining relatively unknown had seemed wise at the time, but after today, it seemed silly. She met his gaze and shrugged. "I guess it won't hurt now. After all, you do know where I work. My last name is DuBois. My sister is Morgan DuBois."

"Would you like for me to call her for you?"

She shook her head and inched her way into a stand. "Thanks, but no. I'll be okay. Morgan's been away a lot for business while I deal with things here. I probably just wore myself out. She must have gotten held up, but if she didn’t call, she’ll return soon enough.” She followed him to the front door, where he grabbed his jacket from the nearby hook and shrugged into it. "Torin, I do appreciate what you did for me today. Thank you...for everything."

He stared at her as if assessing the truth of her words, then nodded. With a small salute, he walked through the door, and the store immediately seemed empty without his presence.

Heart pounding, she watched him walk across the square, his long-legged stride accentuated in his tight-fitting black jeans. She couldn't help but stare at his perfect backside and the way his thick thighs flexed with each step. He almost looked like he was bow-legged, and she wondered if he spent much time on a horse.

With a loud exhale, she closed the glass door, locking it behind her, and walked toward the back room. When she opened the door this time, the natural scent of dogs and cats filled her nostrils, and her stomach remained calm.

"Sorry, guys. I'm a little late feeding you today." She laughed at the excited yipping, their fury bodies twisting and hopping in the oversized cages as they greeted her. Her gaze dropped to their bowls. One or two still held a small amount of dog food. She frowned.

"I guess Torin already fed you.” She didn't quite know what to make of Mr. Torin O'Roark. Why would he step in and help her like he had today? He didn't strike her as the chivalrous sort. At least, not entirely. He’d seemed more the brooding type.

She would never admit it, but after their wonderful night together, Gwyn returned to the bar every day for a month, hoping to see him again, but he never showed up.

Okay, okay." She chuckled and pulled down a small blue container from the nearby shelf. The dogs sat down in the middle of their cages, their only movement was the excited wagging of their tails. "I believe you each deserve a treat for being so good today for Mr. O’Roark.”

* * *

One week later

"What in the hell are you doing, Gwyneth DuBois!" Morgan stomped toward her, each step vibrating the centuries-old wooden floor. She stopped, hands on her hips, and glared. "You aren't supposed to be lifting anything over twenty pounds—do you want to lose the baby? I distinctly told you I would restock the shelves. You should only be logging the shipment into the computer."

Gwyn, holding a small bag in her hands, turned her head and stared at Morgan, wishing for the hundredth time she had never told her sister about the pregnancy. "If you bothered to look, this is a ten-pound bag of cat food. I'm past the first trimester, and the baby is in no danger. Please, please stop mothering me."

Morgan crossed her arms over her chest and muttered, "Someone has to."

Gwyn dropped the bag on the shelf with the others stacked in neat rows of three before facing her sister. "You are a whole five minutes older than me! You aren't Mom." She ran her hands up and down Morgan's upper arms several times, then cupped her hands around each elbow.

"My situation isn't ideal, but I need you to help me, not control me. The doctor said we are both doing well. I'm four months, healthy, and other than a growing baby bump, no one can even tell I'm pregnant." She pulled her sister into a tight embrace. "Everything will work out. Trust me."

Morgan didn't reply. With her chin resting on Gwyn's shoulder, she loudly exhaled. "I know, Gwynnie."

Gwyn stepped away, a slight frown drawing her eyebrows together. "What's got you so worried then? You're going to have permanent pucker marks between your eyebrows. Is it what Mom told us about before she died? The supposed family curse? Your overprotectiveness is, well, annoying if it is. I don’t believe in curses.”

Morgan's mouth dropped open. "Told us ? I was alone when Mom told me. How do you know about it?"

Gwyn laughed. "Silly. Mom didn't want you to shoulder the burden alone. She told me after she told you. Mom said we would need each other for mental support."

"Mental is right. I wish you told me you knew instead of letting me stew about it for so long." Morgan gave her a mock scowl.

"Worrying is part of your DNA," Gwyn chuckled. "You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if everything worked out smoothly all the time."

Morgan sighed again. "You're right, much as I hate to admit it."

Gwyn poked her finger into Morgan's shoulder. "And don't even think about leaving me behind when you have one of your rescue rendezvous, either. I'm a part of this team, which means I'm going too."

"At least until you're so fat, all you can do is waddle."

"Oh, shut up." Gwyn lifted the last bag of cat food and placed it in the only empty spot on the shelf. Stepping back to admire her handiwork, she wished she was admiring a wall of antiques, not animal products. "Finished. Let's call it a day, okay? If you want, we can stop somewhere and grab some dinner?"

Morgan nodded. "Sounds good. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached over the counter and grabbed the two purses underneath the antique cash register. "Come on. I'll drive."

Gwyn closed her eyes, her head falling back against the car's headrest, and let the mind-numbing exhaustion take over. While she hadn’t lied to her sister, she was barely functioning. Where had her energy gone? Weren’t women supposed to have tons of it during pregnancy?

She vaguely heard Morgan order their food and the almost uncomfortable bumpy motion of the car as the tires bounced over the cobblestone street leading to their house. The entire way home, her sister talked incessantly, seemingly content with Gwyn's mumbled responses at the appropriate pauses.

All she could think about at the moment was peeing and then lying down. Who knew growing another human could be so tiring? Morgan, she was used to. She loved her twin, but when her older sister worried, she could be so overbearing.

"Bathroom," she said the minute they entered the house. Halfway down the hall, she slowed, the pads of her fingers automatically finding the inset tile her mother placed between two of the stones curving around the arched doorway of the library. She traced the outline of the three half circles, their ends connecting in the center. She loved the ancient design. Her mother called it the Divine Feminine and explained that each half circle represented the three parts of Morrigan, the Fae goddess of war, and other things Gwyn never could remember.

That had also been the night she dropped the bombshell on them, telling them they were descendants of the Tuatha dé Danann and Morrigan, of all people. One of the most powerful Fae to ever exist was their grandmother.

A part of Gwyn still didn't believe it. How could the vague dream she had as a child of a beautiful woman visiting her at night be some warrior goddess? She tried to remember the woman’s face but couldn’t, her features remaining blurred. She could only make out her long black hair and flowing green gown. Envisioning this perfect goddess as her grandmother had been a child’s whim to ease the harshness of real life.

She loved her parents and the nomadic life they gave her and Morgan, but it had been lonely, and Gwyn wanted to have a close friend to share her secrets with and play with. Morgan was…well, Morgan. While they may be twins, they were individuals and had not liked the same things as children. She was a homebody and her sister loved adventure.

Her gaze moved around the room, touching every item tucked away in its designated spot. The library was her favorite place whenever she had a problem or needed some time alone. Sparsely decorated, there were only a few pictures and trinkets lovingly placed around the cozy space.

The last photo she took of her parents before they died drew her gaze, and her hand rested protectively against the slight curve of her stomach. She wanted a love like they had. Unshakable. Forever.

She forced her shoulders back, inhaling the scent of aged leather and musty old books. Letting her thoughts drift, she stood in front of the shelves, her gaze scanning each until finding her favorite titles among the hundreds lining the wooden built-ins. Many of these stories had helped her get through life—and her parents’ deaths. Broken only by the massive stone fireplace and the door leading into the hallway, the books surrounded the room.

She walked across the room to the off-white granite fireplace. Nestled among the family pictures scattered across the stone mantle were faded parchments in simple wooden frames. Ancient faces stared back at her, all with an otherworldly sheen. She had no idea who they were and wished she had asked her mother. Now, it was too late.

As a child, she had created fanciful tales about each of them, imagining them to be fairy folk from her mother's bedtime stories. These ethereal faces, to her, never seemed quite real. Her finger traced the edge of a gilded frame, her favorite. The woman's face was exquisite, and a hint of sadness clung to her features.

Gwyn's eyes narrowed as she stared at the portrait. She walked to the opposite side of the room, her eyes never leaving the picture. She shook her head. She must have been more tired than she had realized because no matter where she stood, the woman's blue gaze followed. A squeeze of frustration knotted in her stomach.

The woman seemed familiar somehow, like an image from a history book. She wore a shimmery veil that covered her hair and was dressed in medieval garb like what was worn at wandering fairs. Her eyes were the color of sapphires and reminded her a bit of Morgan's. Who the woman was, though, would remain a mystery. Gwyn had asked her mother many times growing up but never received a response. Each time, her mother merely changed the subject. Finally, Gwyn stopped asking.

She felt Morgan's presence behind her, her strong hands cupping Gwyn’s shoulders as Morgan kneaded away the tightness gripping her tense muscles.

"Are you feeling better?" She hated the slight tremble in her sister's voice. Morgan was never weak.

Turning, Gwyn forced a smile to her lips. "Of course," she lied. "Just a bit tired and hungry, I guess. No matter what's happening in my life, this room always relaxes and energizes me." She pushed herself away from the cool stones surrounding the doorway and kissed Morgan's soft cheek. "I'll meet you in the kitchen after I pee."

“I thought you already did that?” Morgan called after her, but she ignored it.

Exhaustion beat at her, and the drumming in her head morphed into a pounding headache. With no strength to move, she forced her legs to continue their trek toward the bathroom.

Just wait until you're bigger, and the baby's laying on your bladder. The bathroom will become your favorite room. Morgan's laugh echoed inside Gwyn’s head.

"Ha, ha," Gwyn muttered, wondering if she had time for a quick shower but decided against it. Morgan would leave her here without a second thought, and Gwyn wanted to help with tonight's rescue. Well, maybe want wasn't quite the right word. Call it intuition, but she was supposed to be with her sister tonight.

Rinsing the soap from her hands, she scowled at her reflection in the mirror. Her heather green eyes looked too large for her heart-shaped face, which was pale, and purple shadows cupped each eye from lack of sleep. No matter how comfortable, she still tossed and turned all night. And when she did manage to sleep, she dreamed about death and eerie golden eyes watching her everywhere she went.

She grimaced. "Not even makeup would help these dark circles." She pinched and patted her cheeks to get some color back into her pale face. Pulling up her long, auburn hair, she finger-combed the thick mass of curls into a messy knot on the top of her head, which she then secured with an elastic band.

With one final glance in the mirror, she gave up and walked back down the hallway, only pausing to grab her jacket from the sizeable antique hall tree before continuing to the kitchen. Inside, she glanced toward the table nestled in a small alcove at the back of the good-sized room. Morgan had been busy. Their dinner waited along with plates and silverware. Wafts of steam rose from the covered food, filling the air with mouthwatering scents.

"I take it you got your second wind?" Morgan asked, popping the tops off the containers from their favorite Chinese restaurant, Chez Cheng.

"I guess so." Gwyn reached behind her chair and flipped on the overhead light, a soft yellow glow filling the room. She sat across from Morgan and inhaled the delicious scent of food. Everything smells so wonderful.” She filled her plate with curried chicken, potatoes, and chicken stir-fried rice, her mouth salivating.

"Don't lie to me, Gwyn. I know you slapped your face to give your cheeks some color, but they look patted and pinched, not rosy. You told me you were feeling better. The rescue can wait one more night. The dogs won't go anywhere."

Gwyn glared at her sister, the only difference between them was Morgan's bright sapphire-blue eyes and straight, black hair. Otherwise, they were identical. She'd always been jealous of her sister's perfect hair. Her rich red-brown strands twisted and flipped in loose curls and never cooperated with any style she tried unless wind-blown was a style.

A colossal yawn made her jaws crack painfully.

Morgan laughed. "Guess that answers my question." She stopped, her fork in mid-air. "Merde. I forgot the drinks."

"I hate that word," Gwyn shook her head. " Shit is not a nice word."

Morgan smiled. "Tough. I have to get in as many as possible before munchkin is running around, now don’t I? She hopped up, grabbed the pitcher of newly made tea from the counter, and filled their glasses.

"Do you ever think about Mom and Dad?" Gwyn asked, pushing her food around on her plate. "I've been thinking about them a lot lately."

Morgan smiled, wiping her lips with a paper napkin from the restaurant. "Every day. It's only been ten years. I think it's normal for us to think about them."

"I wish the anger would go away."

Morgan's blue eyes flashed. "I don't. That's what keeps me from falling apart."

"l dream a lot about the stories Mom used to tell us. Remember? The ones about the ancient fairy folk—the Tuatha dé Danann." Morgan's eyes narrowed in a thin-lipped scowl, but surprisingly, she didn't interrupt. "It's always the same dream, and I wake up feeling like I'm missing something...maybe forgetting to do something. Oh, I don't know. The dreams seem to have a sense of anxiety flowing through them."

Gwyn shrugged, twisting a tendril of hair that had escaped from her bun. "I can't even tell you what the dreams are about. All I remember is the woman's angry face and waking up anxious."

"We just have to stay positive. Mom taught us what we need to know. Other than my weak telepathy, our spell-casting is getting stronger." Under her breath, Morgan muttered, "As if yours needed any improvement."

Gwyn ignored her sister's grumbling. Morgan would never believe herself good enough. Of course, the same thought was constantly in Gwyn's mind, too; she just wasn't as vocal about it. "Morgan, do you think someone's trying to warn me—or us?"

"Through your dreams?"

Gwyn nodded.

"I don't know, but if Mom's stories are true, anything is possible, including subliminal messaging through dreams. It makes sense. What do you think they're trying to warn us about?"

Gwyn shook her head and scrunched her eyebrows together. "That's just it. I don't know. I can't decide if she—whoever she is—is warning us about something happening now or something in the future."

Her sister leaned forward, her food forgotten. "Start from the beginning. Can you tell me anything else about the dreams? You said you only remember the woman's face and a certain feeling, but think hard. Take yourself back into it."

Gwyn caught on to her sister's eagerness. "You mean like hypnosis?"

Morgan nodded. "In a way. I can talk you through it, but you won't be hypnotized. It's more like a self-induced trance of concentration." One eyebrow rose and she twisted her lips. "Sort of."

"I'm game. What do I do first?"

Morgan giggled. "Relax?" She ignored Gwyn's smack on her arm. "You have no sense of humor."

"Humph. I have plenty of humor, just not at this moment."

"You really do need to relax. Close your eyes and picture yourself taking a nap. You're so comfortable curled up in the large lounge chair on the veranda. A cool breeze caresses your face. Your thoughts drift, finally stopping on a beautiful shore. Everything is clear and colorful. Tell me what you see in this world."

Gwyn smiled dreamily, the corners of her mouth curling in a lazy smile. "Trees everywhere. I hear water trickling and gurgling like a small stream somewhere in the distance. The woman stands next to one of the trees, her hand resting on the moss-covered bark. Oh, Morgan, she's so beautiful. She has your hair, ebony silk, and her skin is pale with just a hint of color. She's smiling at me and beckons for me to come closer."

"Do you go?" Morgan whispered.

"Of course. I always see a hint of something deep in her eyes. I get the distinct impression she doesn't like to be disobeyed. Oh, now we're sitting on a large rock, which is closer to the stream because the trickling water is louder. I can't see it though. She's holding something out to me. It looks like some kind of bird—oh! A crow. Its feathers are so beautiful, like shiny obsidian.”

Gwen tilted her head and frowned. “The woman's expression is somber, and she's pointing to her necklace as if I'm supposed to understand. Strange, but I don't feel confused." Gwyn's eyes flew open, and her mouth dropped in shock. "Foreboding. That's the feeling in my dream, not anxiety. She's warning me about something that hasn't happened yet."

Morgan sat back against the kitchen chair with a thud . "Well, that can't be good. Why would she show you a crow?"

Gwyn shrugged. Her unfocused eyes stared out the window into the darkness. "I know I've seen something like it before. She met her sister's gaze, the tap, tap, tapping of Morgan's foot beneath the table her only sign of impatience.

Suddenly, Gwyn let out a triumphant yell and jumped up. Morgan's body jerked, and Gwyn's smile widened. It was a rare day when something surprised her sister. She raced from the room with Morgan behind her. "Do you remember the small silver jewelry box in the top drawer of Mom's dresser? She always kept a necklace wrapped in a small square of white silk inside it.”

"I do. It was a beautiful silver necklace with a black charm. I don't remember what the charm was, but the necklace hummed."

Gwyn jerked to a stop as Morgan ran into her. "It what?"

"I used to sneak into Mom's room and look at it. The last time I saw the pendant, Mom was holding it in the palms of her hands. She looked so sad as she stared at it. She let me hold it for only a few seconds before she put it away. It made a soft humming sound and the metal warmed my hand."

"Did she tell you what it was or why she had it?"

Morgan shook her head. "The only thing she said was that it was given to her by her mother and that the charm would keep her safe."

"Well, that makes absolutely no sense. Why wasn't she wearing it the night she and Dad were killed?" She stood before the closed door to her parent's room and took a deep breath, her hand resting on the doorknob. “Not to change the subject, but have you heard from Michel at the animal hospital yet?"

"Gwyn, open the door already, and yes, he called while you were in the bathroom. The two pups will be okay with a little rest and food."

Gwyn sighed with relief. "I was worried about the small one. He was cut up pretty bad." She turned the knob and stepped inside her parent’s dark room. Closing her eyes, she inhaled, almost smelling the familiar scent of her father's cologne, and Morgan laid her hand over Gwyn's arm, giving it a quick squeeze.

"Gwyn, you would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

"You're a worrywart. But yes, I would tell you." She flipped on the light switch and walked toward the large dresser. She opened the top drawer and rifled through her mother's bras and underwear. Nothing. The box was gone. She met Morgan's worried gaze. "Where did it go?"

Morgan placed her hands on Gwyn's shoulders and steered her from the room, closing the door behind them. "You need to rest now. We can worry about it in the morning , okay?"

Gwyn forced out a long exhale and followed her sister back to the kitchen. "It's as if I'm being pulled in two directions—like my heart and mind want two different things. I've never felt this way before."

She stared into the inky night, looking through their reflections in the window. After finishing the rest of her dinner, she glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. "I don’t want to sleep all evening and need to work on the store’s finances, so wake me up in an hour."

She rose, her gait fluid but slow. Stopping just inside the hallway, she turned her head and met her sister's gaze. "Promise me, Morgan. In one hour." She waited for her sister's reluctant nod, then turned the corner and climbed the stairs to her room.