Page 41 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

I’d been grounding myself with Elfame’s energy the moment I’d stepped foot in this realm.

Sneaking sips, as it were, like a flea. But the power needed to heal this horse would make me a vampire—a very noticeable drain.

And if Eru was stingy gifting access to her magic to her own people, what would she think of me, a foreigner and non-disciple, breaking open the tap?

Could I risk angering a goddess, even one I wasn’t sure existed?

If she really did and I needed her help at a later time…

Respect. That was the only way forward. And anyway, in all the storybooks, help for a righteous cause always came after personal sacrifice.

The decision made, I drained the amazonite pendant to give me a boost. It didn’t restore in the same way sleep would, more like the jolt from a quadruple shot of espresso, but it would definitely keep me focused for what came next.

I held the tourmaline in a closed fist in my lap, reached out to gently touch the wounded hoof, and slipped my perception into the tourmaline.

Now that I knew how to penetrate cloches (and demonic half-hearts) without breaking them, slipping into the tourmaline was easy.

And fascinating. Had Ossian never told me the truth about bleached tourmaline, I never would’ve suspected them to contain such power.

Their “locks” were a kind of suppression shield that fooled anyone into thinking they were inert stones.

I’d probably examined bleached tourmaline as a young witch, ran into the exact lock, and misidentified it as empty (and thus boring) instead of realizing what truly lay beyond.

Not a magical reserve like my amazonite pendant, but a true cache .

I did the magical equivalent of popping a very full water balloon, but instead of rupturing, the balloon retained its shape and magic flooded out of the pinhole.

It coursed into my body, flooded into my core, and pure primal magic was redirected into Liath’s hoof.

I served only as a refining conduit, keeping nothing for myself.

Under my palm, opalescent light shone like a captured star and golden sparks whizzed and zipped from my fingers like joyful fireflies.

Beneath Liath’s hoof, red clover and blue forget- me-nots sprouted out of the trefoil.

I’d never noticed my healing to produce such a response before; then again, I hadn’t healed on this great a magnitude before.

“This place will change you,” Shannon had said. Oh goody.

The Manann mare squealed at the whizzing sparks and the sudden appearance of the flowers.

I wasn’t sure if that was with pain, fear, or delight, but my hand tightened around her hoof.

I could sense the sickness still lingering within it, and discomfort was needed for many a transformation. She needed to endure, and so did I.

The power of the bleached tourmaline was intense.

There was no time to do anything else but keep my focus inward to manage the input and output.

I had a moment to revel in wonder that all this magic had once been mine.

That I’d been able to bleach not one, but many more tourmaline in just a few short months.

Fleeing to Redbud hadn’t been my first choice. But it had been the best decision of my life.

The magic moved north of the hoof and into the tissues of Liath’s leg.

Into blood vessels too long ignored, into weakened bones.

It scoured and mended and purified, and suddenly it was zinging up through the horse’s body.

It took away the cataracts in her eyes, refreshed her coat, added shine to her mane and tail.

The Manann mare danced away from me with a triumphant whinny just as the bleached tourmaline emptied completely.

I yanked my senses back to the physical world, scuttling back on hands and feet as the horse reared on strong legs and pawed the sky.

Liath sprang into a gallop, testing her healed leg with bucks and jumps.

She even dropped down into the meadow and rolled amongst the flowers, four silver hooves flashing in the morning light.

Enbarra trumpeted with delight, and the entire herd charged down the hill to frolic around their sister.

I fought to stand and found that I couldn’t.

My legs were like jelly and my arms like taffy.

It was a mercy I had the strength to hold on to the tourmaline—now a vibrant purple and green.

Channeling and directing all that magic had taken more energy than I’d thought.

At least I had enough magic left to transform Tha Dòchas Ann into a carriage and grow the harness.

Sleep and food would replenish the rest.

Maybe I’ll go for something Cinderella style , I mused drowsily. A pumpkin-shaped coach worked out pretty well for her.

Waving excitedly, Daphne raced down the hill and linked arms with me. It was good to lean on a friend.

“You did great, dear,” she whispered excitedly, guiding me up the slope.

“Enbarra is thrilled . Said she never saw that color of healing magic before—it’s usually gold—but maybe that’s just what was needed!

We’ll give them a few minutes to celebrate before getting underway.

I figured while you and Flora manage the magic, the rest of us will catch some more fish for the journey.

That faelene could make short work of that endeavor. ”

“Something tells me Thistle might balk at catching food she then has to share with anyone except Sawyer.”

Our laughter was cut short as we crested the hill. I became wide awake faster than a hummingbird could beat its wings.

There was no sign of Thistle or Sawyer anywhere. Kian lay face-down on the riverbank, unconscious, his notebook and quill in the grass where they’d fallen from his hand. He groaned, alive, and tried fruitlessly to rise. Fiachna bunched up on the nape of his neck, hissing and snarling.

A high fae in a cowled cloak had Shari’s arms twisted up tight behind her back.

An air wielder, he smothered her mouth with a band of wind that muted all her cries.

The quiet crafter’s eyes were wide and rimmed with red from where she’d been weeping.

Blood trickled down from a punched nose, her glasses cracked.

Two more high fae in matching garb—twins, actually—ransacked our boat and looted our packs. At their command, the nearby cattails and water reeds did their best to puncture the hull and scuttle Tha Dòchas Ann . The larch boat was proving resilient for now, but the foliage was persistent.

The only high fae I recognized stood at the base of the hill and manipulated a sphere of water. Inside, Flora did her best to hold her breath and fight her way free. The high fae chuckled at her plight, spinning the sphere so the gnome floundered inside.

Turning at the sound of our appearance, he swept his cape behind his shoulders, placed his hands on his hips, and smirked. A victor who’d caught his enemy unaware. In the V of his shirt, the mark of the Erusian Blades branded his chest.

Ler.