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granny left me. All that she left me. All, Brannaugh. Leave nothing of value. Pack it all, and be quick. Quick!” she snapped, and had Brannaugh dashing away.
    Time, the Dark Witch thought, it came, it went. And now she had so little left. But enough. She would make it enough.
    She sat quiet while her children did her bidding. And built her strength, amassed her power.
    When Brannaugh came down, Sorcha stood straight and tall. Her skin held warmth and color, her eyes focus and energy.
    “You’re well!”
    “No, my darling, well I’m not, nor will be again.” She held up a hand before Brannaugh could speak. “But strong is what I am, for this time and for this need. I will do what I must, and so will you.” She looked to her son, her baby girl. “So will all of you. Before the sun rises, you will go. You will keep to the woods, go south. Do not use the road until you are well away. Find my cousin Ailish, the Clann O’Dwyer, and tell her the tale. She will do what she can.”
    “We will all go.”
    “No, Eamon. I will bide here. You must be strong and brave, protect your sisters, and they protect you. I would not survive the journey.”
    “I will make you well,” Brannaugh insisted.
    “’Tis beyond you. ’Tis meant. But I do not leave you alone or helpless. What I am, what I have will live in you. One day you will come back, for this is home, and home is the source. I cannot give you your innocence, but I will give you power.
    “Stand with me, for you are my heart and soul, my blood and bone. You are my all. And now I cast the circle, and no dark shall enter.”
    Flame circled the floor and, at the flick of her hand, leapt under the cauldron. Looking down at her hands again, she sighed once, then stepped forward.
    “This is your father’s blood.” She opened her hands over the cauldron, and the blood poured. “And these are my tears, and yours. He rode to protect us, rode home as I asked him. A trap, set by Cabhan, using my fear, my weakness. He took your father’s life, as he will take mine. The life, but not the spirit, not the power.”
    She knelt, enfolded her weeping children. “I would comfort you in every moment I have left, but there is no time for grieving. Remember him who made you, who loved you, and know I go to be with him, and watch over you.”
    “Don’t send us away.” Teagan sobbed on her mother’s shoulder. “I want to stay with you. I want Da.”
    “You’ll take the light in me with you. I will always be with you.” With hands now clean and white, Sorcha brushed tears from her daughter’s cheek. “You, my bright light, my hope. You, my brave son.” She kissed Eamon’s fingers. “My heart. And you, my steady, searching one.” She cupped Brannaugh’s face. “My strength. Carry me with you. And now, we work this spell together. Stand with me! Say as I say, do as I do.”
    She held out her hands.
    “With blood and tears we spill our fears.” She waved a hand over the cauldron, and the liquid within began to stir. “A pinch of salt times four to close and bolt the door. Weeds to bind, berries to blind. My children he will not see, and they will live safe and free. Pretty petals tinged with hate, scented sweet and so to bait. Boil it all in fire and smoke, and on this potion Cabhan chokes. When I call he comes to me, as I will, so mote it be.”
    The light flashed so all in the circle burned with it.
    She called on Hecate, on Brighid, on Morrigan and Babd Catha, summoning the strength and power of the goddesses. The air quaked, seemed to split and crack. It rang with voices as Sorcha stood, arms high in both prayer and demand.
    The smoke turned red as blood, fogged the room. Then, as if in a whirlpool, sucked back into the cauldron.
    Eyes bright, Sorcha poured the potion into a vessel, sealed it, slid it into her pocket.
    “Mother,” Brannaugh breathed.
    “I am, and will be. Don’t fear me, or what I give you now. My baby.” She took Teagan’s hands. “It will grow