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more books than I do.”
    â€œMy father is a well-known scholar of magical history and practice.” In fact, Sir Andrew Barton was an important figure in wizard circles, though she wasn’t surprised that the duke was unaware of her father’s name. Magicians were everywhere, at all levels of society, yet ignorance of magical life was rampant, especially among the nobility. That made it easier for them to pretend wizards didn’t exist. She had to give Ashby and Ransom credit for civility, and the flexibility to ask for her help.
    She stopped by one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and scanned the titles. Ah, there. She pulled two volumes from the shelf. “Both of these books discuss healing circles in some detail. I hope that will help you tonight. Now, if you excuse me, I must summon the others.”
    After he accepted the books with thanks, she sat down at her writing desk and began to write short notes requesting that her friends join her for a healing circle. Ashby said, “Do you have enough servants to carry the messages? If not, I could summon some of my own people to speed the process.”
    â€œThank you, but that’s not necessary.” She rolled the small note tightly and tucked it into a lightweight tube made from a goose quill.
    â€œThe messages will be carried by pigeons more quickly than a man can ride.”
    His brows arched. “Is this a form of magic?”
    â€œNot at all. Pigeons have an instinct for returning home. Your friend Mr. Ransom might know about messenger pigeons, since I believe the army uses them. A number of wizards in this area keep pigeons raised at each other’s homes so we can send messages quickly when it’s required.”
    â€œI suppose that sometimes when magic is required, the need is urgent, as now.”
    â€œThis is one kind of emergency, but there are others,” she said dryly.
    â€œEven in this modern day, there are villages in England that might burn people like me given any kind of excuse.”
    He became very still. “I hadn’t really thought about that, but I see that it’s a burden you must carry every day.”
    â€œWe all live with death only a heartbeat away. Perhaps wizards are a little more aware of that,” she observed. When she left for the dovecote, Ashby was deeply engrossed in one of the books. She wondered if his study was entirely from his desire to help Lord Frayne, or whether there was a part of him that longed for his own suppressed magic. In her experience, those who possessed a gift yearned to use it. Of course she was no aristocrat. Perhaps a dukedom was power enough.
    After giving the message notes to the pigeon keeper, she returned to the house and gave orders for all the spare bedrooms to be made up. By the time the healing circle was finished, her fellow wizards would be too tired to go home.
    Domestic busyness helped her keep her worries under control.
    B y late afternoon, the last of Abby’s gifted friends had arrived. It was time to begin the healing circle. She went to the breakfast room, where the local wizards had been taking refreshments and chatting with each other. Though the work ahead of them was serious, that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy this unexpected gathering. “Everyone is here now. Are you all ready? If so, it’s time.”
    With scraping chairs and hastily swallowed drinks, the eight wizards rose and followed her to the dining room, where the patient waited. The group included both sexes, from fifteen-year-old Ella to Mr. Hambly, who was seventy-nine. Though he hadn’t her father’s power and skills, Mr. Hambly’s decades of experience would be invaluable to Abby during the coming ritual.
    The group also included a vicar, a midwife, and Young Will, the son of a farm laborer. When his gift had been discovered, Abby’s father had begun tutoring him in magic and paid his fees to the local grammar school so that Will