Page 20 of Stolen Hours

His vision had shed her long dress and pair of sturdy boots, and was now wading knee-deep into the water, walking with slow, even steps.

Ian backed away slowly, not even daring to breathe.

He’d never found humans beautiful or ugly. They were just—there.

Now, he was certain he’d seen the most beautiful woman in the entire world—and she was standing naked in his favorite fishing stream.

Part Two

This place felt like home. Farrah had no fear and no trouble wandering the hills and woods of this western gem of the Hebrides. She couldn’t get lost—she just had to listen for the pounding and pulsing of the waves, and she’d find her way to the edge of the island, and then she’d be able to get home from there.

Well, home to where she was staying.

Homewas a tricky word at the moment.

At 21, Farrah knew she had to choose which side of her identity to embrace. Witches were feared, even the good ones. She was probably the least harmful kind, specializing in plants and herbs. Though it was true, the right kinds of plants and herbs could kill. There was reason to fear.

But her craft could become a dark little secret, a hidden thing. She could get a job working in a store, or she could try to wrangle her two years of biology and her two years of English literature into an actual degree, and then do something... normal.

Normal people didn’t wade naked into the river. Normal people didn’t fall into a quagmire of silty mud trying to collect herbs. Normal people would take a picture of the pretty herbs on their phone, then shower when they got home.

There’s that word again.

Her parents weren’t helping. Not that they weren’t being supportive, but they were no help about choosing a path or a place to live because they straddled the normal and magical worlds neatly together. Many of the women on her mother’s side were witches, and her father’s grandmother and great-grandmother had been witches.

But her dad was a quality-control inspector for a grocery conglomerate, and her mother was a stay-at-home mom. Well, she had been. Now that they were “empty-nesters,” her parents were traveling all over the British Isles and America together, hopping around the globeas her father inspected different packaging plants and grocery stores, being tourists when he was done with his workday.

I could stay in Scotland or England, where half the family lives. Or America, where the other half lives. Pine Ridge is a nice place to settle down.

Farrah had enjoyed her teenage years in the magically friendly town. At least her parents had let her put down roots for high school. It wasn’t their fault she’d taken two years of post-secondary school at the University of Edinburgh and two at Pine Ridge’s small NYU branch campus. With a family split evenly on both sides of the Atlantic, Farrah had hoped to feel a strong pull to one place or the other.

And she hadn’t.

Give me a sign. I want to know where I belong.

Pine Ridge popped into her mind again—but again, it came with the words “settle down” attached.

Yes, I want to find the person who settles my heart, and the rest will follow.

That’s divine wisdom.

All at once, Farrah felt calmer, and the water’s icy chill made itself known. She had drifted to another plane of concentration, received the clear answer she needed, and now she was back to reality with a thud.

She hurried out of the stream with a soft squeal, racing toward her muddy dress and boots, happy that at least her legs and hands were clean now.