His voice goes utterly tender. “Och, no, Rose. You’re alive. Verra much so.”
The way Callum says my name, soft and certain, draws my eyes to him. He’s staring.
We both look away so fast, it’s a miracle neither of us pulls a muscle.
Cheeks burning, I scramble for the first thing that comes to mind. “Then, how? How is this possible?”
His expression turns guarded. “Only the most powerful of witches can manage it.”
“Wait. You’re saying Donag is awitch?”
“Wheesht, lass.” He glances around hastily. “Aye,” he murmurs, “she is that. Though she had forces to aid her. Yesternight ’twas a time of great power. When you came, the eve of Samhain?—”
“The eve ofsow-what?”
“Sow-wen.” He pronounces it slowly, his brow furrowing. “Do you nae celebrate the last day of October?”
“You mean Halloween? Are you kidding? That’s really a thing?” I snort. “Of course it is. Why not? All Donag needs is a broomstick and she’d be ready to trick-or-treat.”
“No trickery,” he says slowly, clearly unsure how to deal with my outburst. To him, this is all completely natural. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Donag’s a witch.
“’Tis real indeed. But this year’s Samhain was different. A black moon rose—a second new moon in a single month. A rare omen, that. A time of great power.”
My expression freezes as realization dawns. “Wait…does this mean I have to wait untilnext yearto return to my own time?”
“No, you need only a time of power. ’Twas the eve of Mabon when Donag sent Janet away.” Noting my confusion, he adds, “The harvest festival, marking the start of autumn.”
“The autumnal equinox,” I mutter to myself.
“As you see, there are other ways to travel.” He shrugs. “I’ll not be knowing them.”
My attention drifts. I stare at the land around me, taking it all in with fresh eyes. How will I survive? I’m self-sufficient, but this is ridiculous. I’ll need food, clothing, shelter. What will I have to do for it?
I shake my head. “I can’t do this.” I’m trapped, a prisoner here. Maybe Donag’s, maybe Campbell’s, it doesn’t matter. If I were to escape, where would I go?
“I can’t.”
Callum’s voice seems to come from far away. “You can,” he’s saying, and, “I’ll help you.”
He’s so steady and sure, his presence so oddly calming,my breathing slows, then steadies. I scrub a hand over my cheeks to dry them and let out a heavy sigh.
“Poppa.” My voice cracks on his name.
Poppa will be frantic. It’s bad enough his son died so young. For me to just disappear? This will kill him.
Then a far worse realization strikes.
Will he even know I’m gone?
It’s 1622. Poppa won’t be born for hundreds of years. And somehow that’s even worse. My entire life—the farm, my school, my friends, everything I ever valued—doesn’t even exist. I clench my fists, sudden anger scorching away the fear. “Why?” The word bursts from me. “Why did you bring me? How do you and Donag know so much about witchcraft?”
“Nae so loud,” he hisses. He reaches for my arm. “Come.”
I pull away. “Don’t touch me. I’m not budging until you tell me. Out of all time and space, why choose me?”
Callum sighs, looking thoroughly aggrieved. “You’ve my word. I didn’t choose you. I chose none of this.”
The words cut me, though they shouldn’t.
