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“I know you’re more powerful than anyone I’ve ever known and yet… You should know, Seren… I’m not afraid. Isn’t it a wonder?”

Seren closed her eyes and inhaled the now familiar refreshing scent, a scent that comforted and excited, a scent of peace and wonder. She breathed it in, and when it was not enough, she simply burrowed her face into the crook of Lark’s neck and let the scent take over.

That’s when a memory intruded, so vivid that Seren felt the cliff shift under her feet, as if dumping her in a different reality. One of grief. One of pain. Seren scrunched her face to stave off images of the bayou. Of the flu ward. Of the face watching her with the same brave blue eyes.

No, not her. The woman wasn’t watching her. She was watching Gwen… Gwen, who left and returned to Dragons alone. Scared and guilty. Not Seren. Not Seren.

Lark lifted her hands and caressed her face, holding it steady as she touched their lips together in a sweet and gentle kiss that was more about soothing Seren’s racing heart than anything else.

“You are a wonder, Lark,” Seren mumbled against the soft lips. She wanted to hold her close, wanted to always carry this woman with her, keep her safe, make her forget the horrors she had clearly faced in her short life. And so she burrowed her face in the crook of Lark’s neck again, and a sheepish giggle was the only response, her hair clearly tickling the delicate skin. Lark’s laughter warmed Seren to her very bones.

“I’m not a wonder. In fact, I’m barely standing; my knees are weak. You and your magic and your ocean and your lips and arms… Gosh, Seren Crowhart, Captain of the Fire Brigade, you’re making me feel things.” Lark stumbled over words and turned bright red. Seren felt all pure thoughts evaporate from her brain and migrate downward.

“Things?” Seren infused her voice with as much innuendo as she could.

Lark swatted at her arm.

“Do not go down to that low register! Do you know that people in Crow’s Nest actually talk about you and your voice and this very darned lower register of yours? Even that chatty woman who comes to the Tavern to distract and piss off Victoria says it’s deadly! What’s her name? Marsha McMons? She’s old enough to be your mother, and yet even she is not immune! I see why. Also, why do all the women in Crow’s Nest know this and talk about your voice?”

Seren lifted her hands in surrender.

“I swear I don’t know! I haven’t even dated on the island. Ever.”

Lark looked at her, her lips pursed.

“You haven’t? Not even that Jenny?”

Seren shook her head.

“No, not even Jenny. No woman, actually. I had a boyfriend in high school, but we very quickly realized I liked his sister more, and he liked my aunt’s sommelier, Ryan. So no, I’ve never dated anyone on the island. I always took it off Dragons⁠—”

Seren realized she was talking too much and shut her mouth with a sharp snap. Lark’s lips were still pursed.

“Aha! I knew it! Just like Ceridwen, taking her personal business off the island.” She poked Seren in the ribs, making her squirm. Lark poked again, trying to get under Seren’s winter jacket as Seren unsuccessfully evaded and guffawed.

“Hey, quit it! I had like a handful of dates over the years. I’ve been waiting⁠—”

Both of them froze, breathing loudly as words tumbled out of Seren’s mouth. She bit her lip, and Lark held her breath for a long moment before she exhaled loudly, a vapor of sharp relief against the sky at dusk. Seren touched the small cloud, her quiet words filling the air.

“Come Water, break the cold, bring the warmth…” The relief from the chill was instant, familiar, and it enveloped them in a comforting embrace.

“Wow!” Lark’s face was a picture of delight. Seren instantly vowed to conjure spells every hour just to see this look on her beautiful features. When Lark lifted her fingers to touch the cloud, her eyes took on a dreamy quality, and Seren amended “hour” to “minute.” Surely her magic would not be drained, simply because this very expression would sustain her for days on end.

Then something that Lark had said earlier returned to the forefront of her mind. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, wondering if now was the right time to ask. Wondering if they were both⁠—

Lark, and her penchant to say the right thing at the perfect time, interrupted.

“I might’ve told a little fib, before. When I said I knew you were a witch from the beginning? The reasons I gave you were all true, but also, I knew you were different because I’ve met you before.” When Seren merely stared at her, Lark returned the look, serious and solemn.

Seren blinked, then blinked again.

“We’ve never met, Lark. Not before you set foot on the island.” Her own voice was unsure, taking on that tremulous quality she hated.

But Lark did not seem to notice or care. She simply shook her head and laid her hand on Seren’s cheek.

“I know you understand what I’m talking about, Seren. Maybe now is not the time. Maybe sometime when things are more settled between us. But that’s okay. If only because there is no way I’m only one who knows this. Who feels this. Who remembers this.” Lark smiled, and it was tinged with sadness. Seren touched the corner of the pouty lips, hoping to wipe the melancholy away. Lark just kept speaking. “It’s okay. I’m here now, and that’s all that matters.”

Then, before Seren could respond, Lark stepped out of her arms and started down the path toward the town.