There's a time and a place, as any competent witch will tell you, to go mucking around with other dimensions. The heart of Orkney is not really the place, civilized though it's grown over the years -- still poised between the ocean and the sky, the old stones and the cairns, between the dark men of the sea and the dark things under the hill -- and ( Read more... )

He comes out of the bedroom as if he's been there all along -- a little tousled, granted, but more or less composed, the hazardous look gone from his eyes. In its place there's a kind of quiet resolve.

A week after Clarissant's unannounced arrival, she's settled in Mordred's apartment as if she belongs there. The couch folds out, not that she always bothers to unfold it; and beyond that she simply takes over the place. The kitchen acquires a pervasive smell of herbs; the coffee table slowly succumbs to a clutter of newspapers, trade journals, ( Read more... )

It gets lonely, that's all. There are times when Rachel, as much fun as she is, can't hold his attention; he's always listening past her for some other voice, breathing her synthetic-lavender scent and missing the tang of salt and earth. If anything, it's worse than it was before: memory that had blurred is sharp and bright again, and he wakes in ( Read more... )