But Celia was not interested in the millennia-old tensions between wizardry and the church. “All I really need is an introduction,” she said, “a chance, maybe only for a quarter hour, to talk to him directly. I’ve tried reaching him before but have always been put off by one priest or another, who just tell me I’m being silly and shouldn’t bother His Holiness.”

“And are you being silly?” I asked lightly, trying to take some of the sharp intensity from her face.

She did not smile. “It’s not silly to know what you want-what you were meant to do. The only trouble is with others who think they can plan your life better than you can for yourself.”

I nodded, not sure what I was agreeing to but thinking of Paul.

Celia and I were shown after only a short wait into the bishop’s study. A shaft of late afternoon sunlight lay across the floor. Joachim stepped out of the shadows to meet us, tall and sober in his formal scarlet vestments. He lifted an eyebrow, mildly surprised to see a young woman with me.

I introduced her. “Forgive me, Celia, for not recognizing you at once,” said the bishop politely. “I am always happy to see any of my spiritual sons and daughters, but I fear I have not spoken with you properly since you were quite a bit younger.”

She knelt, overcome, to kiss his episcopal ring, something I myself had always been able to justify not doing. “Please, Holy Father,” she said in a low voice, “don’t send me away before hearing me. Don’t leave, Wizard!” as I stepped toward the door, as though frightened of being left alone with the bishop. “I know you have business of your own here, and this-this should only take a minute.”

Joachim blessed her, his hand resting lightly on her hair. “Rise, my daughter. Sit beside me and tell me what troubles your soul.”