"Don't know," Katrina said, picking up a three-pronged hand rake and scraping it among the carrots. "With her gang."

Morgan smiled to herself: Moira's «gang» consisted of her friends Tess and Vita. She let out a deep breath, hoping she would have the energy to get back up when she needed to. Lately it seemed she'd been working harder than ever. She was often gone, leaving Katrina to come look after Moira, though Moira had started protesting that she could stay by herself. Last week Katrina had accused her of running away from grief, and Morgan hadn't denied it. It was just too painful to be here sometimes-to see the woodwork that Colm had painted, the garden he'd helped her create. She felt his loss a thousand times a day here. In a hotel in some unknown city, with work to distract her, it was easier to bear. Now she waited for her outspoken mother-in-law- her friend-to get something off her chest.

"When were you thinking of accepting the role of high priestess?" Katrina asked bluntly. Her trowel moved slowly through the rich black soil. She looked focused on her gardening, but Morgan knew better.

She let out a deep breath. "I was thinking maybe next spring. Imbolc. Moira's to be initiated on Beltane, and it would be lovely for me to lead it."

"Aye," agreed Katrina. "So maybe you need to cut back on your traveling and start preparing more to be high priestess." She looked up at Morgan shrewdly. "Meaning you'll have to be home more."

Morgan pressed her lips together. It was pointless to pretend not to know what Katrina was talking about. She scraped the toe of her shoe against a clump of grass. "It's hard being here."

"Hard things have to be faced, Morgan. You've a daughter here who needs you. You've missed two of the last five circles. And not least, your garden's going to hell." Katrina pulled up a group of late carrots, and Morgan was startled to see that below their lush green tops, their roots were gnarled, twisted, and half rotted away.