Most witches would have been gibbering in terror. Adele seemed not to notice. She stood and walked over to the table, reaching for the teapot. “A woman’s got to make a living. And I’m a lot more useful to people than most of the quacks out there.”

Adam squirmed in Sophie’s arms, his eyes on the rainbows playing off Adele’s fingers. Sophie had the sudden, irrational urge to hide him away.

“You have a message for us, then? From Evan?” Moira’s eyes were flooded with pain-and hope.

Impossible hope.

And for that, Sophie was ready to dismember the gold-plated fraud in their midst. With a teacup. She handed Adam back to Nell and faced down their invader. “Don’t you dare walk in here dangling cheap hope and stirring up pain just to make a buck or two.” Power streamed down her fingers, aching to hurt. To avenge.

It shocked her to the core to feel Adele’s power heating up in response. The medium calmly held out a fire globe on her palm and floated it over to entertain Adam. “I have no need to prove myself to any of you. You want to be pissy, judgmental witches, you be my guest.” Her eyes surveyed the room. “But I promised to deliver a message to you, and a fair amount of work went into getting me here, so perhaps you’d be kind enough to hold your fire long enough to hear me out.”

“No.” Sophie stepped forward again, fury pushing against her chest. Fire magic might make Adele a witch, but it didn’t make her a medium. There hadn’t been a decently strong channeler of the spirits in three generations. “We don’t speak lies in this room. You have no right to be here.”

“She does.” Moira’s voice was soft-the kind of soft anyone in Fisher’s Cove knew as high command. She held up a hand, stopping Sophie’s protest dead in its tracks. “I know you seek only to protect me, dearest girl-but this isn’t yours to do.”

Moira turned her head to Adele, every inch the proud matriarch. “I will take your message.”