He patted himself as if looking for something and frowned, gazing around the kitchen.
“Oh, I’ve forgotten my cane. Could ya get it for me? I think I left it on the front porch.”
Libby walked back through the living room, thinking about what he had said. Play with it? The damned thing wasn’t a toy, it was scary. Learn from it? Learn what?
And experiment? Well, darn it, why the hell not? And she just might start with Father Daar and see what he thought about that.
Libby found his cane leaning against the chair he’d used. She picked it up and started back into the house. But she stopped suddenly when her hands began to warm, and the cane started to hum like a tuning fork. Her whole body tingled, and the sunlight brightened to a sharp, colorful glow all around her.
“Don’t be afraid of it, Libby,” came Father Daar’s voice through the fog. “Just feel the energy, and tell me what ya see.”
She couldn’t see anything but colored light. But she could certainly feel. Emotions engulfed her. Contentment, fear, longing, and passion; all were present, wrapping around her, tugging at her, pulling her in different directions.
“Focus, Libby,” Father Daar’s voice said again, sounding far away. “Pick one color, and concentrate on it.”
His voice was soothing, ageless, and distant. Libby did as she was told and focused on the brightest color and most persistent emotion.
Tendrils of fear rose in her mind, trying to pull her deeper into the maelstrom. Libby fought against the chaos, crying out as she felt herself sinking into its frightening depths.
“Look around you, girl. Find something to hold on to. Anchor yourself, and you can go there without being consumed.”
Libby searched for an anchor but saw only pewter-gray eyes staring at her, burning bright with passion. Arms of forged steel wrapped around her. She hesitantly leaned into the security they offered and found herself turning back to face her fear with a new sense of strength.
The energy became voices, coming at her from a hundred different directions, begging, pleading, reaching for help. The arms holding her tightened, and Libby took a shuddering breath and reached into the middle of the maelstrom.
She wasn’t consumed. Instead, she found herself able to touch the swirling mass of pulsing colors. And one by one, the voices quieted, the snapping colors faded, and the storm eased.
Libby turned and buried her face against her anchor, and the sound of gentle laughter brought her back to reality. She looked up and blinked and found Father Daar, his eyes shining with amusement, standing a good five paces away. He held out his hand.
“Can I have my staff back?” he asked. “Before ya use up all its power?”
“Staff?” Libby repeated softly, looking down at the gently humming cane in her hand.
She looked up at the priest and took a step back. “What… who are you?”
The old man puffed up his chest and smoothed down the front of his cassock. “I’m a wizard, girl. Or haven’t ya guessed?”
Libby took another step back. “Wizard?” she repeated. “But that’s impossible.”
“Then explain what just happened.”
“No, you explain it,” she demanded, stepping toward him. She held up the still warm, still vibrating cane between them. “What just happened?”
“Ya just got a glimpse of your true gift,” he told her, grabbing the cane and clutching it to his chest protectively.
“And ya discovered that you can control it—as long as ya keep yourself firmly anchored.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “And so now you know what my gift is.”
“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “I only know that it’s a powerful force and that ya have a job ahead of ya to learn to use it wisely. And I also know that ya’re smart to be cautious, that it can be just as destructive as it can be good.”
“And you say you’re a wizard?” Libby repeated, wondering if his age was affecting his thinking. But it shouldn’t be affecting hers, and she certainly couldn’t explain what had just happened.
“Ya didn’t come here by chance, Libby Hart,” Father Daar said. “Ya was lured to this magical land on purpose. The secret to controlling your gift is here.” He chuckled again.
“And I’m thinking ya’ve already found your anchor.” He shook his head. “MacBain won
’t like it none, though, when he finds out.”
Libby stepped up to Father Daar and took hold of the open edges of his red plaid jacket.
“Don’t you dare say anything to Michael,” she whispered, somewhat demanding, somewhat desperately. “He won’t understand.”
The priest who called himself a wizard tucked his cane under his arm and covered her hands against his chest. Humor still lit his face, and he laughed out loud again.
“Ah, Libby. Of all the anchors you could have found, MacBain will understand better than anyone.” He canted his head, looking off toward Pine Lake. “And I’m beginning to think that the mishap twelve years ago wasn’t a mistake at all.” He looked back at her.
“MacBain was also destined to be here. For several reasons, apparently.”
“What mishap? What reasons? What are you talking about?”
“You, girl. He’s here for you. And Robbie. The boy needed to be born, and MacBain had to travel here for that to happen.”
Becoming more confused with every word he spoke, Libby tried to turn away, but Father Daar still held her hands and wouldn’t let go. And he was still grinning like a demented old fool.
“I didn’t make a mistake twelve years ago, girl. And neither did you when ya decided to move here.”
Instead of disagreeing, Libby turned her hands in his and gripped his age-bent fingers.
She smiled back at Father Daar and willed her power to race through his body, seeking out every one of his arthritic joints.
She was able to rebuild cartilage and smooth bone as she swept through his skeleton with the precision of a laser beam. And again, as it had in California, her body warmed, her heartbeat slowed, and she was able to see his pain and make it disperse into the light.
Father Daar gasped in surprise and stumbled back, his complexion as pale as new-fallen snow. “What have ya done?” he shouted hoarsely, taking several steps back. He pointed a finger at her. “Ya stay away from me!”
Libby rubbed her tingling hands on her thighs and shot him a smug grin. “I was just doing what you told me to.”
“Doing what?”
She shrugged. “Practicing. Exploring my gift.”
“I didn’t mean for ya to practice on me!”
“Did I hurt you?”
He had to think about that. He actually patted himself down and bent over to give himself a visual inspection as well, as if he expected she’d turned him into a frog or something. He danced from foot to foot, waved his arms like a bird, and even turned in a full circle, trying to see over his shoulder to his backside.
He suddenly straightened and lifted wide, crystal-clear blue eyes to her in surprise.
“God’s teeth, woman. Ya’re a healer,” he whispered. “Ya healed my aches.”
Libby sobered and hugged herself. Hearing those words, spoken with such quiet authority, sent shivers down her spine.
Father Daar walked to one of the chairs on the porch and sat down. He braced his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face several times before finally looking up at her.
“And this is what made you run here?” he asked. “This ability to heal people?”
Unable to move from her spot, Libby merely nodded.
“No wonder ya’re shaken. It’s a god-awful responsibility, healing people. Ya can’t just go around willy-nilly, curing everyone. Some aren’t meant to be cured.”
Libby wanted to hug him. Finally, someone who understood her dilemma. “And that’s why I ran away,” she explained. “I was a surgeon, working in a hospital full of people wanting to be healed. Where would it end? When it completely consumed me?”