Belladonna

had thought when she and Michael walked out of the tavern and vanished as they took the step between here and there.
    He hadn't argued about being given a guest room instead of being invited to her bed. But she couldn't have him there, not yet.
    Not quite yet.
    The Warrior of Light must drink from the Dark Cup.
    Listening to him tell the story had been like having a memory rise up through her skin. She'd heard the echo of his words in her blood and bone.
    The Guardians of the Light had kept themselves apart from the everyday life of humans, devoting themselves to nurturing the Light so that it would always shine in the world. But the Guides of the Heart had walked in the world. Had fought for the world.
    Had died for the world.
    She had come from them. She was one of them. She would follow their path.
    But this ... This would be worse than dying.
    She knew how to build the cage. Had known for sixteen years without realizing it. And because this would be her choice, she knew how to lock the door of that cage and seal it tight. So tight.
    Maybe it was just as well she hadn't met the Magician earlier in her life. That much less to remember. That much less to regret leaving behind.
    Ephemera, hear me.
    Questions asked. Answers given. It would be all right. She could give him this much. And he would be the Guide he was meant to be.
    The Light called.
    She smiled when she saw where her wandering had ended. Even as her eyes filled with tears, she smiled.
    And took the step between here and there.
    "Glorianna? Glorianna!"
    Michael held the lantern up and looked around. A waste of breath to swear, but he swore anyway. Without heat, but with a great deal of creativity. The woman may have followed the literal meaning of her promise but she'd fallen short of the spirit of that promise. Which was something they were going to discuss when he found her.
    If he could find her.
    He would find her. Oh, he would. A note slipped under his door wasn't what he'd had in mind when he said he wanted to know where she was going.
    Magician, I'm taking a walk in the garden. If I cross over, it will be to a Place of Light. And I will be back.
    Well, good. Fine. When?
    The wild child circled round him, anxious and confused. Did he want something? Should it make something? What? What?
    He paused long enough to grab hold of his own emotions and consider where he was — and what might happen if he got careless about how he expressed his feelings.
    "Nothing," he muttered. "It's nothing. Well ..." He paused. Considered. Surely that couldn't hurt her landscapes, and it would certainly help him and the wild child calm down. "Maybe we could find a place to play a little music while we're waiting for her to come back."
    Here here here. This way.
    He followed the "tug" in the currents of power, not exactly sure where he was going, but since he was still within the walled garden, he wasn't worried. He had acquired a heavy coat before he and Glorianna had crossed over to Dunberry — this one a loan from Jeb — so he was warm enough despite the chilly autumn night. If worse came to worst, he would simply wait for sunrise before looking for the gate that led back to the house. But as he stepped off one path and on to another, the change in the feel of things was enough of a jolt to make him stop.
    This part of the garden didn't feel like Glorianna.
    The buzz of the land flowed through him, making him want to scratch an itch he knew wasn't physical.
    Potential. Possibility. Change.
    He set the lantern down, then spread his arms, raising his hands up shoulder-high. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the night sky.
    A month ago he would have felt foolish standing like this. Now he felt the power and duty and joy of what he was.
    "Ephemera, hear me," he said softly. "It is Michael. The Magician."
    He was a tone that flowed through the currents of the world, both Light and Dark. He was a clear, powerful song. He was a Magician, and he heard the music of the world.
    The buzz of the land kept shifting until it fit the tone that was him, became part of the song that was him.
    Most important, this odd place, while it didn't have quite the same feel as the rest, now belonged in Glorianna's garden.
    Then he opened his eyes and looked at the ground in front of him.
    "Lady's mercy," he whispered. "What have I done?"
    "You're up early," Glorianna said as she stepped into the kitchen of Sanctuary's guest house. She saw the woman stiffen, saw the wariness in the