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none of them lived in the village and that the bus service is irregular and expensive. I ventured to ask if her mother might object to her being out of the house so much—surely there was homework to be done? It seems her mother is a care worker at a home in Pasbury. She works long hours and varied shifts. She is happy that the girl is occupied. There is no mention of a father or of any siblings.
    I confess I am allowing myself to feel at ease here at Willow Cottage. Since that sense of threat the day I encountered Reverend Williamson, I have not had any negative sensations or moments of alarm. Could it be that I have at last found a safe haven? Can I have finally stepped beyond the reach of those ever-outstretched claws? The notion is seductive, and I am loath to taint it with caution and care. When we had finished our work, I had Tegan join me in placing a candle and a small circle of pebbles in the newly cleared area. I explained to her that I believe it will make an excellent sacred space. The heavens alone know what the child made of such a statement, but she happily went along with positioning the stones and helping me choose a candle. I will burn sage oil come the full moon and ask for continued protection.
    MARCH 2, 2007—MOON ENTERS VIRGO
    Heavy rain carried on an icy wind has rendered outdoor tasks unpleasant. Still, I am able to continue with the aid of an old sou’wester and rubber boots. Tegan came straight from the school bus stop to my house this afternoon. One glance told me her face was not reddened merely by the weather. Her eyes brimmed as she stood beside me by the hissing remains of my bonfire. She stared disconsolately into the smoke but did not say what had reduced her to such a state.
    ‘Have you had a difficult day?’ I asked, not wanting to pry but happy to offer the opportunity to talk of what was troubling her.
    She merely shrugged.
    ‘A nasty chill in the air today,’ I said. ‘You should have a hat on. Keep those restless brains of yours warm.’
    Two tears slid down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She did nothing to stop them. She looked suddenly so childlike, not a young woman at all, just a sad little girl with a pain she did not know how to share.
    ‘Wait here,’ I told her. I slipped into the house and went to my store cupboard. I selected a small blue bottle of oil of bergamot and returned to the now-extinguished bonfire. Tegan barely seemed to have registered my absence. ‘Here, take this. Put a few drops on your pillow and one on your heart before school tomorrow.’
    She took the proffered phial, staring at it for a moment, frowning, before looking up at me. At last she grinned.
    ‘Thanks. Thank you,’ she said. ‘Is it…?’
    I did not let her finish.
    ‘Off with you,’ I said. ‘It’s too bleak to stand here idle. I’ve things to do.’
    MARCH 4, 2007—THIRD QUARTER
    I have no one to blame but myself, which only serves to make my temper worse. How could I have been so foolish? What was I thinking? I hear myself trying to justify my actions, a simple response to the suffering of another by one who could help, but it makes the results no better. Tegan fair flung herself into my garden this afternoon, eyes bright, the light of joy and amazement shining out of her. She jumped about in front of me, waving the blue bottle under my nose with so much vigor I had to tell her to stop.
    ‘But it worked!’ she cried. ‘It actually worked. You’re bloody incredible. How did you do it? Tell me what was in it. What else can you do? I knew it, all along, I just knew you were special. There was something … Can you do love spells too? Can you make people fall in love, even if they don’t want to?’
    I hardly heard the rest. She rattled on while I sought to make sense of what I could have done that could have caused such excitement. At last I raised my hands and spoke sharply.
    ‘Enough! Take a breath and tell me, slowly and clearly, what has happened.’
    ‘Well, I