Dark Witch by Nora Roberts

Let’s have some plates, Iona, there’s a girl.” His tone shifted from sharp to gentle as his sister leaned back against the counter and sulkily drank her coffee.
    Saying nothing, Iona got down plates and, at his direction, located the flatware, set the table.
    She sat with her cousins, looked at the platter heaped with bacon and eggs, the plate of toasted bread, listened to the two of them bicker about how the eggs were cooked, whose turn it was to go to the market and why the laundry hadn’t been folded.
    “My coming here like this put you at odds, so you’re fighting, but I—”
    “We’re not fighting.” Connor scooped up a forkful of eggs. “Are we fighting, Branna?”
    “We’re not. We’re communicating.” Then she laughed, tossed her magnificent hair, and bit into her toast. “If we were fighting, more than these eggs would be scorched.”
    “They’re not scorched,” Connor insisted. “They’re . . . firm.”
    “They’re good.”
    Branna rolled her eyes at Iona. “You’d have eaten better at the hotel, be sure of it. The chef there is brilliant.”
    “I wasn’t thinking about food this morning. I can’t just read books, and stumble around trying to . . . I don’t know what to do unless I
know
.”
    “She’s a bit of food in her now,” Branna said to Connor. “So, what happened?”
    “I had a dream, that wasn’t a dream.”
    She told all of it, every detail she could remember as carefully as she could manage.
    “Let me see your hand,” Branna interrupted. “The one that bled.”
    She took it, held it fast while she traced fingertips over the back. The skin split, filled with blood. “Be still!” Branna snapped when Iona gasped and tried to pull free. “It’s but a memory now. There’s no pain. This is just the mirror of what was.”
    “It was real. It hurt, burned. And there was blood on the sheet.”
    “Then, yes, it was real. This is only a reflection.” She traced her fingertips over it again, and the wound vanished.
    “I was pregnant. I mean, she was pregnant. In the vision, or dream. He didn’t know. He couldn’t see it, or feel it? I don’t know which.” Agitated, Iona shoved at her hair with both hands. “I have to know, Branna. You said I needed to think carefully, but how can I when I don’t have all the information?”
    “It’s twined close,” Branna said, and got Connor’s nod. “And you’re more open than I understood. I’ll give you something to filter the visions; it may help you keep yourself a step back we’ll say. We’ll guide you, Connor and I, best that we can. But we can’t tell you what we don’t know. If Teagan went alone back to the cabin, back to the woods, was confronted, you’re the one telling us.”
    “We know pieces, Branna and I, and now you’ll know more. We’ve both gone back, had glimpses, felt as you feel now.”
    “But we were only two,” Branna added. “There must be three.”
    “He was bolder with you, as you’re more vulnerable. You won’t stay that way,” Connor assured her.
    It sounded ridiculous, but she had to say aloud what churned through her mind. “Can he kill me? If I go back, when I sleep, could he kill me?”
    “He could try and likely will try.” Branna answered the ridiculous with bald simplicity. “You’ll stop him.”
    “How?”
    “With your will, with your power. With the amulet you wear, and must always wear, and with what I’ll give you.”
    Branna stopped pushing her eggs around her plate, picked up her coffee. And once again watched Iona over the rim.
    “But understand, if you stay, if you mean to be with us, and be what you are, he will come for you. You must stay freely, and knowing that, or go and live your life.”
    It was all too fantastic. And yet. She’d lived that dream. She’d felt the pain.
    And she knew the draw and pull of what lived inside her.
    Bridges burned, Iona reminded herself, for the chance to build new ones. Wherever they led—and they’d already