Perhaps then, he’d be able to decipher the meaning behind the pictures yet to be woven onto the canvas.

Fin studied the paper picture of the tapestry before him. A battle scene was easy to make out.

Swords, blood, and the fallen scattered one corner.

Whose blood? Not his mother’s, for she must have lived to finish the piece. His father would then survive as well since their Druid wedding vows would take them both from this world at near the same time. Fin held some comfort knowing they both survived.

“Hurry up.”

“I’m working on it.” Fin refused to meet Lizzy’s accusatory eyes. If they were back at the keep, he would have retreated to his father’s study to find some peace. Lizzy’s small dwelling, surrounded by the noise of the city, clouded his brain. And the air wasn’t right, artificially cold and dry. Selma had called it air conditioning, not that he knew why air needed to be conditioned. He didn’t ask.

Fin’s mind wandered to the trip in time when he and Duncan had traveled and found Tara. He remembered wishing for the ability to ride in a car.

Now that he’d done so several times, he wished for the simplicity of his horse. That he could control.

That he understood.

This world, Lizzy’s world, suffocated him. Some of the pleasantries fascinated him, and, in truth, the food was far superior, but for everything he enjoyed, there was something bigger missing.

“Well?”

“Shh!” Fin snapped his thoughts back to his task. Daydreaming wouldn’t aide him now.

Lizzy made small huffing noises as she paced.

The louder she huffed, the closer she came to the boiling point.

Perhaps he could find an occupation to keep her busy so he could think.

“Finlay?”

“Dammit, lass, stop badgering me.”

“Ahh, Finlay?”

“What?” He tore his face away and over toward her. Only she wasn’t standing where he thought she ought to be.

She squeaked.

Fin tilted his head back and followed the sound.

Liz hovered above his head, her body flush with the ceiling, her hair cascading down.

“God’s teeth!”

“Get me down.”

Fin jumped to his feet. He reached both hands toward her, but the eleven-foot ceilings were higher than he could manage.

“How did you get up there?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

Unable to touch anything but the edges of her hair, Fin settled with standing below her so he could catch her should she fall.

“’Tis safe to say we now know what your gift is.”

Liz shook her head from side to side. “Get me down.”

“Settle, lass—”

“Don’t tell me to settle. I don’t see you flying above ground.”

Fin planted his feet directly below her and kept his arms stretched out. “You’re the one keeping your body in the air. ’Tis you who need to relax and focus.” ’Tis a good thing we aren’t outside. Fin thought twice about voicing his concerns.

“Focus on what? Being the next Superman?”

“You’re still a lass, love.”

“You’re not funny,” she spat.

“Sett—slow your breathing and close your eyes.”

Liz set her jaw even tighter. “What the hell is that going to do? I’m not in a yoga class here,” she yelled.

He had no idea what a yoga class was, but he could tell Liz would be plastered on the ceiling for a long while if she didn’t calm down. For one brief moment, he considered stepping into her room or maybe out of the apartment all together to achieve some peace.

He sighed. With their luck of late, she’d likely fall and break a limb.

“Remember how Simon couldn’t shift back into his form the other day?”

“Yeah. What about it? I’m not a wolf, I’m flying.”

“’Tis the same thing. If you focus you’ll be able to control what’s happening.”

“What’s all the yelling about?” Selma walked into the room talking. Her words barely left her mouth before she gave one short, startled scream.

Fin felt his heart kick faster in his chest. They really didn’t need this right now. Selma ran toward them, her arms extended like his. “Jesus, how…”

“I don’t know how.”

“Fetch a chair,” Fin ordered. Selma hurried toward the kitchen. She returned and sat the sturdy chair within his reach. Fin tested his weight and lifted close enough to touch Liz with the tips of his fingers.

“Can you move your arms?”

Her head pivoted toward her right arm, her fingers twitched. “They feel like lead weight. Good God, how can I be flying if I feel like a ball of steel?”

“Does it feel anything at all like when you and the others are bound in the circle?”

“No. Wait. A little, I guess.”

He brushed her face with his hand. Under her anger, her hysteria, he noticed her fear. “All right.

Concentrate.”

Her eyes met his briefly, before they closed. She took a few deep breaths.

“Think of the weightlessness you achieve when you’re with Myra, Tara, and Amber. In their presence, you’ve always been free. Free to express your gifts, show your power.”

Her chest shuddered, and she willed herself to relax.

“Good girl. You clasp hands with the others, you light the circle, and you all see as one.”

Selma gasped. Fin glanced to see a shimmer of flame hovering above the floor. The flame grew and circled the three of them. Selma shifted from foot to foot. He motioned her to remain silent. He was getting somewhere with Liz, he didn’t need her concentration wavering now.

Liz fisted her hands, her wrists started to move.

“In this day,” she whispered.

“In this hour,” Fin said along with her.

Her hand moved toward his, he clasped onto it.

“I ask the Ancients for my power.”

Fin moved closer to her. Her face softened. Her pink lips moved and caressed each word as it left her mouth. “Guide me now so I may see, what will be my destiny.”

Her hips floated from their anchor until Fin could reach around her frame. Her body pressed against his brought relief to his mind. She’d done it.

“Ah, guys?”

Selma glanced around at the dancing flames then back up at them.

Shit. Fin hovered with Liz. Only now, they were both hovering and in an upright position. Liz opened her eyes.

“This is an improvement anyway.”