Nico held on tightly, stolid no more as his grief turned from anger to sadness, shedding its bitter garb. Under that blue light, he cradled the girl who was not his grandchild as though kith and kin were no more bound by blood than they were by stone.

Nico blamed himself.

Not for Kathleen's death. He blamed himself for blaming the magic and the farmers and the poor sweet orphan child.

"It was never your fault," he whispered. "Please. I need you. We all do."

L o n g

m o m e n t s

p a s s e d

And then, the town's folk uttered a sound in complete wonder.

The blue light began to shine more brightly.