"This your first revel?" she asked to keep the conversation going. She didn't like the idea that she'd hurt Morgan somehow. In all their online conversations, Morgan had been nothing but good to her. Patient, funny, and kind. Awake at all hours of the night when Stella's night terrors kept her up and the rumbling of passing trucks made her heart ache.

Morgan laughed like Stella had told a joke, although her smile was strained. "No way, I've been to loads of these things. Lost count of how many by now."

"Imagine that." Stella had given up her community to get well, and now she was as well as she could be without them. She rubbed the still-visible scar under her blouse. She hadn't met a doctor yet who knew what to make of it.

"Hey," Morgan said, drawing her out of her head. "You'll get there, okay? We'll take care of you."

"I'm not sure you can."

Morgan's only answer was to lower her glasses and give Stella a look as they came to a red light. Morgan had thoughtful eyes. They were brown, almost black, and serious, an impression belied by her blood orange eyeshadow and coordinated shades. If Stella didn't know better she'd say Morgan dressed so flamboyantly to distract from how flamboyant she wasn't. To distract from how young she wasn't either. Her face was youthful, her skin unlined, but it was her eyes that sent a shock through Stella's system. Morgan's eyes were ancient.

"I never asked you how old you were, did I?"

Morgan pushed up her glasses and quirked a brow, driving them through the nearest intersection when the light said go. "You must have. We were matched based on age."

"I don't remember that." Stella had a notoriously poor memory when it came to most things; her mind leaked like a sieve. Might-be memories mixed with baffling dreams; she'd always had the most vivid dreams. Morgan could have been right, and yet something told Stella not to believe her entirely. Not on this.

Morgan shrugged, a restless motion of somebody cornered on a topic they'd rather drop. "Maybe I'm wrong. You can check your GPS if you're worried I'm going to murder you and dump your body in the countryside."

Stella snorted. "It's not that. I just...you seem so familiar is all, but I'm sure I'd remember you."

Morgan's expression shifted from unreadable to bittersweet. "Yeah?"

Stella gave a slow nod and Morgan's features softened in profile. She had the most beautiful profile.

"Well, you're pretty memorable, too."

Stella's cheeks hurt she smiled so widely. And she had no idea why.

Stella wasn't one to fall head over heels at the drop of a dime. Not at first sight. Not with long-legged women in ripped jeans who wore combat boots like some people wore high-heel shoes. She wasn't a sucker for a pretty face or an accent that could make her toes curl, or deep-set brown eyes that saw right through her. She was impervious to all that, but there was something about Morgan Fayne that felt familiar. From the moment they had connected on WitchNox, a website for the witchily-inclined, Stella had known she could trust Morgan. Stella scarcely trusted new people anymore; only Morgan had somehow become the exception.

Stella grew uneasy just thinking about it. She had dreamed of enemies who must have been beautiful all her life, but this one she trusted. Why this one?

It was Stella's friends who were prone to heart-stopping romances. They were the ones who would tear themselves apart for want of a love affair, thirsty to experience love even if it hurt. Stella took more care with her heart these days. She had to. Her heart had shards in its chambers that clinked with every beat and cracks along its blood vessels that pulsed when she startled. Stella's heart was made of glass, charmed glass. Only Stella's spine was steel.

The former had been killing her for years. It was only the latter that let her live.

And yet...Morgan Fayne, the human enigma.

Morgan released a weary sigh. They were still traversing their sprawling city. Their destination seemed to be forever away, but at least they were diving headfirst into spring. Nature was cropping up all around them. Skittering animals on the shoulders of the road. Fluffy clouds mimicked their shapes. Stella felt more alive the closer she came to home.

"Did you always live so far from the coven? There must be gatherings closer to where you live."

A dozen, easily. But none that would understand Stella's plight. "This was my mother's coven. Even if I lived elsewhere, I'd make the trip if I had the money and the time."

Morgan looked at her, really looked her, expression all too knowing. "Fair enough."

Nodding, Stella ran her hand over the buttery leather seat beneath her. To say they'd been here for a couple of hours, she was the picture of comfort. She'd never enjoyed a road trip this much and as much as she loved the company, part of that had to be car. It was a gorgeous machine, inside and out. Strong enough to survive the worst. Stella only wished she could be so resilient.

"This car is amazing. Where'd you find it?"

"My big sister, Moira," she retorted abruptly, and then seeming to hear her tone, corrected, "We have a complicated relationship. She's good with stuff like this: cars, technology. She can make any machine sing. She taught me a long time ago to listen to the gears and make them obey. This was her first gift to me, her best one." Morgan's voice had grown progressively quieter, and sadder if Stella wasn't imagining it. "Her name's Camelot. The car, I mean. That's her name."

"It's a good name."

Morgan's car boasted a dash-mounted GPS and the old-fashioned radio had been replaced with the usual contemporary standard. There were airbag decals on each side of the dash and a tarnished silver diadem hung like an amulet from the mirror. She touched it curiously. What a pretty crown.

"Did you update the car yourself?"

"Had to. Not trying to kill my friends when I take them on road trips." Stella almost missed hearing her add, "They're not all as durable as me."

Stella's hands began to sweat. She trusted Morgan instinctively, really she did. Only there was a reason she hadn't driven in years.

A callused hand grabbed hers where it was shaking on her lap. Morgan tangled their fingers together and drove one-handed. That didn't help, it really didn't help.

"Let's talk about something else. Tell me about you."

"I told you about me."

Stella's mouth had gone dry. She tasted whisky and another girl's lip gloss. She couldn't remember her name anymore. They had been kissing on the night of the Vernal Equinox years ago, feeling invincible, powerful. The road away from the meadow had been deserted, perfect for a leisurely drive interspersed with the odd kiss. They'd been alone until a delivery truck appeared from nowhere while their lips were pressed together.

Morgan squeezed her hand hard; Stella bit back a cry, feeling the phantom shock of a crash up her fingertips and knees, the collision airbag, dashboard, and truck in her chest-her heart shatter. Morgan brought Stella's hand with her own to the steering wheel. They were safe, they were steady. Listen, she told herself. Feel. Remember where you are. Remember who you are. It only helped a little.

"You told me your address," Morgan rattled onward as though Stella wasn't falling apart beside her, "and what you looked like so I'd know not to let a skeeze in my car. You didn't tell me much about you."

"I'm a witch."

"Same. Look we have loads in common already." Beaming, Morgan dragged her thumb along the back of Stella's hand. Stella closed her eyes so she couldn't see the congested motorway anymore. Just visualize the road, the sun, and the horizon. Don't think about yesterday. Don't think about tonight. Don't think about your heart. Said heart trembled behind her ribs, ringing out like a tea service rattled in an earthquake. A song of clinking wind chimes that should have been a hummingbird beat. "Tell me something else about you."

"I have dreams sometimes. I mean, everybody dreams, but these are different. I think they're different. My mom used to think so."

"What do you dream about?"

"Being somebody else. Over and over again, but being the same." She held on tighter to Morgan's hand in case she decided to let go. Stella knew her dreams were strange. After her heart, they'd only grown stronger and more vivid. They'd hurt like her car crash, devastating and mortal. Yet there was always the smell of flowers, honeysuckle and jasmine, and then fingers in her hair. Hands on her chest holding her together, cradling her failing heart and transfiguring it to glass. Again and again, in every single life.

"And who have you been?" Morgan asked her, distracted as they took a turn toward their destination. They could have been there by now. Maybe they'd both willed this trip a longer than it had to be. "Were you always a witch?"

"Almost never. Only loved one and she loved me. Until she didn't anymore. Those are the worst ones." Stella bit her lip. She could never remember the woman's face, only feel her anger and heartbreak, though not why she was so hurt. It was the heartbreak she felt most keenly; for Stella, it was anything but imaginary. "And then she's gone and so am I, and the dreams end."

Morgan said nothing although their hands remained entwined.

"Is that why you're going today? I didn't see you at the initiation rites."

"I didn't have anything to share."

"Support? Energy?"

"I definitely haven't got any energy to spare. I couldn't go because I couldn't go."

"Because of the dreams?"

"Because of my heart."

"What's the matter with your heart?"

"Can't you hear it?" Morgan took her eyes from the road to glance at Stella's chest.

"I thought you were wearing a necklace."

"You don't have to lie, I know how it sounds."

"Music," Morgan remarked. "Just a little music."

She didn't question Stella further and kept hold of Stella's hand until she nodded off in the passenger seat. She roused to a hand on her shoulder. Morgan was peering down at her from outside the car. She'd pushed her glasses up on her head despite the lack of cloud cover. Stella could just make out the birthmark on her cheek and the hidden laughter burning in her eyes.

"Come on, sleepyhead, let's get some food in you."

Spring's perfume had managed to edge in around the smell of automobile exhaust and clouds of cloying cologne. Lavender scented air tickled her nose and sunshine peeked through the towering buildings to warm her face through the windshield, even as a sprinkle of March rain dampened Stella's sleeve.

"We're still in the city?"

Morgan smiled mysteriously. "Call it the scenic route. Or blame traffic, whichever you prefer. Now, come on, muffins wait for no woman."

Stella let herself be hauled from the car where they were parked outside a café. It was a tiny place, ducked between skyscrapers and trendy eateries and gastropubs. She could see bookshelves and display cases through the Bay windows and just about every table was free. Every pedestrian seemed to walk right past it as though it wasn't there.

Morgan pulled her inside by the arm and Stella's first thought was confounded, "Oh, it's bigger on the inside."

The café reached up farther than Stella's eyes could see and voices drifted on sugar-dusted air from nooks unseen. There were people here, right in front of her, seated at the rough-hewn round tables and waiting to be rung-up at the antique counter, poring over books crowded onto cedar bookshelves recessed into the walls. Banners emblazoned with British coats of armor hung from the walls in all colors, embroidered with words in Olde English and Latin.

This shop was neither small nor empty, and so far as her memory served it had no name emblazoned on the outside.

"What is this place?"

"Nowhere." It was more than a description.

Morgan pulled Stella by her wrist to the counter. "Order for Fayne, please?"

The barista beamed at her and offered her a salutation which Morgan returned, and they left with bags of baked goodness and two beverages that smelled delectably of cinnamon and nutmeg with cream.

They ate while Morgan drove, swapping donut holes and French crullers at stop signs. Morgan opened her mouth and Stella popped a piece of frosted bear claw between her teeth. She almost choked when they hit a speed bump, but she only laughed away Stella's apologies. Morgan remained unfazed.

"Mm, one thing. Check the last bag at the bottom. It's a book, I think you'll like it."

Stella hadn't seen it at first. It was small, the size of a slender volume of poetry. Its covering was made of animal hide dyed forest green and its spine was cracked. She could feel its age like a physical weight in her hand.

"What is it?"

Morgan peered at her reflection in the rearview mirror. "Think of it as a family tree."

Stella wiped her hands on her khakis for fear of staining the pages, and then she let herself read.