They pulled me back at last, finally jerking me from the black to face it. To face my loss, a loss so deep it smothered the sadness I felt for Liam. Devoured any caring for my own personal safety. Destroyed any hope I had to ever, ever be happy again.

Never again.

My son was dead.

Crib death, Lula called it. Which only rarely happened to witch babies, for obvious reasons. Because their mothers took care of them, didn't they? Used power to protect them, guard over ...