He didn’t wait for her answer but started leading her in the direction he’d pointed. “It’s Mary,” he said as he lifted her over a fallen tree. “It’s her light.”

Libby’s fatigue disappeared. She started running to keep up with Michael as his long legs began covering the ground with amazing speed. The blue glow intensified as they drew nearer, reflecting off the snow in shimmering waves that turned the night into day.

Michael stopped, and Libby stopped beside him. Mary was perched on a small mound of snow. There was a red knit hat poking through it where the owl had scratched.

“Robbie!” Libby cried, hurling herself to her knees and brushing the snow away.

Michael knelt opposite her and carefully turned Robbie over, lifting him onto his lap.

Libby tore off her gloves and gently brushed away ice crystals from the unconscious boy

’s face. Her fingers touched the crusted blood on his right temple near the hairline. She examined the small cut that was no longer bleeding, and quickly decided it was only a minor scrape and not responsible for his condition now. She let her fingers trail down his neck to feel for a pulse.

There was none.

Libby pried open Robbie’s arms and unbuttoned his jacket. Rose Dolan fell into her hands. The infant was limp, her tiny features drawn and pale. Libby leaned over and touched her mouth to Rose’s cheek and felt just the faintest whisper of breath.

“She’s alive,” Libby said. “Just barely.”

“Robbie,” Michael growled as he placed his own mouth over Robbie’s. He gently pushed several breaths into his son and then looked at Libby, his eyes desperate. “Do something,” he demanded. “Wake him up!”

Libby pulled off her jacket and set it on the ground beside the silent owl. She set Rose inside the jacket and bundled her up, then reached for Robbie. Michael placed his son in her arms, then moved them both onto his lap until Libby was astride his hips with Robbie pressed between them.

“Use yar magic,” Michael entreated. “Save my son, Libby.”

She was already trying. But instead of the now familiar colors that should be swirling through Robbie, Libby found only darkness. There was no light, no colors, not one single emotion that she could feel.

“He—he’s not here, Michael,” she whispered, looking up. “He—he’s gone.” She choked on a sob, closing her eyes and pressing her mouth to Robbie’s hair.

Michael’s arms tightened. “He’s not dead!” He held Libby’s hand to Robbie’s face. “Try harder.”

Libby resumed her search for Robbie’s life force, only to find herself once again confronting darkness. She mentally roamed through Robbie’s empty body, seeking out anything that would give her a reason to continue. She ignored the chill of the void, instead concentrating on each individual organ, looking for even the smallest of sparks.

And deep in Robbie’s heart, Libby found hope. Michael’s arms tightened around her, and Libby knew he was there, beside her, feeling and seeing what she did—the distant echo of a young and determined desperation.

And she realized the pulse was merely a connection to Robbie, a lifeline to use to return.

Libby pulled away, opened her eyes, and looked up at Michael.

“Go back!” he demanded, hugging her fiercely. “He’s alive.”

“He’s not there, Michael,” she told him. “He’s in Rose.”

They both looked at the jacket lying on the snow. Mary was using her beak to gently pull back the folds of wool.

“He’s protecting her,” Libby said, wiggling free of Michael’s embrace. “He’s using the last of his strength to keep her alive.” She picked up the infant and nestled her between herself and Robbie. “If we want to save Robbie, we have to save Rose. He’ll not leave her until he’s sure she is safe.”

Michael reached behind himself and pulled the old priest’s staff from his belt. With amazingly steady hands, he gently wedged the thick cherrywood stick between Rose and Robbie, then reached behind Libby’s shoulders in a rock-solid embrace that engulfed her and the children. He looked at Libby, took a deep breath, and nodded.

With her own arms wrapped tightly around both young bodies, Libby closed her eyes and again went in search of the colors.

Brilliant white light immediately pulsed through her mind, making Libby cry out in surprise. Michael’s arms tightened as he braced them against the assault, and slowly Libby was able to feel two faintly beating hearts.

She reached for the weaker pulse, bending the white light toward Rose, gently coaxing warmth into her tiny body. The infant gasped for breath and let out a cry of outrage, and her tiny heart began racing with the rapid beat of a tiger cub.

Libby cried tears of relief as she touched her lips to Robbie’s cheek. “Come back,” she whispered. “Rose is safe now, Robbie. She’s going to live.”

A turbulent rainbow pulsed through the white light, pulling at Libby as it sped past.

Myriad colors danced about in frantic circles, playfully tugging her own heart-strings before speeding off toward Michael.

“Come home,” Michael thickly demanded. “Now, son.”

The colors stopped and hovered and suddenly wrapped everyone up in a fierce embrace of elation.

“God’s teeth!” Michael shouted, his words echoing through the brightness. “Come home!”

Libby slowly inched toward Robbie’s faintly beating pulse and gently tickled his heart.

The organ shuddered, thumped twice, then started to beat with the strength of a lion.

The blinding light softly faded to a gentle blue glow. Libby opened her eyes to see a flurry of white feathers wafting down through the night. She looked at her jacket on the ground, but Mary was gone.

“I’m powerful hungry, Papa.”

Libby turned her gaze to Robbie, who was looking at Michael.

“And so is Rose,” the boy said. He suddenly grinned at Libby. “It’s after midnight,” he told her. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” Libby cried, pulling him to her as she sobbed in relief.

Michael wrapped trembling arms around them, whispering his own Christmas blessing.

Rose squeaked in protest and wiggled to get free. Libby pulled back, wiped the tears off her face, and stood up with Rose in her arms.

The infant shot her a lopsided smile and then reached out her short little arms toward Robbie. Robbie started to take her, but it seemed that Michael was not done hugging him yet. So the boy turned his attention to his father and hugged him back.

“I knew ya would come for me, Papa,” Libby heard Robbie say. “And I held on until ya did.”

“Aye,” Michael breathed, his eyes closed against his own emotional storm as he held Robbie close. “Ya did good, son.

Libby picked up her jacket and tented it over Rose, who was now sucking her thumb, then turned at the sound of an engine approaching. Headlights appeared over the top of the ridge, and a double-tracked machine wove through the forest and came to a halt beside them.

Doors opened, and Greylen and Ian climbed out. Ian helped Daar down over the wide track and held his arm as they came over to Libby and Michael.

“You found them,” Greylen said, walking up to Michael, touching Robbie to see for himself that the boy was okay. He slapped Michael on the back. “He seems to be hale and hearty.”

“Aye,” Michael said, nodding, still not putting his son down.

“And Rose?” Greylen asked, turning to Libby.

Libby pulled back her coat to reveal the infant. “She’s hale and hearty, too,” she told Grey. “And hungry.”

“Did ya save me some cheesecake?” Robbie asked, trying to see past his father’s fierce embrace. “I—I guess we missed the party.”

“You didn’t,” Libby told him. “We postponed it until tomorrow—I mean, today—at noon.”

The boy’s eyes rounded. “Noon?” he echoed, turning to look at his father. He leaned in and whispered something to Michael, Michael nodded, and Robbie looked back at Libby, his face lit with a smug smile. “I told ya Christmas was full of surprises.”