The Witch Who Borrowed a Lighthouse

How it begins

Elena Keane had borrowed the lighthouse for the winter. She had not expected its keeper to arrive by bicycle.

He stopped outside her cottage, looked up at the enormous white tower standing between the orchard and the sheep field, and removed his gloves very slowly.

"You said a light," he said.

"It was attached."

Malik Saye closed his eyes.

The lighthouse swept its beam across the valley. A dozen windows brightened. Three sheep turned to follow it with the solemn attention they normally reserved for feed buckets.

For six weeks, the mountains would keep the village out of direct sunlight. Elena had tried extra candles, cheerful lanterns, and a spell that made the snow glow until everyone complained about their sleep. The tower had seemed like an elegant solution.

"The coast has a replacement beacon," she said. "You told me that yourself."

"I told you I was retiring. Those aren't identical statements."

She looked at his bicycle. Mud covered the frame to the handlebars. He had ridden farther than anyone would travel merely to win an argument.

"Would you like tea?"

"I'd like my lighthouse."

Before she could answer, the beam stopped moving.

It settled on the narrow lane leading past the mill to a cottage that had stood empty since spring.

Down the road, a woman carrying a suitcase stopped walking. She looked at the lit window, then at Elena.

"I was trying to reach my brother," she said. "But that's where my mother used to live."

Malik lowered his gloves.

The tower gave a low, contented creak.

Elena looked from the stranger to the keeper and back to the window the beam had chosen.

"Has it ever done that before?"

"No," Malik said. "And I think we should ask her what she wants before it gets any more helpful."