God, it was good to be home again. But how could she sleep? Thoughts of Culhane, and Mab and Nora, and Bezel—and Culhane, mostly—kept stomping through her mind. There was too much to think about.Damn him, anyway. This was all Culhane’s fault. She’d never asked for a destiny. Hadn’t she been happy before? Painting her windows, enjoying her rut? Scowling, Maggie had to admit that, damn it, the answer there was a big no. She hadn’t been happy. Not completely. There’d always been something missing in her life.Not like there was a big, gaping hole or anything. Maggie’d done fine, despite her lousy taste in men and the fact that she couldn’t make a living as an artist or that she’d dug herself into the aforementioned rut. It was just, at odd moments, she’d sometimes felt like she’d forgotten something. Put a piece of herself on a shelf somewhere and couldn’t remember where she’d tucked it. Like a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle, that nagging something was there.It didn’t ruin the picture—or her life—but if that missing piece fit into place, then everything would have been whole.
