My sweetest baby girl,

When I was very young, I asked your great-grandmother—her name was Althea—what we were. Her answer was a kind of fairy tale, the kind with magick potions and powerful queens, because it was all I could understand at the time. She promised to tell me more when I was old enough to grasp it. But by then, I no longer wanted any part of that fairy tale. I had become afraid of myself, afraid of my own power, and I tried to run away. And then, when Althea died, I came home. Not just to the farm, but to myself.

A wise woman—the woman who will be your aunt Evvie when you arrive this spring—once told me that home isn’t where you live, it’s who you are. I know now just how true that is. Your grandmother, Rhanna, knows it too. She taught me to forgive, to open my heart to all that has been, and all that can be. And so, today, I begin this book, for you, my dearest daughter—the next Moon girl.

There are a hundred names for what we are—and all of them are wrong. Because we’re not one thing. We’re many things. Each endowed by Spirit with a gift that is ours and ours alone. That gift is the work we’re meant to do in the world, the blessing we’re meant to be to others. It starts searching for us the moment we’re born, and when it finds us we know, because we hear its call with our heart. Sharing that calling with others is our gift back to Spirit.

The Circle is complete.

We need no church, no graven image, no rules scratched on stone tablets or ancient scrolls. No sacred ritual or initiation is required to become what we already are—bits of god and stardust held together by divine breath and pure love.

That, my dearest daughter, is what I want you to know when you arrive. You are not here to work magick—you ARE magick.

L—

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Most writers will tell you that some books are more challenging to write than others. Some enter the world with seeming ease—a few twinges and it’s done—while others come breach, doubling us over in their struggle to be born. They make us question our abilities and say naughty words. But these are the books that stretch us as writers. As people too, I suppose. Perhaps because from the moment of conception, we have such high hopes for them. We know what we want our words to convey, what we want the book to stand for. And anything else feels like failing.

And so begin the birth pangs—the wailings and moanings, the whimpers of exhaustion. But if we’re very, very lucky, we don’t go through it alone. There are people—wonderful, talented, amazing people—who are there from first twinkle to last push, who hold our hands until the panic and sweating are over. For me, those hand-holders are:

Nalini Akolekar and the entire team at Spencerhill Associates, who took on a rookie writer eight years ago and taught her how to be an author. Gratitude doesn’t begin to express it.

Jodi Davis Warshaw, my wonderful editor, and the entire Lake Union/APub team, for the tremendous support and careful shepherding of my book babies, with a special shout-out to the art department for this gorgeous cover!

Charlotte Herscher, my developmental editor, who always knows how to pull the best from my characters, and who is an absolute joy to work with. I couldn’t have asked for a better creative partner. And finally, to Paul, my amazing copy editor, whose keen eye and attention to detail make me look far smarter than I am. Always a pleasure, sir.

The members of my wonderful and ever-expanding author community, who blow me away every day with their talent, wisdom, and unfailing generosity. I’m limited to a collective thank-you here, because your names and kindnesses are too many to list.

The book bloggers, reader page owners, and reviewers—you know who you are and how much you are loved. For your voices and your support, I’m more grateful than I can say.

Patricia Crawford, a.k.a. Mom. For believing in me when my confidence is down around my ankles, and for reminding me always to remember who I am and where I came from.

Tom Kelley—husband, life coach, beta reader, masseur, and the best hand-holder any wife could ask for. You taught me what happily-ever-after truly looks like. Thank you for every single minute of every single day.

And of course—my cherished readers. You’re my tribe, my village, my book family, and I’m continuously humbled by the time you take to read and reach out. Thank you, thank you for sitting on my shoulder every day as I write.