Lydia hadn't expected him to be in Samuel's form. Peter hadn't said. Nor had John. She'd braced herself for near everything but that, and for a moment it felt like a blow to the chest, one she was fairly certain was about to stop her already slowly beating heart. Once Peter was in the window, she backed to it, again, pressing close to it, feeling the slight bit of tightening panic rushing in on her.

Then John was doing his thing, and there was magic, and it was far more powerful than anything she'd done.

She moved away from the window, letting him do what he needed to, eyes taking in the vines, the smell of the herbs, and tried to steady herself, adjust to the adjustment in the plan.