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“Because… because of what I did.” Her neck was hot. “What we did…”

“You think she’s jealous.”

“I think she’s justifiably angry. My grandfather’s first rule was to respect the spirits, always, and I failed her in that.”

“Am I not responsible for my role⁠—”

“It was my summoning,” she interrupted, the guilt swirling in her chest pushing the words free. “Therefore, my responsibility alone.”

“You’re wrong⁠—”

“Will you stop talking?” she snapped. “I know you think all of this is hogwash, but it’s real to me.” It had never been so frighteningly, exhilaratingly real.

He blinked, pursing his lips before speaking. “Go on.”

“You’ll need to hold my hands.”

His voice pitched low, rumbling. “You’ll let me touch you again?”

Lord, did she want him to touch her again.

But she shushed him, ignored the twist of his tempting lips, and focused on the task at hand. Her heart tumbled about, bouncing off each rib and lung. But she forced a deep, steadying breath, a challenge when the air itself seemed to buzz with unseen energy. She wanted that energy to dwell in her, to be something that had lain dormant for years but was finally, finally surfacing.

Valebrook laid the necklace beside the tall taper, set in a silver candlestick.

“Christina Cavendish,” she intoned, “we welcome your presence tonight. Christina Cavendish, we call you home. Christina Cavendish, if you are bound here, we ask you to tell us how to set you free.”

A roll of thunder rumbled through the stone.

“As a sign of my atonement,” she whispered, “I will receive your pain as a gesture of peace.”

She nodded her chin to the longest taper on her right. His mouth tightened as he lifted the candle and turned it sideways. A drop of hot wax spilled on her bare palm. Though she had anticipated the bite of pain, she still winced. He captured her hand and cradled it, his thumb stroking down the side as the wax cooled and hardened. That touch heated her skin far more than the wax had, traveling through her veins and settling low in her belly. The sting vanished before she could even manage another full breath, and she shook his hold away. She took the taper from him and gave him a nod to continue.

He cleared his throat. “As a sign of my atonement, I will receive your pain as a gesture of love.”

She moved to tip the candle, but he pulled his hand back. “This won’t work.”

“It won’t work if you don’t do this,” she bit out. “You said you’d try.”

His jaw ticked, but he extended his hand once more. When the wax touched his palm, he grunted, and the sound echoed in the space between them, reverberating in her core and coaxing the familiar yet unwelcome ache he’d started hours ago into life once more.

The wax settled into the whorls and grooves of his palm, milky and partially translucent, before hardening into solid white. She dared a glance at his expression and found it hardened, his features tight and unforgiving. She was prepared to chide him for his churlishness when the shadows in the crystal began shifting, the smoky light within swirling and swelling. Instead, she took his hand again, the cooling wax pressing and sticking between their skin.

Valebrook released a slow whistle. “Do you see that?”

“Of course, I’m not blind.” But what was it? She straightened her spine, unable to take her gaze from the mesmerizing movements. “Christina Cavendish, show us a sign of how we can send you home.”

The wisps of smoke clarified and clouded again and again, shifting and undulating, until a form took shape. She squinted and leaned closer. It was only an approximation of an image, not a certainty, and she wasn’t sure if her imagination was suggesting something that wasn’t there.

A hand materialized amidst the smoke, but not hers. Lines bisecting the skin. The bold and steady head and life lines. The broken love line, streaking beneath long, deft fingers.

She peeled her hand away from his and examined his palm; the wax had formed a disk and pressed on the break in his love line. A message—Christina was giving her a message, a clear one that even Bridget could understand!

“She’s telling us—she wants you to know she loves you.”

Valebrook tugged his hand away. “That’s not true.”

She forced her attention away from the crystal ball. The storm in his eyes was thunderous and raging now. “That’s what the crystal ball says. Christina is trying⁠—”