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A milky sky blanched the world to a monotonous gray. Blunting the edges of buildings. Bleaching the men and women passing through the streets. Dulling even the air to a soggy, misty miasma of smoke and rain.
Hands clenched and heart racing, Sabrina stood across from the Wood Street lodging house. Stared up at the blank windows. What on earth was she doing here? Had she taken leave of her senses? She’d wanted reckless. But this was beyond a fool’s errand.
The front door opened while Sabrina stood pondering her next move. A woman emerging grim-faced, glaring, and as devoid of color as the faded day. Her face rang familiar. But from where?
The woman called over her shoulder to someone inside, her words indistinguishable amid the normal morning street hustle. But when she turned back, her eyes fixed on Sabrina like twin daggers.
Stepping down to the pavem
ent, she crossed to Sabrina’s side of the street. On closer inspection, her brittle demeanor seemed even more fragile. Her movements over-careful as if she were ill or in pain. “Lady Sabrina Douglas, isn’t it?”
Sabrina met and matched the woman’s arrogant condescension with her own noble bearing, rickety as it was. “You’ve the advantage of me. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“Miss Helena Roseingrave. I met Lord and Lady Kilronan in the spring.” Her gaze flickered with some indefinable emotion. “And I hope someday to meet your brother Brendan.”
Now why did she say that? As if she knew why Sabrina was here? As if she were as involved in this business as the rest. Sabrina’s hackles rose. “In that you may be disappointed. He died a long time ago.”
Miss Roseingrave’s smile never reached her eyes. “There’s death. And then there’s death. As I’m sure you’re aware, Lady Sabrina. You’re well acquainted with both the permanent and more temporary variations.”
Sabrina locked her knees to keep them from buckling. Dug her nails into her palms to keep them from this nasty woman’s face. “As intriguing as this conversation is, I’m afraid I haven’t time to prolong it. But if you do unearth my brother, give him my regards, won’t you?” And with that conversation killer, she sauntered away. Head up. Eyes knife-bright and shining with tears.
Roseingrave’s gaze gleamed with the keenness of a blade. “Right before I execute him for his crimes, I’ll impart your warmest greetings.”
Sabrina swallowed back the sudden choking dread. Shook off the clammy snaky sweat that clung to her skin. And half ran, half sobbed her way across the street. Up the steps. Pounding the door with the side of her fist. Hugging her body in an attempt to stop the chills Miss Roseingrave’s words had produced.
Daigh had to be here. He just had to be.
Sabrina. Here. Now. His descent into hell was complete.
He squeezed his eyes shut. When he reopened them she’d be gone. Had to be. But she wasn’t. And in fact, she stood within a halo of herself. Two overlapping images crowding his brain.
Six hundred years old.
Seconds fresh.
A marcher lord’s dimly lit solar.
A dusty, smelly Dublin garret.
She stood gawking with gem blue eyes, face creamy as marble, expression doe-shy and stretched with appalled concern as she flew to his side.
He curled himself more tightly against the gut-seizing cramps accompanying this new flash of remembrance.
“Did she hurt you?” she fumed. “So help me . . .” This forceful, outraged Sabrina burst through the pallid ghost-version like sun against fog. Eradicated it with the vibrant energy of the living.
“That was my line,” he answered, scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “And you once said I didn’t need your healing.”
She pushed his hair back off his face. Tutted over his fever heat. “How was I to know you were going to run afoul of a hateful, fire-breathing gorgon?”
“I think they turn you to stone.”
“Who?” she asked absently as she quickly and efficiently arranged blankets, smoothed tousled clothing, eased him back against his pillow.
“Gorgons. Dragons breathe fire. Gorgons turn you to stone.” Already he felt knotted muscles easing, though his brain remained burnt and blistered with the full knowledge of his sins.
Hands on hips, she scowled at him with a gifted healer’s skeptical eye. “Why are you babbling about gorgons? What on earth did she do to you?”
He looked to the window. To the floor. Anywhere but at her. “Miss Roseingrave merely filled in the blanks.”
