Prologue

The outskirts of Boston

United States of America

August 1815

S in saw the yellow light through a thick, rolling fog, and stumbled toward it. It must be a house this time. Thick fog enveloped him, adding to his confusion as he staggered through the trees and low-lying shrubs in his way. His body was on fire, and his vision wavered—it was failing. The fever was making everything impossible: seeing, speaking, thinking.

Sin couldn't stop staring at the light, even though he could no longer trust his eyes with this beastly fever. So many times, there had been a light in a window, only for him to find it was nothing but the moon's reflection on wet ground.

Damned fever. Why had he stopped to speak with the soldiers in the marsh? He'd known about the mosquitos and the deadly disease and had avoided it—or thought he had. Many men had dropped dead from it, and now, he would likely join them.

If I stop walking, I won't survive , he told himself over and over. His feet tripped over a thick root on the path, but he wouldn't stop as he stumbled toward the light. Did it belong to a house?

What was so heavy? He reached around and felt his rifle pull forward. His favorite rifle and leaden feet pushed him into the moist ground beneath him.

The light was closer. He prayed he could reach it. Rivulets of cold sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and made their way down his backside. The beacon was just ahead of him… If he could go just a little farther. Forcing his eyes upward, he saw the light grow into a ball of fire. "No! Not a fire. You're a candle," he said, reaching out and touching the cool wood of a thick door. His head thumped against the door…once, twice.

Edward Sinclair opened his eyes and watched the door open as if it were happening in front of someone else. In his feverish state, he would have sworn he was looking into the luminous green eyes of an angel. A soft halo of light surrounded a beautiful face framed by waves of golden hair.

"Can I help you?" the angel asked.

"P-please, I-I m-mean you no…harm." He wanted to say more, but when he opened his mouth to speak, black vomit spewed forth. An instant later, Sin pitched forward into dark oblivion.