Chapter 2

This office belonged to Eduardo, its towering shelves not quite full, the chair a bit too big. He slowly circled the room, lightly caressing the freshly polished desk where Eduardo had reigned for over fifty years. In the court's unfortunate fracture, Eduardo had left it behind.

Their former Elder had relocated, as some would say.

And others would say he tucked tail and fled like a bloody coward.

Julian sank into the oxblood leather chair across from the desk, imagining Eduardo on the other side. Like a proper king on his throne, Eduardo had received his subjects here on countless late nights. And Julian had sat here countless times himself, asking for advice, bringing court matters to Eduardo, apprising him of the Shroud's movements… In those last weeks, it had always been dark news, reports of death and destruction. He had grown so tired of that expression of dismay, always the bearer of bad news.

There had been better days once, when he would tell Eduardo of some bit of gossip he'd heard, or they would share a drink and reminisce about the past. Always looking up to his Maker, to the man who was a king even in these fast-moving modern times.

He'd known long before Paris that Eduardo was thinking of leaving; their Elder hadn't said it outright, but Julian knew. There had been pensive looks, long silences, and veiled questions that betrayed his troubled thoughts.

No matter what Paris and the others thought, it wasn't a cowardly decision, nor one he made easily. Eduardo cared for his people and always had; he just placed their lives above humans. He had been genuinely hurt when so many of his Shroud rejected his invitation. He wanted to protect them and keep his family safe. But they no longer saw him as their Elder.

Instead, they had placed their shaky hope in Julian, who had been torn between his sworn duty to Eduardo and a growing conviction to stand up for humanity. Centuries of loyalty might have swayed him, but knowing Armina Voss would soon hunt him down and soil their fresh start had kept him here.

No Elder to make the decisions, no Maker to guide him. He was the one who had to come up with answers and wisdom.

Not in a thousand years did Julian imagine he would sit on the other side of that desk. He was still working up the nerve to sit in the Elder's chair when he heard the murmur of a familiar voice, then the cool rush of air as Paris shoved open the door. "What are you doing? It's time to get ready," he scolded.

"I am ready," Julian said. He rose and spread his arms. "This is the suit Safira told me to wear. Do you disagree?"

Paris's eyes scraped over him. "Of course not. She has impeccable taste."

There was a healthy glow on his old friend's face, which had looked pale and tired for centuries after being cursed. Then, Misha Volkov had come along to change everything. If anything, Paris had become even more annoying now; much of his bone-deep cynicism had turned to pragmatism, if not outright optimism. It was unsettling, though Julian was truly happy that he was finally healed, finally whole in a way he'd never been even before the curse took hold.

Paris tugged at his cuffs, then adjusted the sharp-pressed points of his collar. As always, his hair was impeccable, his jaw cleanly shaven. "You look good in the suit, and even better in here," he said, flashing a genuine smile before kissing Julian's cheeks.

"This office doesn't feel like mine," he said, absently adjusting his own cuffs.

"Well, you can't have your old one back. I've just got it rearranged the way I like it," Paris quipped.

"What if we asked Eduardo to come back?" Julian said quietly. "I was never meant to rule."

The other man's smile evaporated. "No. I wish him no ill will, but I will never serve him again. Not after all that we have faced."

"I am no better. I was huddled in a bunker while you fought Carrigan Shea," Julian said.

"Because it was your duty to protect the rest of our court and everyone we love," Paris said sharply. His expression softened as he touched Julian's cheek. "Which you did."

"You could?—"

Paris rested his brow against Julian's, and he felt the tug of the blood bond between them. Doubly bound, he was now the Elder to a court in addition to being Paris's maker. Coupled with being friends for nearly three hundred years, it was hard to hide anything from the Frenchman.

"We've talked about this. If you need me to, I will, but don't do it because you're giving up," Paris said quietly. He pulled back, pale blue eyes full of concern. "Are you giving up on her? On us?"

If there was ever a doubt that he was unsuitable for the crown of the court, it was this. He wanted to say, Yes. I can't do this anymore.

He could see the yearning in Paris's eyes for everything to be all right, for the chapter to close on everything that had plagued them. Paris would never say so, but his eyes pleaded: Man up and shoulder this burden a while longer.

It was not fair, especially after the way Paris had fought for them. He had fought Shea twice, both times suffering terrible injuries, both times staring his own death in the face and spitting fuck you anyway. He had earned the right to be happy a thousand times over.

And things were far better than they had been; five of their brothers no longer cursed, happily paired off with soulmates. Things were better than they'd been in two years, since before the Morettis first came to town with their unruly followers. Back when Eduardo and Julian were lamenting Baron Moretti's disregard for vampire law, they had no idea that they'd soon be dealing with the likes of Carrigan Shea.

But now the self-proclaimed king was dead, his corrupted court scattered, and there had been no sign of the Shieldsmen attempting to take them out again despite Jack Eslinger knowing exactly where they were. There were still Untethered vampires in town, with a few making halfhearted attempts to fill the void Shea had left, but the Nightwatch had been eliminating them as quickly as they showed themselves. Things were almost peaceful.

Things were almost good.

Still, he could not bring himself to speak, because he could not bring himself to lie to Paris. The other man gently stroked his cheek. "I know what you're going to say, and I'm asking you to have hope," Paris said. "I know how painful this is, but if there is any chance Shoshanna can solve this, then I need you focused. We are not defeated yet."

Always we. But this time, when she died, Paris would still have Misha. Dominic would have his Rachel, and so on. And somewhere deep down, they would think, Thank God it wasn't us.

Julian's throat tightened, and he nodded. Fixing a bland smile on his face, he said, "I'm ready."

Paris smiled, but the concern in his eyes said he knew that things were not settled. Still, he headed out of the office with Julian in tow, leading himdown to the subterranean parking garage. Several weeks of intense renovations had given Infinity a facelift, though it wasn't ready for the court to return just yet. Misha Volkov and Shoshanna York had been working around the clock to build impenetrable magical security in tandem with the steel doors and sensors that would hopefully prevent another destructive raid like the one that had left it smoldering months earlier.

After centuries of following Eduardo, protecting him from threats, it didn't feel right to have Paris protecting him. He was used to being the sentinel and shield in one, and he didn't like that his Vessel and one of his closest friends now played that role for him.

Waiting in the garage was a sleek black SUV driven by Danielle Pierce, dressed in a sharp black pantsuit. She got out and opened the passenger door for him, and the mere sight of a woman opening his door was enough to grate his sensibilities. He grabbed her wrist lightly. "Danielle, please. Let me."

"Sir," she chirped, cheeks flushed with a recent feeding. "I'm your driver tonight."

"And I can open a door," he said. Her face fell. "I appreciate your diligence. I may be the anchor of Shoshanna's spell, but I am not a king nor some high lord. You may drive, but you do not have to bow to me."

"Oh," she murmured. "All right."

Paris shot him a dirty look, but climbed in the back seat with him as Danielle closed the door for them. In poorly-accented German, Paris said, "Let her enjoy being part of the court. She was beside herself about getting to be a part of things tonight."

He sighed and nodded. The familiar growl of Nikko's car rumbled to life as he pulled ahead of them, with Dominic tucking in behind them. Soon, the glow of Atlanta filtered through the tinted glass windows, and Julian felt the prickling unease of being exposed.

Nine more days.

Nine more days until Brigitte—Scarlett, he reminded himself—turned twenty-nine again. That was always the turn of the hourglass, when the witch set her on the path to inevitable destruction again. The precise timing was unpredictable; once it had been two days after, and once it had been several agonizing weeks. His chest tightened at the thought of it, his blood going hot and prickly in his veins. Suddenly, his shirt felt too tight, cinching off his wrists and neck like chains.

He hadn't seen her yet, but Kristina had hunted with her. She was a vampire hunter this time, because Armina Voss had a particularly cruel sense of humor.

Driving down that busy interstate, he closed his eyes as images of her flashed through his mind.

Death and despair, blood in the sunlight.

That very first time, when she'd been slain in the street after returning from the market, and he'd felt her dying.He'd torn out of bed and into the sunlight, his skin blistering and boiling as he tried in vain to give her his blood. Her pretty blue dress was ripped open around those terrible knife wounds, her lips pale blue from blood loss. Perhaps if her throat had not been slashed, she might have been able to swallow, but it was too late. She died there in the sunlight, not in the dark, not alone, but in his arms with people gawking at the man who was burning and smoking as he cried.

Hewas too late.

It was unbearable then, and somehow, it only got worse.

How would it happen this time? Perhaps she would wander out in front of the car and they would strike her, realizing too late that the dark form was his Brigitte.Or perhaps he would walk out of his office and see her fall from a tall roof and crumple in front of him. Cradling her broken body, he would tell her in those final moments that he still loved her, that he had waited all this time for her. And worst of all: she would recognize him in those last awful moments. Just in time to fail her again.

He was no fool. The fact that Armina was training her to be a vampire hunter hinted that she was staging some grand macabre drama to rival the Bard. She likely intended to have Scarlett try to kill him. If she succeeded, it would be a mercy, at least for him. Perhaps that would finally satisfy the witch's bottomless appetite for vengeance.

But if Brigitte remembered only to watch him die…it would wreck her. She had a fiery spirit with a soft, tender heart. Killing him would destroy her if she knew what she'd done. It would be a Shakespearean tragedy, as melodramatic as Armina Voss could ever hope.

But the witch didn't want him dead. She wanted him to suffer as she had suffered, and that meant he had to live. Instead of losing her once, he would lose her again and again without the kindness of finality.

It was hard to be hopeful, even as he looked over to see Paris fiddling with his phone. In that faint bluish glow, the illuminated smile was a dead giveaway that the message was from Misha.

He would not keep griping about it. His brothers had the same creeping awareness of time that he did. Without asking, they had already begun watching for her to close in. And Paris was not grim as he usually was; he believed that clever Shoshanna would find a solution.

Julian did not dare to hope. It was not that he didn't want her to solve this once and for all, but he was afraid of allowing himself even a shred of hope. If he dared to believe, then it would hurt all the more when he lost her again.

One way or another, this time would be different. If Scarlett died in his arms, then he was done. He would go to Shoshanna and have her weave the Covenant onto Paris instead. And then he would throw himself on Armina's mercy and plead for Brigitte's release. It would not be the first time, but if she refused him again, then he would end it himself. If he did, then Armina would have no reason left to hurt his mate again.

He could not watch her die again. There was so little of him left after all these years. And he had tried, for the sake of his family. He didn't want them to suffer, and so he did his best to peel himself off the floor and face the world.

After each time, he eventually recovered enough to move through the world. He even enjoyed days here and there as the grief faded to a dull ache. And as the years marched on, he understood that it would happen again soon.

Even now, he was caught in the tension of hope and certainty, of desperation for things to be different and a sinking realization that they would never change.

Watching the road blur by, he soon realized that they were not on their way to a luxurious hotel for a cocktail party as he'd expected, but rather headed down the interstate and into the suburbs. "Where are we going?" he finally asked.

"Midnight Springs," Paris said. "We're visiting our favorite witch."

His heart kicked against his breastbone as adrenaline rushed through his veins. "I thought we were interviewing new veravin."

"That's later in the week," Paris said.

"That's not what Olivia told me," he said, growing irritated.

"I must have misinformed Miss Pierce."

Anger boiled through Julian, and he watched with grim satisfaction as Paris put a hand to his temple. Danielle winced, glancing at Paris before fixing her eyes on the road again. He did not often take out his emotions on his court, but Paris had it coming.

The last thing he wanted was for Shoshanna York to root around his head for all his deepest, darkest memories. Unlike his brothers, he was not cursed, not in the literal sense. Armina's magic was tangled around Scarlett, while he remained untouched.

But they'd been hinting at it for weeks, and he should have known that Shoshanna would not continue to take no for an answer.

There were only a few cars parked at the luxurious home in Midnight Springs, which glowed like a beacon beyond the trees. Strange arcane symbols flashed at the edge of his vision as they drove through the open gate, reminding him that Shoshanna had woven her protections deep into the ground here.

Before he could complain any further to Paris, Danielle hopped out and eagerly opened the door of the SUV for him. Nikko and Dominic already waited at the front door, and he braced himself to take on the role of Elder. It felt like wearing his father's coat, the shoulders too broad, sleeves skimming his fingers.

Eduardo Alazan was an imperfect man and a flawed leader, but he had done his best to lead a court through war and peace. And Julian had always enjoyed his position as Eduardo's lieutenant. He'd always thought fate smiled on him when that strange, elegant man rode through the filthy streets of his overcrowded neighborhood and offered him a curious deal.

Saying yes to that offer had given Julian Alcott purpose. Over the years, he had been content to lead the Shroud without the weight of the entire court on his shoulders. He had made plenty of difficult decisions, but his domain was narrow and confined.

But Eduardo sat on high, watching the currents within his court and the storms that threatened them from afar. Every decision he made caused a ripple of consequences. And if he lost sleep over his decisions, it was not for long. Eduardo trusted himself, which inspired trust and respect from all who followed him.

Only a few months into his unwanted position, Julian had not developed the keen vision Eduardo once had. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to look from afar, to weigh everything and trust his own judgment. How could anyone else trust his leadership if he couldn't even trust himself? And yet, his subordinates did not seem to care about his consternation or the ill-fitting crown.

The smell of warm blood and whiskey greeted him as the front door swung open. Alistair greeted him with a black cat under one arm and ushered them inside.The rich red and gold décor had not changed, but the opulent house felt far brighter and warmer since Shoshanna had taken up residence.

"Hi, buddy!" Danielle said eagerly, laughing as Alistair deposited the chubby feline in her arms.

"Send him up!" Shoshanna called from upstairs.

"What am I walking into?" Julian asked. "Since you've clearly all been conspiring."

Alistair beckoned for him to come into the kitchen, where he poured a highball glass full of blood from a kettle and slid it across the stone counter. "She wants to find Brigitte. She's been working constantly on an idea."

He took the glass but didn't drink. "And if it fails?"

"If it fails, we are not any worse off than we are now," Paris said, accepting another glass from Alistair. He swirled it thoughtfully before taking a sip.

"We?"

"Yes, we," Paris said. "We, as in the ones who love you and do not want to see you suffer. None of us have been freed from the curses of our own cleverness or stubbornness."

Just leave me alone, he thought, and for a moment, he wondered if Paris might have developed some degree of psychic power. His head cocked as if he'd heard the words.

Julian raised the glass and took a long sip, gathering his thoughts for a while before he spoke. "All right," he finally said. "I'll talk to her."

The triumphant look between Alistair and Paris warmed his heart despite everything, and he finished off the glass before answering Shoshanna's call to come upstairs. At the landing was a framed picture of Alistair and Shoshanna; not a stiff oil portrait, but a candid black and white photo of them staring at each other like the rest of the world had fallen away. The sight of it stopped him dead in his tracks.

Everything was different because of her. The gloomy weight that had once filled the entire mansion was gone. It felt as if flickering candles burned in every corner, casting a hazy glow that made it feel safe.

Like home.

As he walked down the upstairs hall, he caught the familiar scent of Misha Volkov. Not only was he Paris's mate, but he was a powerful blood witch who served the Sanguine Crown. They had let him relocate here to Atlanta, traveling overseas as needed to carry out Crown business.

Tonight, he was here with Shoshanna, sitting on the polished wooden floor and holding out little trays of ground herbs. She wore a loose linen tunic stained with streaks of earthy red and green. The witch beckoned him in and said, "Please, sit. Did you eat already? Allie was warming something for you."

"I did," he said hesitantly, letting her take his hand before he sat on a soft blue cushion. Dimly, he thought, My pants will wrinkle, as if that was some real concern in the grand scheme of the curse looming over him.

"Sorry for the trickery," she said. "Paris thought you wouldn't want to come."

"I wouldn't," he admitted.

Her smile faltered, but she nodded. "Misha, the door."

Julian chuckled as the other vampire closed the door. "With our hearing, nothing's a secret here. Even if your partners weren't both a couple of gossipy hens."

Misha just smirked and glanced at Shoshanna, clearly waiting for her to take the lead.

Shoshanna tucked a stray curl behind her ear and met his gaze. "I know her birthday is coming, and I want to help," she said.

"How will you help? I'm not cursed," he said. "Not literally, at least."

"I can see that. I've watched you closely every time we've spent time together. But you're also still bonded to her. I can see that, too," she said gently.

"She's my soulmate," he said quietly. Unlike the others, there was no mystery, no wondering who might be bearing the other half of his aching heart.

The young witch held out her hands to him. Loose sleeves revealed the fine markings swirling over the backs of her hands and arms like black lace gloves. Without speaking, he put his hands in hers, and she squeezed them together. Warmth surged from his palms, up his arms, and into his chest. Then, with a firm shove, something shoved him backward out of his body.

In a split second, he was walking through a busy crowd dancing beneath the stars. The clothing, the smells… He was back in Europe, when he was a younger man who had not yet had all the hope scraped out of him. And there ahead of him was a flash of red hair spinning and bobbing through the bustle.

"Brigitte?" he murmured.

At his word, thunder rolled across the heavens, and the crowd parted. She turned, green eyes glinting up at him as she smiled. That smile was like she was seeing an old friend. It said, You're finally here. I missed you, even when they did not know each other's names.

She held out her hand and said, "Dance with me."

Chest tightening, he darted forward and took her hand. His vision faltered, and instead of Brigitte, he saw a red cord, a thousand ribbons and threads braided together in a gleaming cord that trailed off into the distance. A shock rolled down his spine, and he startled himself awake.

Warmth streaked his cheeks as he opened his eyes to see Shoshanna smiling at him. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, trying to catch one last glimpse of her, trying to find her scent on the wind. But there was only black, tinged with the afterimage of two concerned witches.

Finally, he opened his eyes to see the human woman. Pleasant as her scent was, it masked that ghost of Brigitte. "Alistair told me that when you first knew Brigitte and then lost her, you didn't know the word soulmate. The same with Kova," she said.

He could only nod. His words were caught behind a lump of ice in his throat, and he wasn't sure if he would be more embarrassed to weep in front of the plucky human witch or the powerful Sanguine Crown witch.

"You're still connected to her. And her to you. That's good."She drew a deep breath, then said, "I want to use your connection to find her. I want to see if I can analyze her curse from a distance. It's an incredibly strong bond, and I'm stronger than I've ever been."

"Could you break it from far away?" he asked, dabbing at his eye.

She shrugged. "I don't know. As you said, you weren't cursed. But I think I might be able to see her from afar. And I'm going to try to get her to come here."

"You're what?" he spluttered. "She's already going to come. That's the curse. She always comes, and she always?—"

Always dies. No matter what I do.

"But we're ahead of schedule. And if the curse is based on her birthday, that gives me time to work. That's assuming I can't break it from here," she said boldly.

"And what if you can't?" he asked.

Shoshanna took a deep breath, then folded her smaller hands around his. He wanted to pull away, but something about her touch was as comforting as the house. And he knew, for all his depressive loathing, all his cynicism, she wanted to make things right. "If I can't, then I'll try again. And I'll try again after that, and again until the last millisecond."

"Why?"

Her eyes bored into his. "Because you're part of our family. I'm not going to make you empty promises. Armina Voss is incredibly powerful, and this isn't like anything we've dealt with before. But I'm also going to lay out the facts. I've undone six of her curses, including the ones your brothers told me I'd never be able to handle." Her head tilted toward Misha. "And don't get me started on this one. He found Carrigan Shea with a handful of rocks, then made a weapon that obliterated his Covenant in one stroke. You've got real power on your side, too."

At that, Misha smiled. "And if you don't mind me saying so, you'll be no worse off than if she doesn't try. Would you rather lie down on the train tracks and wait for the end, or at least try to fight back?"

His words were a punch to the gut. "You sound like Paris."

"There's a reason we get along well," Misha said with a faint smile.

He stared down at those fine marks on Shoshanna's arms for a while. Each was a mark of a curse broken, power and knowledge granted by forces he couldn't comprehend.

Lifting his eyes to her, he said, "All right. But I have a request, too."

"Anything I can do," Shoshanna said.

He lifted his eyes. "Either of you. Whether this works or not, you find Armina Voss. For years, we didn't go after her, especially after Alistair got cursed. We didn't want to risk anyone else getting hurt, and I held out hope I could undo what happened to Brigitte if we had enough time, but it's gone on long enough. If she dies again, then—" His voice hitched. "Then this is the last time. I don't care if I have to tear down the whole bloody world. I will kill Armina Voss if it's the last thing I do."

And truthfully, he hoped it might be.All the better if he went out with Armina's blood on his teeth.

Shoshanna looked nervous, but Misha nodded. "We'll do it. I've already been working out how to find her."

"Have you been scheming for weeks?" Julian asked.

Shoshanna scoffed. "Months. I just roped him in once he decided to stick around," she said playfully. "Let's give this a try."

"Right now?"

"Right now," she said.

After shedding his coat, he settled onto the floor of her workshop, closing his eyes while she lit a few candles and spoke quietly in French. Her voice rose, taking on a rich resonance that soothed his nerves. Then a searing heat washed over him as she grasped his temples and pushed into his mind.

His vision exploded in a riot of color, and he found himself staring at the flames of a bonfire. A hand fell on his shoulder, and he whirled on his heel to see Brigitte.

Her fiery hair was caught back from her face, those full cheeks flushed as always, like she'd just come in from the sun. The pleasant bite of her dhampir blood mixed with light perfume and the scent of herbs on her hands.

"You're staring," she teased, tugging up her loose blouse to cover her shoulder.

"Because you're so beautiful," he managed.There were people around, some festival or another, but he was concerned only with her.

Then she poked the end of his nose. God, he had forgotten what that soft, warm skin felt like. Before she could pull away, he caught her wrist, pressing her palm to his cheek. Her fingers stroked his skin gently, and her playful expression turned to something softer.

"May I kiss you?" she asked.

He nodded, afraid to speak and shatter the dream. Bending to meet her, he brushed his lips over hers, and lightning burst through him. Her fingers twined into his hair, holding him tight as she kissed him hungrily. The noise of the crowd faded, and he felt the patter of something around him.

Pulling back, he looked up and saw the glimmer of rain in the moonlight. It fell, warm and damp, on his skin, but rather than puddles, a blanket of rose petals lay on the ground. Brigitte laughed, took his hand, and yanked him to spin him around.

"Dance with me, silly," she said.

And he did. He let his wild beauty spin him around, eventually lifting her up by her slender waist, letting her rest against his chest as she covered his face in kisses. Staring up at her, he was struck with the urge to tell her: Don't leave me. You have to run away from her.

"Come with me," he said.

Tilting her head, she smiled brightly and said, "I'm right here."

He shook his head. "Not yet. Can you come and find me? I'll protect you if—" The words dried up in his mind, and even if this beautiful vision, he saw those awful, broken flashes. Pretty lips bruised, skin bloodied, clothing torn.

Why would this time be any different? How could he protect her from the inevitable?

Her head cocked. "Are you all right?"

"I love you, Brigitte," he murmured. "You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she said, shaking her head so her long curls tickled at his face. He used to love it when she straddled his hips, riding him until pleasure tore through her, and then she would bend over him, gently tracing his chest as her long hair feathered across his sweat-slick skin.

Thunder rolled across the sky, and she suddenly shifted out of his grasp, landing on her feet. Still holding his hand, she looked back, then back to him. "Something's coming."

"Come with me," he said. "Don't go that way."

But there was fear in her eyes. She paused long enough to kiss the back of his hand, then broke away. "Come find me," she called back. Gathering her skirt up around her knees, she ran into the shadows. He tried to follow, but despite his vampire speed, she left him alone in the rain.

The night sky had gone impossibly dark. Instead of lightning, it was as if a bolt of pure void-black struck the earth, splitting open reality all around him. And as it split, he saw that the nothing was something—something hungry and terrible.

Sharp claws dug into his back, and before he could fight back, a sharp sting cut across his face. He swung back, caught something soft, and snapped his eyes open to see Misha Volkov holding his arms. Blood trickled from the vampire's nose.

"Wake up," Misha said firmly.

Horror dawned on him when he saw Shoshanna staring out at nothing, her eyes filled with flickering light. Dark lines slithered over her brown skin, as if tangling shadows were trying to suck her in.

"Help her," Julian pleaded.

Misha shook his head. "She's fighting something. I can ground her if it gets dangerous." In front of him sat three conical red stones the size of Julian's fist.Sparks flickered at the heart of each, like fire encased in glass.

The other witch's breathing was ragged, her heart pounding so loudly it should have been rattling the house. The markings on her arms glowed incandescent bright, her arms trembling as she leaned against the intricate drawing on the floor.

"Come on," Misha muttered.

Julian glanced back and saw Alistair and Paris wedged shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway. Paris held one arm across the door to keep Alistair from bursting in, murmuring let her do it, she's got it over and over like a mantra.

Suddenly, Shoshanna's eyes went dark. Her voice cracked out of her chest in awful, hitching gasps for several seconds before she spat out a single, croaking, "Help."

"Shoshanna!" Alistair cried.

But Misha was already in action, placing the three red stones into the spell around Shoshanna. He glanced back. "I've got her. Stay calm," he said. Using the jagged point of a ring on his right hand, he sliced into his left palm and let his blood drip onto the first of the conical stones.It ignited with a blinding spark and surged to the others to form a glowing triangle.

Red light burst from each stone and into Shoshanna. Misha held her face gently, eyes closed, and she went limp. He easily lifted her, stepping away from the circle with her in his arms. The red light swirled in a blinding tangle where Shoshanna had crouched, and he could swear he saw black, ink-like tendrils reaching up in search of something.

"You're all right. Just breathe," Misha said gently.

Shoshanna's eyes snapped open. "I saw her. She saw me. She looked right at me. She knows."