LOGINDamon's POVTwenty-five years ago, Damon would have been halfway down the east corridor by now with Elias at his heels and half the security staff behind him, and someone would have lost a door.This morning he stood very still in the study and did the harder thing."Hope," he said. "What do you want to do?"She looked at the humming stone in her palm, and he saw her take a breath. She did it the way she had learned to at the Threshold, with no voice in her head telling her how it would go."I want to talk to Priscilla," she said. "Before anyone else does. Not because she's innocent. Because if she's frightened, a room full of people will make her stop talking.""That's a reasonable instinct," Damon said, and meant it."Is it?" Hope asked, a little wildly. "Or is it just that I like her? She taught me to braid a rope bracelet when I was six.""It can be both.""That's not helpful, Dad.""I
Maya's POVNobody said anything for about four seconds, which in our household was a record.Then Ruth, who had come in with a fresh pot of tea and heard only the last word, set the pot down with a clunk and said, "Whose?""Mine," Selene said again. She was still on her knees on the study floor. "The signature. It's mine, down to the last strand."I watched the room do what rooms do. Elias took half a step toward the door and then stopped, because he had spent thirty years learning how not to be the sort of man who takes half a step toward a door. Constance went very still. Keeper's expression did not change, which on Keeper meant nothing at all. Hope's hand tightened in the cat's fur, and Ledger, outraged, said so.Damon looked at me.It was the same look he had given me in the study last night, when he asked what I honestly thought before he did anything. There was no accusation in it. He was asking me to decide first.
Maya's POV I had not slept, and neither had anyone else. That was how I knew the household had changed. Twenty-five years ago, a missing daughter at dawn would have had me at the front gate in my nightgown, shouting for Elias. This morning I sat at the kitchen table with a cold cup of tea and a lap full of rules I had set for myself. *She decided. She told you where she was going. Trust the decision.* It was the hardest thing I had done since the Threshold. Without the old guilt, it was also strangely possible. The fear was still there, but it wasn't wearing my face. It was just fear, sitting across the table, and I could look at it. "You're doing the breathing," Damon said from the doorway. He had been pacing the garden for an hour and had come in with wet cuffs and the look of a man who had won an argument with himself and didn't enjoy it. "I'm doing the breathing." "Is it working?
Hope's POV Hope crouched at the edge of the gravel and studied the footprints the way her mother had once taught her to study a tricky sentence: slowly, and without assuming the first reading was the right one. Boots, size eleven at least, with a worn heel on the left. The prints came up from the lower garden, crossed the road, and went straight to the cairn. There the man had stood for a good while, because the prints overlapped in a muddy knot. Then he had walked back toward the study window, stepping carefully, like someone who thought he'd been quiet. He wasn't at the cairn now, and he wasn't on the road. He was somewhere between her and the house, and the grey light was coming up fast. Hope had two choices, and no one was going to tell her which was right. She could go back and wake the whole household. That was the sensible choice, the one her father would have made twenty years ago. But the
Hope's POV For twenty-two years, Hope had never once opened a letter without the Lady's opinion first. It had never been dramatic. Usually it was a faint warmth for *yes* or a faint chill for *wait*, the sort of small nudge other people got from instinct and she got from a goddess. She had not realized how often she leaned on it until she stood in her father's study at one in the morning with a cream envelope in her hand and a silence in her head where the nudge should have been. *Lady?* she tried, quietly. Warmth, unmistakable and fond. Then, gently: *Decide.* "She's being unhelpful," Hope said aloud. "The Lady?" Diana asked from the doorway. She had arrived in boots and her coat, and judging by her hair she had run the whole way from the east cottage. "What did she say?" "'Decide.'" "That's it?" "That's it. It's the polite version of 'figure it out, sweetheart.'" "Well, that's irritating," Diana said, crossing the room and taking up a protective position at Hope's
Damon's POVDamon had been a father for twenty-two years, and he had a sharp instinct for the moment a boy walked into his house with his daughter.It had never once felt like this."This is Leopold Vasilenko," Damara announced, steering the young vampire through the study door at ten o'clock at night, in a tone far too casual to be casual. "He's the Keepers' archivist. We found something. It couldn't wait.""It's ten o'clock," Damon said."It's an emergency.""It's ten o'clock, and you brought a boy.""He's not a boy, he's a hundred and eleven.""I'm thirty-one," Leopold said. "She's rounding up out of nerves.""I am not nervous!"Maya, curled in the armchair by the window with a book she had clearly stopped reading the moment the door opened, made a small noise that was suspiciously close to a laugh. Damon shot her a look. She returned it with an expression of pure, innocent delight.Twenty years ago he would have handled the moment with a few cold words and a longer stare. Since th







