“I must… I must talk to you, Winchester,” Grace said when we reached the front door.

  “I am here for you, Grace. Whatever you need, I will strive to provide for you.”

  I meant my words. But, when we really mean something, we pay our full attention to the person we are transmitting our message to. So why, as Lisbeth pressed her shoulders against the wall and closed her eyes, did my mind drift over to her far more than it locked on Grace?

  Grace gripped my arm. “I must go now. I’m sure they’ll start looking for me soon. I will come. Please, do as you said. Help me.”

  With that, she broke away. I limply clutched toward her, but not as much as I moved toward Lisbeth as she pushed off the wall but staggered.

  Grace grasped the door, flung it open, then looked at me once wistfully. In another blink, she was out of sight. I should’ve asked her who was after her. I should’ve done many things. Instead, I simply watched her leave. Then I looked at Lisbeth. “You will tell me—” I began.

  Lisbeth McQuarrie lost consciousness. Just like that. Though I can’t say it was that sudden. Now with a hand on hers, I could see just how fragile she was. I could feel how complex her magic was, too. It was like somebody had poked it with chaos.

  She slumped against me. I did not jerk back or move away. I freely offered my shoulder as I cried, “Lisbeth? Lisbeth?”

  I should have saved my breath. She was out cold.

  I still patted her cheek until my hand stopped, until it slid to a stop.

  She was warm. Her heartbeat appeared to be steady, and she would no doubt survive this. Once I got her to proper medical attention.

  I lifted Lisbeth’s unconscious form up, and though I didn’t want to admit this, she was easy to carry. She was nowhere near as thin as Grace, but for whatever reason, my mind told me Lisbeth McQuarrie was still easier to carry.

  And carry her, I did, all the way home.

  For she was my indentured. I was about to learn, however, that you must be very careful what you tether your horse to. There had never been a cart quite as wild as Lisbeth McQuarrie, and the longer I stayed by her side, the more I would be drawn into her wild troubles.

  Chapter Eight

  Lisbeth McQuarrie

  I woke. Oh my, I had such a tremendous headache.

  I blinked. I saw a ceiling above me. That was good enough. It meant I was out of the tunnels. I rolled over, intending to sleep again, but I heard the legs of a chair grating. Someone shifted their weight and rose. And that someone was a stiff-faced, hard-gazed Winchester Stone.

  You know, it took me a moment to remember who he was. For a few startling seconds, he was just a handsome wizard dressed in a lounge coat. Then he slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew several things.

  One was my mist cloak. He also plucked out a vial of blood, the notebook I’d stolen from him, and… a soul crystal.

  He placed all of them on the bedside table beside me. Then he sat back down. Slowly, as if he had all of the time in the world, he crossed his arms.

  I went to launch out of bed, sure that the game was up. And that’s when I realized I could not launch. For I was still far too weak.

  He did not stop me, even as my ridiculous attempt to escape brought too much blood to my brain. It pounded in my skull, made me woozy, and saw me tip perilously to the side. Winchester Stone simply crossed his arms tighter and stared at me, such a grim frown gripping his lips, it could have digested them. “When you’re done trying to fall unconscious again, Lisbeth, you will explain.”

  “Explain?” I couldn’t control my voice as it shot up in despair.

  Not the kind of gripping despair I’d received after that old witch had given me her magic. A far itchier, far deeper despair that tickled my stomach, shot toward my heart, and did unknown things with the organ.

  “Everything,” he added, arms crossed.

  I was not a witch who liked to be cornered. Had you realized that yet? I could give you a thousand examples of what I did when I was cornered, but there was really only one theme that mattered. I ran. And I was so very good at running. But how could I run from my master and my destiny?

  If I did not protect Winchester, I’d have no chance of defeating the curse. And there was no way I could run from that mission anymore. Even thinking of the idea upset the witch’s gift of magic. I felt its storm rise in my chest once more. I clutched a hand to my torso, fingers sliding over the fabric of my nightgown.

  Winchester, who’d looked so very peeved, dropped his arms. “Whatever it is, don’t fight it. Something’s happened to your magic. It’s terribly upset. Fight it, and you will simply introduce more chaos into the mix. You must step back and let it order itself.” He spat that all quickly as if he cared, as if he knew he needed to deliver his message as quickly as possible, or I might faint.

  But Winchester Stone didn’t actually care if I fainted. Winchester Stone simply wanted me to finally tell the truth.

  I closed my eyes. I opened them and slid them across to him, and he mouthed three words, “All of it.”

  I winced my eyes closed again. All of it? Winchester wanted to know my every single secret? Impossible. He’d need a lifetime to hear them all. And I was starting to worry about one very terrifying fact indeed. What if I didn’t even know all of my secrets myself?

  I’d thought I’d understood what it was to be a dead practitioner, but that witch….

  I shivered again.

  He pointed over to all of the objects he’d removed from my pocket. He started with the mist cloak. “Now where, Lisbeth, did you steal that? It is several hundred years old. It was most definitely created by the Magical Academy, and it is more than you could ever afford.”

  “I didn’t steal it,” I snapped, automatically coming to my own defense.

  Perhaps it was a good sign, because Winchester released some of his tension. Sorry, a good sign? In releasing his tension, it simply meant he knew he now had me cornered.

  “If you didn’t steal it, how did you come by it?”

  Was this him believing me? Oh, no. This was him leading me further into a trap. A trap I could hardly escape now, could I?

  He reached his hand up. He made a show of dragging up his sleeve. He touched the corresponding mark on his wrist that matched the indenturing marks on my own.

  I stiffened, a rush of dread dragging its way across my body. He couldn’t make me tell the truth by interacting with those marks… could he? I was in terrible trouble if that was the case. I was reminded of Wintersmith’s warning. I must protect and shepherd Winchester. From afar. Without him ever learning my secret.

  I jammed my thumb into my mouth. I winced. I supposed I could at least tell some of the truth. If I made it too outlandish, Winchester would know.

  I’d always assumed I was a better actor. But that look in his eyes… he was determined not to miss a thing.

  “I found it in the cemetery. Eastside Cemetery,” I muttered.

  He opened his mouth in preparation to tell me I was lying. But something about this jogged him. “Wintersmith’s crypt, correct?”

  I was so shocked that he picked the right place, I didn’t control my expression. It unfortunately said it all. He nodded. “That crypt is about as old as that cloak – it makes sense. Where did you find it in the crypt? You did not open the sarcophagus—”

  “Never,” I cried over the top of him before he could finish that sacrilegious statement. And perhaps my sheer passion was enough to convince him.

  He nodded. “Very well, but you went through the crypt, didn’t you? Now, why would you do something so despicable, Lisbeth?”

  I wanted to snap at him that he had done something equally despicable. For he had been in Wintersmith’s crypt for the soul stones. But perhaps he was starting to put the facts together without me. “That’s where you got the soul stone, isn’t it? Why, I was a little fool, wasn’t I? I forgot to check your pockets.”

  I narrowed my eyes and looked at him. Had he intended to give away that he’d been the wizard to attack me in the crypt? I wanted to say it was an accident, but he didn’t seem to be in an accidental mood. I had never seen a man act more deliberately than Winchester, and I could promise you this. It was equally as terrifying a sight as it was… enthralling. There must be a reason I couldn’t tear my eyes off him.

  “Very well. That does not explain the blood, Lisbeth.”

  I looked across at the blood. It took me a moment. I even had to scratch my head as I regathered the memory. I clicked my fingers. “Of course. The desk.”

  I squeaked as I let that slip.

  Again, it was obvious I was being honest, and Winchester simply grunted and laughed. I’m sure he hadn’t expected it would be this easy to question me. “What desk? Where? Do you have any idea what this is?”

  Honestly, I’d forgotten about it. Now I peered across at it.

  “Whose desk, where?” he demanded that with such frustrated force, I… almost felt obliged to answer. Almost.

  He rose to his feet as if he could predict what I was thinking. He went to lock a hand on the indenturing mark.

  “I think it was Bram’s desk in the palace. I went… exploring.”

  “Exploring? You went exploring in the palace? You went to my brother’s desk?” I had never seen him more ferocious yet more surprised at the same time. For he looked down at the blood, and something appeared to click behind his deep, soulful eyes.

  I bit my lip hard. “Yes. I wasn’t discovered.”

  “But you stole this—”

  My eyes glittered as I stared at him defiantly once more. “Can one ever really steal something from a man like Bram? Everything he owns he has taken from others.”

  “I suppose that is a fair assessment,” he actually agreed with me.

  Then he handled the vial of blood more carefully. He went to settle it back down on the table but thought better of it. He plucked a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped the vial up very carefully, muttered a secret spell under his breath, then pushed it back into his breast pocket. Then Winchester Stone looked at me. Looked at me with this piercing quality to his gaze.

  I’d spoken of his gaze just a few seconds before, but I was suddenly treated to a new part of it. For I don’t think I had ever felt anyone pay as much attention to me as he did now. Winchester Stone had the ability to cut away the world until it was just you and him. But there was another important ingredient in our world. The indenturing spell.

  He flicked his fingers at me. “You will rise now, Lisbeth. I’m quite confident I’ve removed all of the poison from your system. As for your magic, I can’t tell what disrupted you, but whatever it was, I would suggest you put it from your mind.”

  “Poison?” My nose scrunched.

  “Your ankle.”

  I suddenly grabbed at my covers. I removed them, not caring that he was in the room, and stared at my ankle. It was wrapped up. The shin was visible, however, and I remembered the lines of pernicious infection that had reached it. My flesh was now quite clear.

  As was the fact I was no longer in peach taffeta.

  I blushed. Quite an automatic thing, there was no way to control it.

  As it rose up my cheeks, he turned away. “The wardrobe changed you, not me. But while we’re on the topic, how did you change my clothes—”

  I rushed out of bed.

  The best way to distract somebody from a question you didn’t want to answer was by giving them something far better to pay attention to. “What about Grace? Do you think she’s safe?”

  This focused him on the most important topic of all.

  His jaw stiffened. “Nothing will directly happen to Grace.” He glanced down at his feet.

  “Because you believe your brother won’t let it happen, correct? Your brother strikes me as the kind of soul who will always outstrip even your worst estimations of him. She came to you because she trusts you. We can’t betray that trust. We should pay her a visit.”

  Winchester reached out and grabbed my shoulder – but far more tenderly than he ever had before. “I would never show up uninvited at my brother’s house. Especially not with you.”

  My cheeks reddened slightly. I’d been drawn in by his direct, kind touch. Now I stiffened underneath it. “Why—”

  “Because my brother has always been attracted to powerful things he does not understand. Now, come. There is something we must do.”

  “What?”

  “I have something in my basement—”

  Dear. Oh dear.

  I’d completely forgotten about the fact that I had relieved Winchester of every single one of his spirit stones.

  Oh very deary dear. If he were to take me there now, his good mood – if that’s what you could call this – would break. He would likely break me soon after.

  “I think we should go see Grace,” I began.

  “And I think you should leave this to me. Unless you have something to tell me, Lisbeth?” He paused just next to the stairs, and before he took them, he arched an eyebrow at me.

  My breath became trapped. Something… I wanted to tell him. I couldn’t admit to this, but in that moment, I wanted… to tell him everything. Perhaps I would rewind the clock until I was back in bed and he was just beside me. Perhaps I would divulge the whole truth and not just what I could share.

  I swallowed.

  “Very well. You can tell me in time,” he muttered. “Come.”

  He got a step down the stairs. I reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He slowly slid his gaze toward me.

  “And what is it, Lisbeth? Do you have anything to tell me?”

  “I… simply don’t think we should waste any time. We should go out—”

  “And do what?”

  “There’s a new king. Arlene died, and—”

  “And?”

  “Winchester, you should just—”

  “I am in charge. I should just do what I want. Come, Lisbeth.” He reached around, grabbed my hand, not my shoulder, and led me down the stairs.

  I trembled the whole way. What would he do when we reached the basement? What would the ghost guard do? I was quite confident that I had knocked it out and prevented it from seeing me, but what if it recognized I could see ghosts?

  Oh, I was in such tremendous trouble.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Oh my, I had never been more thankful for something.

  “Whoever it is,” Winchester said in a determined tone, “they can wait. I have something far more important to sort out.”

  “You should answer the door. What if it’s Grace?”

  “It’s not Grace.”

  “What if it’s your brother?”

  “It’s not my brother.”

  “How could you possibly know?”

  “Because I track my brother wherever he goes. I have early warning systems throughout the entire city.”

  “What if it’s the palace?”

  “Even if it’s the king himself, Lisbeth, you’re coming with me.”

  I was not somebody taken by trembling. I was somebody who, instead, used all of that nervous energy to get done what she needed to do. But with nowhere to go, cooped up by Winchester’s soft grip, I had to admit I was trapped.

  I couldn’t begin to describe what was happening within me as we reached the stairs that would take us from the first floor down to the basement. All I could do was tremble with more treacherous fear. But that, ah, that would be when Winchester was proven wrong.

  He’d said even if the king had arrived himself, he would not answer.

  From outside, we heard the strident tones of a herald horn.

  Winchester immediately stiffened. His brow contracted in surprised fear. “What?”

  “The king has arrived,” someone said in the kind of booming voice used to announcing things.

  I blinked and looked up at Winchester. I’d wanted any kind of distraction… but this? I shivered at the thought of having to see the prince – now the king – with his dead gaze.

  Winchester pressed his lips together. He ground his teeth back and forth over them. “Very well. There’s nothing for it. Lisbeth, you will go to the sitting room. No, head back upstairs. It will be the furthest away from him.”

  “But… don’t you trust me?”

  It was a confusing question. What I was trying to ask was surely he didn’t trust me.

  He arched one eyebrow. He could tell I was flustered. He leaned in, even as the herald demanded that the door be opened. “Lisbeth, how can I trust you when I don’t know what you are?” With that, with a lingering look that could pierce my very soul, he strode off. He pointed upward.

  I waited until he was out of sight, and I threw myself down the stairs. Exactly what was my plan? To go, gather a thousand more spirit stones, and throw them in the basement before he could find out what I’d done?

  I wasn’t thinking straight. That was clear. And I had a thousand reasons why. Too many sensations were competing in my body. Often, we do what we want, and our sensations are there to direct us or warn us when something goes wrong. Not now. My silly nervous system kept reminding me of what Winchester’s touch had felt like. It replayed it over and over again as if his touch had been the most significant encounter I’d ever had. Then, laid over the top of that was my growing fear. Fear with a certain backdrop.

  Winchester had no idea what had happened to my magical system. He’d claimed I invited chaos in. What I’d invited in, instead, was responsibility, and I simply did not know how to deal with it. For Arlene’s magic was still there, begging me to act, egging me on, whispering from inside the walls of my very heart that there wasn’t time to waste.

  I thrust forward toward the basement.

  Winchester’s house was so very large, I couldn’t see it from the base of the stairs. But as I rushed around the corner… oh, as I rushed around a corner, I heard footsteps. Furtive and quick.

  I froze.

  This was… a trap? I very much doubted that Winchester had set it up, though perhaps he could have. If he’d honestly been suspicious and already knew that I’d taken his stones, one way to confirm that would be to set me up in the way he already had. But I just knew this wasn’t him.