Page 9 of Light

Dina eyed him as if she wanted to say more, but her lips remained sealed as her gaze darted between Gabriel and the woman struggling with the table below.

When she was inside, her door locked, they moved to the street, checking her spells.

“The work is good. These are powerful wards.”

Gabriel nodded, sending a soft rush of air at the door. It was absorbed, strengthening the magic. “Smart.”

Dina rested a hand on his shoulder. “It could be that—”

“I watched her cast these spells. She knew Sanura was a witch and cast them intending to absorb magic.”

“That may be, but it doesn’t mean—”

Gabriel’s teeth ground together. This time, he didn’t hide the sound, and Dina flinched back. “In three thousand years, we’ve never caught Sanura. In three thousand years, she’s killed every human in your line. If this woman is the last, she’s the only thing standing between Sanura and her revenge. Do you believe we will stop her this time when we’ve failed so many times before?”

The words had struck a blow, and Dina stumbled back as if they were a physical one.

Gabriel sucked in a breath. “Dina, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, the overcoat she’d been wearing rippling between wings and a coat before she got the illusion under control.

“That was cruel. I beg your pardon.”

Her hair swayed as she twisted her head from side to side. “Though I only ever knew the love of a mother once, I’ve loved them all. All the children of my line. I know you suffer, and more than that, you fear, but you cannot fight what Father prescribed. Would it not be worse to let her meet her end before you’ve had a chance to become one?”

Something cold settled in Gabriel’s chest. “She may not be mine.” The words were a whisper.

“Who else could she belong to?”

The truth of Dina’s words sent fear shooting through him. Who else, indeed?

Chapter 10

Adalaide

Adalaide set her journal down on the side table and fell onto the stiff cushion of her sofa. It was dark, the grandfather clock having just rung the ninth hour. She had hoped whatever events would unfold this night would do so early enough that she would not sit for hours waiting or, worse, fall asleep and be murdered right there on her couch.

A soft knock at the door startled her.

Would the red-haired woman knock? Anything was possible. Perhaps it was a ploy to weaken her defenses.

She sat, listening for the sounds that might warn of impending danger. It was silent. So silent, she knew it was unnatural.

Closing her eyes, she opened her third eye, sending it down the hall to the door, and pushed it through the wards—only to encounter a light so blindingly brilliant it sent her crashing backward in her seat, forcing her third eye closed; even so, the bright streaks persisted for several moments longer.

When her true vision recovered, she touched a hand to her head and felt something like a magical headache. It throbbed, but not in her skull, exactly.

The soft knock at the door came again.

She stood, shuffling to the door. Whoever it was, it wasn’t the witch with a blue haze from the night before.

“Who is it?”

“Miss Graves, may I speak with you?”

It was a man’s voice, deep but polite.

She opened the door and took an involuntary step back. It was the man from the night before.

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