Together, we approached the house, our senses alert. We’d just crossed the midway point when a vine shot out from the wall and wrapped around my leg. I stumbled, nearly going to my knees. Another vine lashed out, wrapping around my arm. They burned, some type of magic that made my skin feel as if it were on fire.

I drew a blade from the ether and severed the vine at my arm, then the one at my leg.

Beside me, a thick vine wrapped around Carrow’s waist. She hissed with pain and called on her own blade. I swung around to cut the vine from her, but two more wrapped around my arm before I could.

I thrashed, my muscles burning, and broke through the vines. Two more wrapped around my legs, and I sliced them off. Carrow cut the one around her waist, but two more grabbed her. They were so damned fast that she didn’t stand a chance. I could barely keep up, and only because of my enhanced speed.

More and more vines lashed out from the walls, and I sliced at them as quickly as I could, taking them out one by one. There were too many, though. Three wrapped around me, and Carrow was covered in far more.

She sagged to the ground, her eyes closing. Fear pierced me. “Hang on, Carrow!”

My heart thundered with fear as I fought the vines, desperate to get to her. I was fast enough to keep them off myself, but not fast enough to reach her. More and more vines wrapped around her, so many that she was disappearing.

Her magic filled the air, the scent of lavender strong.

She was using her power.

Her eyes snapped open and met mine. “Kill the base of the plant by the wall.”

Hope flared, and I hacked at the vines that trapped my legs, the pain of their burn making my skin chill. I couldn’t imagine what Carrow felt with so many vines around her. Fear for her drove me, making me quicker and stronger. I fought off the vines and sprinted toward the wall, seeking the base of the plant.

It grew from the edge of the garden, and I lunged for it, slicing at the base, hacking at the thick growth with all of my strength.

Finally, I cut through the last of it. The vines withered, turning thin and brown. I raced back to Carrow, finding her limp against the ground, the vines dying around her.

I yanked them off, my heart pounding.

“Carrow.” Fear echoed in my voice as I shook her gently. “Wake up. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

“That felt like hell,” she rasped, her eyes opening.

I hugged her to me gently, running kisses over her brow. “That was quick thinking.”

“Well, I wasn’t having any luck with my knife.” She pulled back from me slightly, the color returning to her cheeks. “As much as I’d like to continue this, we need to get moving.”

“Do you feel all right?”

She nodded, rising slowly to her feet and shaking out her skirts. “The pain has mostly faded. Once the vines died, it started to go.”

I inspected her for any wounds but saw none. “Ready?”

“Lead on.”

We headed down the path, our guard up and our movements silent. Finally, we reached the back of the house, an impressive three-story structure covered with rose vines. There were two doors to choose from, and I went for the smaller one that looked like the servants’ entrance.

The door opened silently, and I entered a dimly lit kitchen that made me grateful for the twenty-first century. The drab room was lit by a large fire, the heat oppressive. The scent of cured meat permeated the place.

A woman in a simple dress, who’d been stoking the fire, turned as I entered. Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her chest. “Who are you?”

“Calm yourself, madam, and sit in that chair.” I imbued my voice with my power and pointed to the small wooden chair by the fire.

Her eyes went foggy, thank fates, and she drifted over to the chair.

At my side, Carrow whispered. “Is this really the kitchen?”

“Archaic, I know.” I strode to the woman, crouching down in front of her. “Is Councilor Rasla’s daughter here?”

“Who?” Confusion flickered in her voice. “He has no daughter.”

“Tell me the truth,” I commanded, making sure that her eyes blurred and that my power was working on her.

“It is the truth, my lord. Just him. Always has been.”

I shared a look with Carrow. Between the housekeeper and this maid, I knew who I believed. Rasla’s magic had worked on her, it seemed, and her memories were gone.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” I asked. “Another maid, perhaps?”

“No one. Not now.”

That would make things easier. “Stay here for an hour, then return to your duties. Forget you ever saw us.”

She nodded slowly, settling back against the chair to wait. I stood. Carrow was already moving toward the door, heading into the rest of the house. I followed, loathing the cramped, dark interior. Even the nicest, largest houses in this period had low ceilings and heavy architecture. My tower wasn’t much different, but it had been modified to suit me and the changing times.

We entered a sitting room at the front of the house. Glittering mullioned windows provided a partial view of the street outside, but not enough light to brighten the dark wood and thick fabrics that covered the furniture. The fireplace lay cold and silent.

Carrow walked around the room, running her hands over the furniture and paintings, the lavender scent of her magic trailing behind her.

“I’m not getting much,” she said. “Mostly images of Rasla.”

She closed her eyes, her magic flaring brighter. I tasted oranges and salt, a lovely combination. Her face flushed as she tried harder to access the information she wanted.

Finally, she opened her eyes. “The daughter was here, but rarely came into this room. Let’s check upstairs.”

We passed through another small reception room and a dining room. Carrow ignored them, heading straight for the stairs. Though there were several bedrooms on the next floor—all of them as dark and dreary as the living room—none seemed like our target. One most definitely belonged to Rasla, from the look of the large bed and filled wardrobe.

“Next floor,” Carrow said.

We ascended the narrow, creaking stairs. Most of the rooms on this floor were empty. It wasn’t until we came to a locked door that Carrow grinned widely. “This is it. I’m sure of it.”

I knelt beside her at the door, inspecting the lock. It was an ancient thing, cast iron and heavy. Magic sparked around it, violent and sharp. “We’d be best off finding the key.”

Carrow tried to touch the lock, and a bright white spark popped. She yanked her hand back, shaking it. “Yep. Let’s find it.”

“We should try Rasla's bedroom.”

“Agreed. He seems like just the kind of control freak to keep it there.”

We headed back downstairs and began to hunt through the room, searching every nook and cranny that we could find. There was nothing even remotely interesting in it, from what I could see. Rasla was a miserably dull bastard in his home life. Or perhaps he was just good at hiding.

My money was on dull.

Carrow pushed a large chair aside and stood, walking across the area where the chair had been. She stopped dead in her tracks.

I frowned. “What is it?”

She shifted her weight, her head tilted to the side. Her skirts rustled. A creaking sounded from beneath her foot, and she smiled. “Just like at Seraphia’s library.”

“What do you mean?”

She knelt to inspect the board that had creaked underfoot, eventually prying it up with her fingers. She reached in and pulled out a key, then grinned at me. “Just like the box Seraphia kept under the table.”

“Clever.”

Carrow stood and we returned to the room at the top of the stairs. The key slipped easily into the lock, twisting right. It popped open, and Carrow pulled on the door.

15

Carrow

The room within was simple and quite sad. A narrow bed against one small window, a desk, and a crib. Drab brown walls and bedding.

“Oh, this is terrible.” My gaze went to the window, where I spotted iron bars in front of the mullioned glass. “Oh, hell. Rasla is a bastard.”

“What happened to her, though?” Grey walked slowly into the room. “This room has been empty for a while.”

I followed him in, my skin going cold.

Please be alive.

A noise sounded from down below. A shout from the street, like a greeting. I strode to the window and looked down through the bars. We were at the front of the house, and I could see right into the street. Rasla stood beneath us, talking to a man on the other side of the road.

The sun was setting and casting shadows on the street, so it was impossible to see who he was talking to, but it didn't matter. We had only minutes left.

“He’s here,” I said. “He’ll be coming in soon.”

“He may sense something is wrong when he sees the maid sitting.” Grey turned and went to the bed, beginning to search under the mattress.

My heart raced as I hurried to the desk. There was a small stack of parchment and a pen. I touched each, letting my magic flow through me. The parchment gave me no clues, but the pen lit something up inside me.

“She used this to write the book that brought us here,” I said.

“Then we’re definitely on the right track.” Grey ducked to look under the bed, pressing on the floorboards. “There’s nothing around the bed that tells where she went.”

I hurried to the small cradle, searching under the little mattress. I found nothing, and sadness blasted through me as I searched. There was something so tragic and forlorn about this crib.

What had happened to them?

We could demand answers from Rasla, but he was already suspicious. Grey could use his powers to wipe his mind, but that wasn’t always foolproof. It’d be better if we could find answers without running into him.

Below, I heard the door slam.

“He’s inside.” I rifled quickly through the blanket on the crib, my heart racing. “Hurry.”

Grey paced the room, testing the floorboards with his feet. I rose to join him, then stopped.