“So you do not have anything concrete to tell the police about these three men.”

Tariq sounded as if he was talking to himself, not them. He didn’t object or scoff at anything they said, and that was a relief to Charlotte. She hadn’t realized until that moment that she really didn’t want Tariq Asenguard to think she was crazy. He seemed to be taking them seriously. He’d admitted to having a gift or two of his own, so maybe that contributed to his believing them.

“No, not really. Not even with Fridrick. He admitted killing in Paris and again, here, with Charlie’s brother,” Genevieve answered, “but there’s no proof. The best we can do is maybe point the cops in the right direction.” She yawned and quickly tried to cover it. “I’m sorry. This is all very exhausting.”

“Let me show you to a room. Enter of your own free will.” Tariq held the door open for them courteously, using his old-world charm to let them pass first.

Charlotte glanced at him sharply, hesitating as Genevieve walked right in, even reaching for her as if to stop her. Genevieve was far too fast, moving quickly into the entryway and peering around her. Charlotte stood just outside the door, feeling the pull, the longing to go inside. A sanctuary of sorts, and somewhere, on this property, was her dream job of restoring very, very old wooden carousel horses. She’d seen the pictures, and she had longed to go with Ricard Beaudet to help restore them. She yearned to get her hands on them, to feel the life in them, the treasure trove of memories locked in the wood.

“Can I look around?” Genevieve asked.

“Of course. My home is yours. You are welcome to choose any room on the ground floor.”

“Thanks. If I find one I like, I’m going straight to bed. I can barely stay awake. If I get up before you, Charlie, I’ll take care of Lourdes.”

“Thanks, Vi.” They’d been trading off getting up with the little girl, and Lourdes already loved Genevieve, so Charlotte was grateful for the help.

Tariq smiled at Genevieve as she moved deeper into the dimly lit foyer. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yes, she is.” Charlotte still hesitated just outside the door. “What does that mean? ‘Enter of your own free will’?” She couldn’t make her feet move, although no harm had come to Genevieve.

“It is an ancient invitation handed down through the generations in my family. I come from the Carpathian Mountains, and family and friends use the more ancient ways. Does it bother you?” He gave her a small courtly bow.

Charlotte felt a little silly objecting to walking into his house when he’d practically saved their lives. Still, there was reluctance counterbalancing the need to enter. Maybe it was the need itself. “Can you ask your friend when Lourdes will be here? And Grace?”

“Ah, yes, Grace. I had forgotten your other friend. Is she gifted? In the way you and Genevieve are?”

He continued to hold the door open, not showing any impatience whatsoever. Charlotte could no longer see Genevieve. She’d disappeared into the interior of the house and could be heard oohing and aahing. “You aren’t answering me about Lourdes,” she persisted, refusing to be distracted. She was beginning to be afraid all over again, but she didn’t know why.

“Lourdes has already arrived, and Grace is following with Maksim. My friend Siv has brought your niece safe and sound and she is in bed inside the house. Let me take you to her.”

She wanted to see for herself and she nearly stepped inside, but the moment she put one foot over the threshold, she felt a curious wrenching sensation in her body. The floor moved beneath her, a ripple, just like the beginnings of an earthquake. She stopped, her heart pounding. Again, Tariq didn’t seem impatient, nor did he try to get close to her. If anything, he kept more distance than he ever had. It made her feel alone – bereft.

Her emotions were all over the place, careening out of control. It had to be from sheer fear. From the grief she felt losing her brother. She’d barely buried him when they became aware they were being followed and watched again here in the United States. At night, twice, there had been the bizarre noises at the windows and doors, just like in Paris. Charlotte had called 911, but what was there to say? She was scared. There were noises. She thought someone was outside their house. The patrol officers came and didn’t find a thing either time.

“Sielamet, what is it?”

God. His voice. It melted her insides. Turned her stomach into a roller coaster and sent darts of fire straight to her sex. It soothed and incited. Caressed and stroked. That word he used made his accent heavier.

“What does that mean? The name you call me?”

His smile took her breath, and it hadn’t even really lit his eyes. “It is an ancient endearment, hard to explain outside my native language. My people come from a remote region in the mountains, and we keep to the ancient ways.”

That hadn’t answered her question exactly. He had a way of doing that. Telling her absolutely nothing. She forced herself to take the last step inside. The moment her left foot followed her right one and touched the hardwood floor she felt that same shifting beneath her feet, as if her world had changed for all time.

She stayed still until the sensation passed, afraid if she said anything he would think she was crazier than she already appeared. “Which way to Lourdes? And is your friend Siv still around?” She glanced behind her, through the open door. There was no vehicle parked next to her car.

Tariq pulled the door closed firmly, yet quietly, cutting off her view to the outside. There was intricate stained glass woven into the door, but there was no seeing through it. In the muted light from the sconces on the wall, she could see Tariq’s expression. This time the blank look was gone. His face could have been carved from stone, but his eyes, that deep, dark blue, portrayed emotion. She could feel a heavy heat vibrating through the air.

“Why do you ask after Siv?” Again his voice was clipped, terse, intense and scary.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue again, stalling for time, turning everything over and over in her head but not coming up with an answer why her question would upset him. And he was upset.

“I asked out of politeness. He rescued my niece and I wanted to thank him.”

The tension drained out of him instantly. “Siv isn’t… civilized. He spends most of his time alone, and he doesn’t talk much to anyone, not even those of us who are his friends. He made certain Lourdes was safe and asleep and then he slipped out.” He shrugged. “That is his way and we all respect it.”