What is it, Serena? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “It’s terrible things happening, it is, at the Stronghold. Something attacks the fairy girls, Farris. Three is missing, and pretty Mellyn is dead!” Serena waited for him to take in her words before continuing. “We comes to ye for help, my brave Farris. Whatever hunts in the woods, mayhap it takes more girls even now, even tonight!”

Farris pulled a hand through his thick, graying hair, and sighed. “I’ll go and wake Mistress Tamara and Master William.”

He had no idea why he was feeling so generous toward the little sprite— usually she annoyed him terribly— but the sight of her at the window, half-dead, pitifully knocking against the glass, had frightened him dreadfully. Perhaps he had grown used to having Serena around, even fond of her. Seeing her like this, he realized for the first time how shattered he would be if anything were to happen to her.

He nodded, giving her one last pat on the head before heading off into the hall, and upstairs to the Swifts’ chambers.

SERENA SIGHED, settling back into the softness of the napkins, the cool cloth like a balm against her aching wings. She wanted to close her eyes for just a moment, but knew that if she did, she would be asleep in a heartbeat.

No, she needed to impart her story and acquire the Swifts’ help as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence, if she wanted to help find Aine. She thought of Mellyn, dead, her body tangled in the highest limbs of ancient oak.

Oh, Mab, let Aine be all right, Serena prayed to the queen of Faerie, the words running like a mantra in her head.

Let her be alive.

A knock on the door roused William from his slumber. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, and glanced at Sophia where she lay asleep beside him. She was so beautiful in the moonlight, her long dark hair loose on the pillow around her like a halo of shadow. As though sensing his regard, she sighed happily and turned away.

“Sophia, wake up,” he whispered, more loudly than he’d intended in the silence of the room. She turned back to him, opening a sleepy eye.

“William ?”

She propped herself up on her elbows, the sheet slipping down to reveal one perfect breast. When she realized what had happened, she covered herself again. Her porcelain skin shone in the moonlight, and desire rose in William. He wished he could shout at whomever had knocked, drive them away so he could ravish Sophia again that very instant.

“There’s someone at the door, love,” he said in low tones.

Sophia sat up, now fully awake, wrapping the sheets more tightly around her slender frame.

“What do we do?” she asked in a whisper. Her eyes were wide and she shivered, though from a chill or the threat of discovery, he knew not.

William made a show of confidence he did not feel.

“I’ll put on my dressing gown, and find out who’s there. Be very quiet, and don’t move an inch.”

He slid from the warm bed, and the floorboards were cold under his feet. He grabbed his nightshirt, slipping it over his head, then retrieved his robe from the armchair by the vanity and went to open the door. He was careful to swing it only wide enough for him to peer out, but not allow the intruder to look in.

“Yes?”

Farris stood on the threshold, anxiously tugging on the hem of his coat. The butler stepped back, and William took the opportunity to slide out of the room, making sure to close the door firmly behind him.

“What troubles you, Farris? Is it Tamara?” William glanced down the long hallway to his sister’s closed door.

Farris shook his head. “No, sir. It’s got nothing to do with the young miss. It’s Serena, Master William. The poor little thing’s back, come all the way from Cornwall. And she’s awfully upset. ’Pears there’s something terrible afoot there.”

William frowned. In the past the sprite had proven herself prone to hysteria, of a sort. But that was her nature— the nature of her people. And hysterical or not, her mad behavior had never come without some sort of prompting. If Serena had rushed all the way to London to bring them some dark news, there would be a ring of truth to it.

“Where is she?”

“The kitchen, sir. Shall I fetch Mistress Tamara?” His brow creased and his jaw tightened as he spoke.

“Yes, please do,” William said, studying him. “Is there something more, Farris?”

The older man nodded once.

“It’s only that she don’t look so well. Serena, that is. I think she may need a doctor, sir.”

William arched an eyebrow. A doctor for a sprite? This inheritance of ours brings new surprises every day, he thought. I only wish some of them were pleasant.

WHEN TAMARA ENTERED THE KITCHEN, Farris close on her heels, she had no real idea what to expect. Farris had seemed extremely worried, his dark eyes haunted by his inability to help the tiny creature who was so taken with him. From his tone and pallor, she had assumed that Serena would be on death’s door, but, instead, she found the little sprite sitting up on her nest of napkins, chattering away with William.

“Is everything all right?” Tamara asked.

William leaned against the wooden cutting table, his black hair wild, brows knit in dark attention as he listened to the sprite’s high, musical voice. Upon Tamara’s arrival, he turned and gave Farris a quizzical look.

“I thought you said she needed a doctor, Farris?”

Farris seemed startled by the change in his miniature charge. The way he had described her, when Serena had arrived she had been near death. Now she sat up with no apparent effort, her ruby-colored eyes bright with interest.

“Sir, I— ” the butler started, but he had no words to finish the sentence.

“Did you give her anything, Farris?” Tamara asked, noticing the thimble and bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. “Anything at all?”

Farris looked sheepish. “A touch of whiskey. That’s what my own father gave us when we were ill.”

Tamara smiled.

“Very smart, Farris. It appears to have been just the thing. I think she’s in very good spirits now.”

“You mean to say she’s inebriated?” William said incredulously. “Here in our home? You’re not serious.” He turned an accusing stare upon the butler.

Tamara could only sigh in response to her brother’s vigilant propriety. It rarely abandoned him, even in the most dire of circumstances.

Sometimes it was difficult for her to believe she and William were related, let alone brother and sister. Her impatience with his priggishness had only grown with each day of his courtship of Sophia. Hypocrisy appalled her, yet it also dogged her. Everyone in the household knew that they shared a bed, even though they were only betrothed. At first it had infuriated her, but then Tamara realized that was her own hypocrisy speaking. After all, William was the proper one. Had it not been for his attitude, she would have found no objection to his behavior.

Yet she knew that if the situation were reversed, and she had been the one taking a lover to bed— fiance or no— he would have been apoplectic. She comforted herself with the knowledge that in some strange way, this reasonable approach was a triumph.

William would never understand.

Now she quieted him with a withering glance.

“Serena’s come a long way to see us, Will. Don’t you think that rather than admonish Farris, we ought to be encouraging her to speak?”

Serena stood up then, and spread her tiny wings, producing a musical trill and a sparkle of light. Like stardust, Tamara thought. She loved the sprite’s iridescent wings, which were shaped like a dragonfly’s. Serena fluttered them, testing them out before lifting up into the air. She darted toward Farris and alighted on his shoulder, snuggling against his neck.

“Our Farris,” she cooed. “He’ll protect us now, won’t he? Farris with his strong, rough hands.”

William raised an eyebrow.

Tamara tried not to giggle at the discomfort that played across Farris’s face, tightening his wide jaw, and putting a dark mote in his eye. Despite his awkwardness, she found the whole scene rather sweet.

“Serena, Farris mentioned something about trouble,” William prodded impatiently. “You weren’t meant to return to London for quite some time. What’s happened in Cornwall? What troubles you?”

The sprite busied herself, tickling the white flesh just below Farris’s ear with the tip of her wing, making him blush.

“Serena?” Tamara prompted loudly.

When Serena met her gaze, the sprite’s ruby eyes flickered, and her smile faded.

“’Tis Aine, our friend, our very best friend,” she said. “Gone, you see, vanished in the wood. They takes her away, and more. Not only Aine, but other fairy girls from Stronghold as well. Takes them away. And poor Mellyn, they finds her dead. We wonders, oh we wonders We fears the worst!”

The sprite shook her head, as if to clear it of the alcohol’s effects, and then faltered. Had her perch been more precarious, she would have tumbled drunkenly from Farris’s shoulder. The tiniest belch escaped her, and her eyes went wide as she slapped a hand over her mouth in response.

“Go on then,” Farris urged. Tamara had never heard him sound so gentle.

Serena sat down in a woeful heap on his shoulder, and put her head in her hands. When she looked up, there was anguish in her expression.

“We doesn’t know any more. They takes the girls, the fairies, sisters and cousins, takes them off into the woods in the dark. We doesn’t know who takes them, only that they be gone. We needs you, friends. The sisters of the Stronghold, they needs the Protectors of Albion.

“’Tisn’t right. Not at all. Ye must come, friends. Come and find them, before all the fairy girls is gone from the wood, forever.”

The little sprite shook her head. “Our dearest friend in the whole, wide world, and they takes her. Just takes her.” A single tear traced its way down the sparkling blue skin of her cheek. “Our bestest friend, Aine.”

Serena hiccupped, then wiped away another tear. This was followed almost immediately by another belch. With every moment, she seemed groggier, less giddy with drink.

“You’ve been a friend and ally to us, Serena. Even if we weren’t the Protectors of Albion, we’d be duty bound to aid you in whatever way we can,” Tamara assured her.

“Hear, hear,” Farris added.

William remained dreadfully quiet.

Tamara frowned and pinned him with a dark look.

“I’m sorry,” William said. “I can’t travel to Cornwall now, not on a sprite’s whim. We’ve no way of knowing what’s really happening up there, while here at home I have work— and, of course, the wedding— to think of. Besides which, Horatio and I are very close indeed to finding a cure for Father. I am sorry, all of you, but I am thus bound.”

Tamara glared at him, fighting the urge to slap him. “William, Serena has almost killed herself to come and enlist our aid.”

He regarded her with icy distance. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear.”

“Oh, you were quite clear, I’d say. But perhaps someone ought to make it clear to you that if you do not stop acting the part of an ass, you will very soon become one.”

William stared, his mouth hanging open in particularly piscine fashion. As he began to utter some protest, Tamara cut him off, addressing the air around them, calling for the ghosts in the ether.

“Horatio! Byron! Show yourselves!”

After the merest pause, the two ghosts materialized in the middle of the kitchen, a familiar discordant jangle accompanying their manifestation. Horatio was in the midst of complaining about being dragged away from the pub, where no doubt he had been in the midst of recounting some glorious tale to some of his spectral comrades. He did so enjoy reliving his greatest battles as a navy man.

On the other hand, the ghost of George Gordon, Lord Byron, beloved and debauched poet, seemed nothing but pleased to be pulled away from his nightly duty. He had been guarding Oblis, regaling him with odes dedicated to love, which he composed solely for the purpose of tormenting the demon. Some of Byron’s greatest works had been posthumous.

And, Tamara thought, some of his filthiest, as well.

Along with the specter of Britain’s warrior queen, Bodicea, these two had been their staunchest allies in the greatest war of all, carrying the light against the darkness. Just before their grandfather died, he had imparted to William and Tamara his great secret, that he had been the magical Protector of Albion, mystic defender of the soul of England. The Protector had many allies in this struggle, not least of which was a host of phantoms, ghosts who loved the Empire and served her eternally.

Since his death, the ghosts had helped them to learn the duties and the tribulations of the Protectorship, and to begin to master their control over the magic that had been passed to them when Sir Ludlow Swift had been murdered by monsters in service to the darkness.

As the two spirits took shape, a snore ripped through the room, and they all turned to find Serena curled up in a tiny ball on Farris’s shoulder, fast asleep, her wings wrapped tightly around her small body like a blanket. Tamara smiled at the sight and even William seemed touched.

Horatio, ever the military man, comported himself with great dignity. His miasmic form took on greater solidity and he went rigid as though at attention.

“You summoned us, Miss Swift,” he said, glancing from one sibling to the other, and then back at the sheepish Farris.

Tamara nodded. “Trouble brews in Cornwall. We must travel there at once in search of fairy girls who’ve either vanished or been taken. At least one has already been murdered. Dark forces are at work.”

Byron rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “What, Cornwall again? I feel as if we were just there. I hope there are no babies involved this time.”

William smiled tiredly. Tamara ignored him, piqued by his intractable nature.

“We ought to leave as soon as possible,” she said. “Perhaps it’s not quite as dire as it sounds, but it’s best to make certain. And it couldn’t hurt to improve our relationship with the fairies. We ought to be allies, but thus far they have looked upon us doubtfully.”

“Fairies?” Horatio repeated. “Not that lot.”

“Indeed,” William agreed dryly. “The missing girls are of that magical persuasion.”

“Which does nothing to lessen their plight, Will!” Tamara said curtly. She hated the disdainful way he spoke of the missing fairies, as if they were of less importance than humans. “One girl has already been murdered, or have you ignored that bit?”

Her brother shook his head with a sigh. “Tam, sprites are capricious at best. If a fairy girl has died, I grieve for those who loved her. But we can’t know what transpires there.”

“No, we can’t unless we go and find out for ourselves,” she chided him.

“Lord, help me,” William sighed. He turned on his heel. Tamara watched as he left the room, closing the door with a slam behind him.

Byron turned to Tamara.

“What in the world was that all about?”

Tamara shrugged helplessly before turning and following her brother out of the kitchen. Her irritation grew as she was forced to pursue him, calling after him as he stalked down the hall toward the wide stairway that led up to the second floor.

When she was nearly upon him, William turned around, and his face was bright red.

“Yes?” he said.

Tamara clenched her jaw, breathing slowly to get hold of herself. How often had they fought? Often enough, she thought, that I have learned a bit about dealing with my brother.

She pulled her robe tightly around her shoulders, since the hallway was particularly cold. “Much as I am disappointed with your decision, I thought I ought to apologize for calling you an ass.”

He glared at her.

“Now? Now, you apologize. Of course. You think it’s perfectly all right to embarrass me in front of Farris and his friend, not to mention Byron and Horatio, and then you think a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will absolve you?

“Sometimes it seems as if you think I exist only to provide you with a dramatic foil, Tamara. That you can speak to me however you like, no matter that I am your older brother, and as such the head of this household. That I am about to be married, even— ”

Tamara snorted. “Just because you and your precious Sophia gad about this house like a pair of lovesick rabbits— ”

She cut her own words off, and her face flushed warmly. She hated fighting with him. More and more these days, they had been at odds. She supposed it had as much to do with their burgeoning social lives as it did with the overwhelming responsibility of their role as the Protectors of Albion. Still, she missed the closeness they had once shared, before Sophia Winchell had invaded their lives.

I intended to apologize, she thought miserably. And now I’ve succeeded in adding insult to injury.

“Sophia is my betrothed, Tamara, and as such, should be afforded the utmost respect— ”

Tamara squeezed her hands into fists, trying desperately to control herself. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She had been born with a quick temper but this verged on the ridiculous. As her magical ability grew, so did her volatility. Only of late had she noticed the connection, but as time passed she found herself less and less able to rein in her emotions.

Still, she had to try.

“I meant her no disrespect, William. I was only trying to apologize. Please— ”

William seemed on the edge of accepting her apology, and he remained silent, his lips pursed. But then he shook his head, apparently determined to pay her back in kind.

“You had John Haversham to the house again, didn’t you?”

Tamara blinked in surprise, but did not answer, unsure where the question was leading. William only smiled smugly, nostrils flaring as though speaking John’s name was repugnant to him, even though the two had formed a begrudging friendship.

Yet she was well aware that any truce between the two was jeopardized by the time she spent with Haversham. William could not trust him. Tamara knew she ought not to do so, either, but she could not stop her heart. William had grown ever more wary of her infatuation with the man, no matter that Haversham showed damnably little romantic inclination toward her.

“What business is that of yours?” she countered.

“What what business?” he sputtered furiously. “The business of Ludlow House, of course, of the Swift family, and of the honor of your good name, sister, all of which are my responsibility for as long as Father is unable to bear that burden. I’m certain you wish his release from the demon’s influence just as much as I do, but until then, it is all my business. And I don’t think it’s appropriate to include John Haversham in that business. I would appreciate it if you would not invite him to Ludlow House in the future.”

Tamara glared at him. “How dare you? If I wish to have him as my guest, whether in courtship or in friendship, I will certainly do so. This is my home, too.”

Her brother sighed and shook his head. “I know you think that because he has helped us in the past, and because he is a member of the Algernon Club, he is our friend. But he spied upon us on behalf of the club, Tam. Regardless of the intentions he voices, you must not forget that. And you have no right to include him in matters relating to the Protectorship of Albion. He is only after one thing from you, Tamara. I refuse to believe you cannot see that.”

“One thing? And what might that be?” Tamara asked through gritted teeth. “You’re a bloody fool, Will. John’s had ample opportunity to seduce me, if that was his intention. If he spends his time with me under false pretenses, I assure you it is as an observer for the dabbling magicians of the Algernon Club. And if that is the case, then so be it. I enjoy his company. Certainly I prefer it to yours. And as you are so free with your tongue this evening, brother, I’ll joust with you, if that’s your wish. Truth for truth. Perception for perception.

“You may be my elder, and society may demand that I defer to your supposed wisdom and judgment, but your taste in companions is no better than mine. We all know what a slatternly creature Sophia Winchell is, and how she has seduced your mind, as well as your body.”

William flushed pink, then deep red again, and fumed in silence. Tamara had never seen him so livid. Even the tips of his ears were burning with anger and embarrassment. For her to announce— to denounce— his dalliance with Sophia was the worst kind of slap to his sense of propriety.

Tamara had gone too far, she knew it, but there was no way to take back the words. The truth was not so clear. Sophia had never been quite as terrible as Tamara so often painted her.

William glared at her, anger like a mask on his face. She could see him trying to control it, tamp it down so that it did not overwhelm him.

“Haversham is a rogue,” he said, his lips tight, his voice flat. “When it suits him, he will take you to his bed, as long as he has use for you. You are a font of knowledge, Tam, about us, about the ghosts. He will use you and think nothing of it.

“You are nothing to him, Tamara,” he added.

The words stung, even more so because she could not be completely certain that William was wrong. Yes, John was a scoundrel, but she could not believe that he meant her ill. He had been nothing but kind, a true gentleman, in her presence. But always there seemed a distance between them, and there could be no doubt that he had done questionable things in service to the Algernon Club.

If only she could see into his heart and know what he truly felt.

“Sophia has a good heart,” William went on. “She may not be exactly what you would like for me, but I love her, Tam, and she loves me. She doesn’t trust John— her own cousin— and worries for you whenever you’re in his company. Does that not mean something to you?”

Tamara wanted to stop, wanted to make peace with the brother she dearly loved, but found that she could not. If William had merely continued to express his own concern, the fire in her might have died and they could have spoken calmly, as brother and sister should. But now she had to worry what Sophia thought, as though the girl was some sort of new stepmother? The very idea repulsed her.

Tamara could not keep silent. Her sharp tongue would not allow it.

“This world is not measured by the moral compass of Sophia Winchell, William, and I thank God for that. If she disapproves of John’s behavior, she does so only when it’s convenient. Honesty is not her strong suit either, Will.”

William flinched.

“You are callous and cruel and sometimes very stupid, Tamara,” he replied. “Let’s allow silence to reign for a time within these walls, shall we? Conversation with you brings only pain and sadness.”

William did not stay for her reply. He turned and took the wide, wooden steps two at a time. She watched him go, but this time she did not follow. When he hit the first-floor landing, Tamara heard him stomping across the wooden hallway, all the way back to his bedroom.

Upstairs, the bedroom door slammed, and she heard no more.

With a sigh, Tamara sat on the bottom step and buried her face in her hands. For the very first time in her life, she realized that she was alone. Philosophically, she had known this was the case for quite some time, but it wasn’t until now that it had become real in her own mind. Without William, she had nothing but her own wits to guide and protect her.

No, her brother did not belong to her anymore. It stung, this revelation, but in her heart she knew that it was the way things were meant to be. They could not remain best friends forever. They both had to grow up someday, to find out what the world held for them, to fall in love and raise families. William was the elder, and a man, so it only made sense that it all would happen to him first.

Yet she wondered if such a life would ever find her, or if she would haunt these halls eternally, as much a ghost in Ludlow House as Horatio or Byron, though she still lived.

Her relationship with William was changing, and Tamara pondered now where those changes would lead them as siblings and as the Protectors of Albion.

She found that she had no answer.

SOPHIA STOOD BY THE TOP of the steps, her face wet with tears. She had moved back into the shadows, hiding herself as William stormed up the stairs and back into his room.

She had heard every word that Tamara had said. Every nasty, mean, hateful thing. She had thought they were becoming friends, sisters even. But now she knew that was not true. Tamara was not her friend.

She hates me.

Sophia wiped away the last of her tears, and stepped back into the shadows.

There’s only one person I can speak with. Only one person who will understand.

The wood spoke to him.

Richard Kirk’s father had been a mason, and he had wanted his son to take up that craft. But the thin, quiet young man was ill suited to masonry. He admired the ability to build with stone, to construct a hearth or an arch, a wall or an entire home. Yet he felt nothing when he touched stone. It was cold and hard and did not retain the passion of humanity the way so many other objects did. Certainly it had no personality of its own.

His father would have argued, if Richard had ever spoken his heart. So he did not. Instead he quietly asserted his preference and endured the old man’s indignation. It was Richard’s good fortune that his uncle Norman was a furniture maker— considered by many to be the finest in all of Cornwall— and had offered to take him on as an apprentice.

The furniture shop was on the outskirts of Camelford, near enough to the river that when he paused to rest in his work, Richard could hear the ripple of the water passing by. He preferred a solitary life and so the distance from the center of town suited him. Too many people around meant that he was sure to touch something filled with emotion, and then it would happen those emotions would enter him and he would have a window into the secret heart of the owner of that object.

It had happened first when he was only a boy and a touch of his mother’s brooch had shown him images of the generations of women who had owned it before her. Yet the brooch had often been worn with a silver ring, and that had long been lost. Until Richard felt it, and told his mother where she might find the heirloom.

Even just a brush of his fingers often enabled him to “read” an object, know things about it. He had found Mrs. Wade’s dog, Pansy, one autumn, simply by touching the chair upon which she often slept. Pansy had gone wandering and come across something wild. Badly wounded, she had lain by the river, bleeding, unable to come home.