era in the last five centuries. Her gaze was solemn and straightforward, almost challenging, and a pang of regret cut through Margrit’s breast. Alban’s regret, not her own, though there was little telling them apart when she rode his memory as she did now.
The woman stood with two men, both smaller than Margrit and Alban in height and breadth. One wore his red hair loose, falling over a gaudy crimson-and-green cloak. The other, more dapper, wore a dark ponytail and a half-coat in somber colors. Margrit felt herself-felt Alban-committing them to memory, as though they were old friends he wouldn’t see again, and then he turned away, leaving them alone in the moonlight.
She caught her breath as she shook the memories off, then frowned at Alban. 'Who is she?'
Unfiltered surprise darkened his eyes. 'Who?'
'The woman. That’s the second time I’ve seen her. The first time was when you went into the memories to see if Hajnal was still alive. I saw this woman, and I saw Janx and Daisani and you, all in completely different clothes. I just saw it all again. Who is she?'
Alban went quiet, surprise still evident in his features, but shaded by more complex emotions. 'Her name was Sarah Hopkins,' he finally replied. 'That’s all I can tell you, Margrit. Hers isn’t my story to tell.'
'Is it Janx and Eliseo’s?'
'It is, but I would be cautious in asking them. Neither would like to hear that you catch fragments of my memories. I have been outside my people for centuries to avoid just that.'
A memory of the woman came to her again, this time from Margrit’s own mind-a recollection of the gesture she’d seen Sarah use the first time she’d caught a glimpse of her inside Alban’s memories. 'Oh. Oh. Oh, shit, Alban. You-'
He put a fingertip against her lips, then replaced it with the pad of his thumb, brushing so lightly it tickled and made her smile. 'Don’t say anything else,' he asked. 'Don’t tell me what you’ve guessed, and don’t ask me to confirm. Will you do that for me, Margrit?'
Margrit pressed her lips together beneath his touch, then nodded. When he took his hand away, then said, 'You know this is going to kill me, right? Not asking.'
A quick smile that had little to do with humor creased Alban’s mouth. 'It may eat at you, but it won’t kill you. The answers you’re looking for, though, might.'
Nerves churned in Margrit’s belly. 'Right. Yeah, okay. Dammit, I wish it was just melodrama when you said things like that.' She made fists, then released them. 'I think Eliseo’s right. It might be good for me to get some sleep. Could you take me home?'
'I will,' Alban murmured. 'And I’ll watch over you until dawn breaks. Come.' He offered his hand and led her outside. Margrit held on tight as they sprang into the air, willing herself not to look back.
Willing herself to hold her tongue, and not ask whose child Sarah Hopkins had borne: Janx’s, or Daisani’s.
CHAPTER 23
Once or twice, from a great distance, the William Tell Overture had played. It had sent images of footraces and concert halls through Margrit’s dreams, incomprehensible but enjoyable. Only when her bed shifted with someone’s weight and a woman’s voice said, 'Margrit. Margrit? I called, but you didn’t answer,' did a hint of consciousness seep through to tell her the music had been her phone’s ring tone.
'
'Nearly one o’clock.'
Head still buried in the pillows, Margrit struggled to turn that information into something meaningful, finally deducing that she’d had almost eight hours of sleep. Alban had left her on the rooftop minutes before five, and she’d staggered downstairs to collapse into bed. Eight hours was enough sleep. She tried to convince herself of that, then tried to count the number of hours she’d slept in the last week. It took only a few seconds to give up and bury herself further into the covers.
'Margrit, would you like to tell me why Eliseo Daisani called our house at daybreak and invited your father and me to a ball?'
A giggle erupted into Margrit’s pillow, so unexpected that at first she didn’t realize it was her own laughter. It awakened her enough to ask, 'Daybreak? Really?' much more clearly.
'At seven thirty-four,' her mother said with asperity. 'On a Saturday, Margrit.'
Margrit giggled again, knowing it would draw lines of irritation around Rebecca’s mouth, but unable to stop herself. 'I’m sorry. Have you been calling since then?'
'I waited until nine. When you refused to answer-'
'I was sleeping!' Margrit rose from the blankets and shook her hair out of her face, giving her mother a wounded look.
'As some of us might have liked to have been. I took the train in to see if you were all right. Why didn’t your housemates answer the phone?'
'’Cause they were at work?' No, it was Saturday. Cole, at least, didn’t have to work. Margrit flopped back down and pulled the pillow over her head, knowing it wouldn’t block out Rebecca’s voice. She ought not to have given her mother a key to the apartment. She would still be sleeping blissfully if she hadn’t made that mistake. 'Maybe they went to breakfast.' Or maybe, like Margrit herself, they’d simply slept through the ringing phone. She’d gone to bed later than they, but not by much. 'Is Daddy here?'
'In the kitchen. You really should replace that refrigerator, Margrit, even if this isn’t your apartment. It’s contributing to global warming all on its own.'
'I like our fridge.' Margrit sat up and scrubbed her hands over her face. 'Okay, go steal some of Cole’s leftovers for lunch while I shower, and then I’ll talk to you about the ball.'
'So it does have something to do with you.'
'Mom! Go! Go!' Margrit flapped her hands at Rebecca, who pursed her lips, then got up and left the room. Margrit groaned and fell back over, fumbling for her phone.
Eliseo Daisani picked up on the first ring, sounding amused. 'Yes?'
'Did you have to call her before eight o’clock? What’d you say?' Margrit lifted a finger, as if he could see her. 'And are you lurking outside my apartment playing superhero?'
'I did, and I am. I think Alban is better suited to it. I find myself hoping something dreadful will happen so I have something interesting to do. Do you suppose that’s how the Avengers feel?'
'I can’t even believe you know who the Avengers are. And no. Superheroes aren’t supposed to go looking for trouble. They should be happier out of a job. What’d you tell her?'
She could all but hear Daisani shrug. 'I told her you and your friends had agreed to come to my little party tonight, and that given the events of the last few days I thought you might be happier if you had family around, as well.'
'You obviously don’t know much about my relationship with my parents,' Margrit muttered. 'I mean, I love them dearly, but Mother is a busybody and I try not to give her too many details to involve herself in. But you didn’t tell her about the job.'
'I did not.' Daisani sounded pleased with himself. 'I’ll keep them safe until sunset, but I’ll leave running that particular gauntlet to you.'
'Who’s going to keep me safe?' Margrit demanded, but he had already hung up. She called Cameron’s cell phone and put an only half-mocking note of alarm in her voice as she left a message. 'Come home as fast as you can. My parents are here and I have to survive telling them I’m going to work for Daisani. And we all have to go get fitted for dresses for his party tonight.' Trusting that would bring Cam home the instant she heard it, Margrit dropped the phone on the bed and went to take a fortifying shower before facing her parents.
The smell of hot food nearly knocked her off her feet when she emerged. Checking her phone showed a text message from Cam proclaiming, on our way! and voices from the kitchen suggested they’d arrived. Relieved, Margrit dressed and went down the hall, towel-drying her hair, to find both her housemates chatting with her parents. Cole was frying ham and Cameron was perched on the counter, Rebecca and Derek Knight less casual, but still comfortable in the kitchen space. Her father grinned and swept her into a hug that Margrit returned before
