Sinner's Heart

with you here, I’d have no such anchor. We’d both be imprisoned.”

His expression darkened. “Then we’d bloody well better concentrate.” He closed his eyes tightly and resumed the chant.

She followed suit, allowing the words to infuse with power as she conjured Whit and the Gypsy woman, Zora, in her thoughts. Whit had no magic of his own, but Zora did—fire magic which Livia had bestowed upon her. Given the strength of the bond between Whit and Zora, they would be together. If Livia could locate Zora, Whit would surely be close by. She held fast to this, keeping the oblivion of the Ambitus at bay.

“There—you feel it?” A spark in the mists. The dancing flame of Zora, the steel resilience of Whit.

“It’s them,” Bram said.

“Focus on them. Your mind as sharp and direct as your sword.”

Feeling Bram’s energy surging through her, she guided them through the mists of the In Between. Fleeting impressions of fields, trees, twisting rivers, all rolling past, remote. A vertiginous sensation as distance collapsed in on itself. Bram hissed in another breath.

The folding of distance abruptly stopped. No longer did she and Bram stand in a chamber in his home, nor were they in the In Between. Now they stood upon the bank of a chattering stream, stands of alders beside the water. Moonlight sieved down through the branches. It touched upon the forms of a man and woman lying a small distance from the stream, and two horses hobbled nearby.

Relief coursed through Livia. They had done it—crossed the Ambitus without being trapped.

The man and woman lay upon a woolen blanket, another blanket draped over them, the woman on her side, the man snug behind her. His arm wrapped around her waist. One could not fit a coin between them, for they were pressed close to one another, as close as two could be shy of making love.

A hot, startling dart of longing pierced Livia. This was a union of hearts, of bodies, and utterly unknown to her.

Bram, too, stared down at the sleeping man and woman. His expression sharpened, his lips pressed together, forming a taut line.

When had he spent the whole night with a woman? Did he have any memories of sleeping beside his bed partner, holding her close? Waking with her? Was that even something he desired?

Only days ago, Livia would have said no. But seeing the flare in his eyes, the searching, she might have to reconsider.

But they weren’t here—wherever here was—to ponder the obscurities of intimacy.

“Whit,” she said.

Though she spoke barely above a whisper, Whit came instantly awake, his hand going straight to the curved sword beside the blanket. He sat up and unsheathed the sword with a single movement. Barely a moment later, Zora also wakened. She raised up, and the flames that sprang to life around her hands threw flickering light upon the trunks of the trees and the grassy riverbank. Both the nobleman and the Gypsy wore vigilant, fierce expressions.

Vigilance gave way to recognition as they both saw Livia. Yet wariness returned when they beheld Bram.

Whit stood and faced them. He was fully dressed, down to his boots. Ready to move at a moment’s notice. He did not lower his sword.

“Put your blade down,” Bram growled.

Whit fired back, “And be skewered on yours?”

“Take note.” Bram opened his hands. “I’ve no weapon on me.”

“Nor the means to use it, if you had one,” added Livia.

“We’re not truly here.”

Stepping forward gingerly, Zora cursed softly in her language. She and Whit finally noticed that not only was Livia translucent, Bram was, as well.

“Are you dead, too?” Zora asked.

“Not yet,” answered Bram.

“This is simple magic.” Though it had not truly been simple. She still felt the quicksilver energy of Bram’s psyche, resonant within her. “A means to find you.”

Caution continued to hone Whit’s expression. When Livia first encountered this mortal man, he had been swaddled in privilege, entrenched in the constant need to gamble, dissatisfied. Intelligent but unchallenged, possessing unrealized potential.

Much had changed between then and now. Like a sword upon the blacksmith’s anvil, Whit had been forged by fire into something sharp and strong. And the woman beside him, with fire dancing in her hands, held just as much strength.

Thank the gods and goddesses they were Livia’s allies.

“What do you want?” Whit’s gaze stayed fixed on Bram. Mistrust whetted the air between them. “Out reconnoitering for your master, Mr. Holliday?”

“He isn’t my master,” Bram clipped. “Never was.”

“I don’t know why I ought to believe you. Last we met, Edmund’s body lay between us.”

“That was John’s doing.”

“Yet you didn’t lift your sword against him.”

“Things have changed.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I say so.”

“Faultless reasoning.”

“Enough,” Livia snapped. Men would ever grapple for dominance, fighting to push one another off the hill. Former friends seemed the greatest challenge. “Bram is here now. With me. It’s clear his allegiance has shifted.”

The wariness in Whit’s gaze shifted, a glint of tentative hope emerging. Yet he did not lower his sword. “Might be a trick.” He glanced at Zora. “Perhaps Livia has been gulled.”

“I spent my life cozening gorgios,” Zora answered. “Livia isn’t someone who can be tricked.”

“The Dark One fooled me,” Livia noted. “Once.” She tipped her head toward a frowning Bram. “I know the truth of his heart. He is our ally.”

Whit peered at Bram intently, searching. And Bram held himself still under his friend’s close scrutiny, his jaw tight, shoulders back.

Finally, Whit let the tip of his sword drop. He took a step toward Bram, and then another. As he did, suspicion fell away like plates of armor.

The two men reached out to clasp hands. But Whit’s hand passed right through Bram’s. They both started.

“We’re not here physically,” Livia explained. “Our bodies—your body,” she corrected, since she had no body, “is still in London. Transporting flesh takes far greater magic than we possess.”

Bram stared ruefully at his hand. “Beginning to understand your frustrations,” he muttered.

“Try spending a millennium thusly.”

“No wonder you went mad.”

Livia scowled at him. “We did not journey here to discuss my previous mental turmoil.” The scene—riverbank, trees, moonlight—flickered, and both she and Bram swore. “This magic cannot hold for long. We must speak to our purpose.”

“Something has happened,” said Zora. The flames gloving her hands vanished as she stepped close to Whit.

Bram nodded. “John. After Edmund’s death, John’s fallen even further.” Succinctly, he told of everything that had transpired since last Whit and Bram had met. John’s hunger for more power, and his plans to place himself in control. His scheme to summon a demon army to aid him in his conquest. The more he spoke, the bleaker Whit and