It was so much to absorb. Less than an hour ago, she’d been locked in a cavern, and now she stood at the castle. Carlo was the only familiar face in the crowd, and she wished desperately that Oliver and her family were there. She knew as she spied a clock that had been placed on the podium to monitor time, however, that her moment was at hand and would pass whether or not she uttered a word.
She cleared her throat, took a breath, and smiled. “Esteemed ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor and privilege to speak with you on this momentous occasion. My name is Emmeline Castle O’Shea, and I represent the International Shifter Rights Organization . . .”
“ . . . going to check with the other inspector . . . young woman in custody matching Miss Lysette O’Shea’s description . . .” Conley’s voice sounded through a fog that Oliver tried to navigate. His limbs were heavy, his eyes burned, and his throat felt like sandpaper.
“Keep an eye on Detective-Inspector Reed, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Oliver heard the soft whisper of a tent flap closing, and for a moment, he wondered why the Chief-Inspector was with him in India. His thoughts tumbled and churned until he finally broke the surface and cracked open his eyes and saw a pair of young constables standing guard over him.
He shoved himself up on one elbow and then to a sitting position with a groan, feeling much as he had when he’d awoken in Lawrence’s carriage. With sudden clarity, his memories shuffled and then slammed into place, and he realized he was in the makeshift medical tent near the castle.
The constables looked at him uneasily.
“Sir, ye’ve had a horse’s ration of anti-venom. Ye need rest,” one of them said.
He nodded, but the movement hurt his head. “I will tell Chief-Inspector Conley that you both performed your duties admirably, but I must be on my way. Have either of you seen a small man named Gustavsen?”
They shook their heads, and his heart sank. He looked at his pocket watch and swallowed in grief and disappointment. The time was at hand, and unless Gus had managed a miracle, they had lost.
He pushed himself to his feet and noted his bloodied, filthy shirtsleeves and vest. He located his suit coat at the foot of the cot and shook it, failing to brush away most of the dirt, and shrugged into it anyway. He bent his head and exited the tent, standing still for a moment while the world spun.
The outer courtyard was still a hub of activity, wet but not under a deluge of rain, and he walked across it numbly, moving because he didn’t know what else to do. He must find Gus, and if Emme wasn’t with him, Oliver would turn the city inside out until he found her. He needed to think, but his brain was a tangled mess. He felt nauseated and quickly moved to the base of a tree where he lost whatever was in his stomach. He heard a woman squeal, and a man’s chastising tsk about knowing when one more drink was too many.
Wiping his mouth with his handkerchief, he focused on doing nothing except slowly inhaling and exhaling. A young man who was manning a food stand approached with some water and held it to Oliver at arm’s length. Oliver accepted it gratefully, rinsed his mouth, and then took a long drink.
He straightened and stretched muscles that screamed with the aftereffects of vampire venom. He’d been injected twice in the last forty-eight hours, and he knew enough to be grateful he was still alive. He slowly made his way toward the castle, thinking to wait there for Gus. If he didn’t show soon, Oliver hoped he would return to their hotel room.
A murmur swept through the crowd at the base of the castle, and Oliver looked up. He was unable to see much from where he stood, but then chatter and exclamations of surprise sounded from above, and he thought he heard Giancarlo’s exuberant voice. He didn’t know how the man could even manufacture joy when Emme was missing.
He massaged the back of his neck and stopped at a large fountain, dipping his hands in the cold water and then scrubbing his face and hair. He couldn’t fault Carlo for maintaining his professionalism. The man had a job to do whether Emme was there or not. This thing was bigger than any one person. Even if that one person was the one who meant the world to Oliver.
He moved to the base of the stairs, irrationally angry at the happy people all around him. He leaned a shoulder against the cold stone, reflecting on the structure that had seen a thousand years of human drama and would likely see a thousand more. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, resting his head against the rock.
His gaze fell on an object halfway up the staircase. He narrowed his focus and realized it was a shoe. Someone had lost a shoe unaware? Who would do that in such cold temperatures, on wet ground, and not notice it missing? Another shout came from above, followed by laughter and scattered applause.
He began climbing the stairs, only to be stopped by a pair of security guards. He fumbled impatiently in his pocket for his identification before flashing it at the men, who nodded at him.
He continued climbing, reached the shoe, and picked it up. It was delicate, stylish, and small. Just the right size . . . and it was for a left foot . . .
Calling himself a million times a fool for raising his hopes, he climbed the rest of the stairs increasing in speed until he was running and dizzy by the time he reached the top. Security guards at the upper
