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  For a moment, she feared he'd refuse, his face revealing doubt and impatience. He jerked his head. "Follow me." He led her from the main dining room, down a long hall to a room on her left. He opened the door and ushered her inside a small room with a wide window, where sunshine poured in. Dust motes floated through the air, although the room appeared well-tended. A large oaken table dominated the room, with chairs flanking each side. A ledger and papers cluttered the table, definite distractions, but she decided not to complain, fearing she would try his patience too far.

  Again, he pulled out a chair for her. "Now, tell my fortune."

  She resolved to do her best, despite the distractions. Settled in her chair, she drew the black mirror from her bag and placed it on the table. As she leaned over the mirror, her long locks fell forward, veiling her face. She closed her eyes for a few moments, breathing deeply to seek inner peace and a trance like state, a process that did not come immediately. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but she suppressed her emotions and concentrated on her skill. Opening her eyes, she stared into the mirror for a long time, then waved her hand across the black surface and waited. Within her peripheral vision, she saw the owner change his position, a look of displeasure on his face. She waited a while longer.

  "Ah." Power built within her, slow but certain. Images began to appear, at first vague, just out of reach. "I see a woman, perhaps forty years of age, with dark hair tinged with gray."

  "My wife!" he exclaimed, then snorted. "But anyone who knows me could have told you what my wife looks like. Indeed, she serves here at busy times, such as market days."

  Still in a semi-trance, she raised her eyes to his. "Sir, I am new to the city. I haven't spoken to anyone who would know your wife."

  "So you say." Still, the smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of interest.

  She stared into the mirror again. "I see her giving birth. I see–"

  "What! Say that again!" He sat forward, a steady gaze on her.

  "She is giving birth." Fianna continued staring into the mirror. "She holds a baby boy in her arms."

  "Oh!" The tavern owner leaned back in his chair, breathing a long sigh. "All these years we've been married. All these years! And we have tried to have a child, alas, with no success. No one else knows this. I have told all who know us that we are happy as we are, just the two of us." His eyes brimmed, and he brushed his hand across them. "A boy, you say?"

  "Yes, sir. No mistake."

  Lips pursed, he narrowed his eyes. "But you could be making all this up." His expression hardened. "If you are . . ."

  "Sir, I don't lie." After all this time, all this effort, what if he didn't believe her? Did he think she was a charlatan, raising false hopes inside him?

  He folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me my wife's name."

  Fianna gazed downward again. "G–G—Gitta."

  "Ah, yes!" His eyes lit up. "My wife, Gitta." Silent for a few moments, he looked her way. "For now, I will take you at your word. But if in nine moonphases–"

  "Less than that, sir. She is already two moonphases into her pregnancy. I sense she wants to tell you–very much–but she also wants to make sure. Doesn't want to disappoint you."

  She bit her lip. "And sir, if I may be so bold, I suggest you act surprised when she does impart this exciting news to you." Fianna stretched her neck from side to side, coming out of her trance.

  He waved his hand. "Yes, of course." He beamed. "You have me convinced of your ability. The position is yours. I will put a sign out in front that we have a scryer who can tell the future. And your name–?"

  Why hadn't she considered that question before? She thought quickly. "Angharad Cullain." She had a friend with that name.

  He raised his eyebrows, as if doubting her word. "Where are you staying?"

  She swallowed. "Sir, as yet, I haven't found a place to stay. Haven't had a chance."

  "I have an extra room across the hall." He nodded in that direction. "Been using it for storage but can clear most of it out. The room is yours for free, food, too. No one else lives at this tavern, so you will be alone at night. Of course we lock the doors." He raised his eyebrows. "Will it bother you to be alone at night?"

  "No, sir." She had her dagger for protection.

  "Very well. I'll give you a key to the outside door to the tavern. Be sure to lock the door

  at night, after all the other workers have gone home. Remind me later to give you a key to your room, too." He leaned forward on the table. "Now, to discuss business. You can charge each customer two coppers and share half with me." He leveled his gaze at her. "I have sharp eyes. I will keep track of each customer. If there is any cheating–"

  "No, sir! I would never cheat."

  "–If there is any cheating, you are out of a job and a place to live. Do I make myself plain?"

  "Yes, and thank you."

  As he stood, she rose to her feet, too, fighting a wave of dizziness wrought by hunger. Thankful his head was turned aside, she struggled with her giddiness. How soon will I get something to eat? she agonized. Soon, she hoped.

  "To cement our deal." He placed his right hand on her right shoulder, and she did likewise in the Avadoran manner of greeting. "I don't believe I introduced myself. My name is Cedric," he said, dropping his hand.

  "I'm so pleased to know you, sir, uh, Cedric." She shifted from one foot to another as hunger pangs shot through her stomach. She forced a smile. "If it is all right with you, I can start work tonight."

  "Yes, of course. Only wait 'til I have the serving girls clear the supplies–extra mugs and such--from the room. They know where to put them. I have a pallet and blankets you can use for sleeping. Later, if our arrangement works out, I'll provide you with a dresser and a few extras for your room." He led her from the room back to the main dining area.

  Inwardly, she breathed a long sigh of relief. "Thank you again. I promise I won't disappoint you."

  "See that you don't. But I'll wager you're hungry, aren't you?" He gestured toward a table. "Sit down and I'll have a serving girl bring you beef stew and bread fresh from the oven. And cider." Scratches and dents marred this table and every other one in the room, yet the tavern was clean, the mugs sparkling, the wooden floor swept clear of dirt. With the passage of time, the stained glass windows shone brighter now with jewel-like tones of red, green, and blue. Some of the earlier customers had left, but more had taken their place, and loud chatter filled the air.

  "Thank you!" After Cedric walked away, she sank into the chair, tempted to lay her head down in exhaustion. For now, things had gone better than she had a right to expect. Yet she knew that either her stepfather or Angus Kendall would send someone after her. Indeed, most likely one of them already had. She agonized over how much longer her luck would hold.

  Chapter Four

  Gaderian left his horse at the main city stable and strode to the Snow Leopard, his boots clicking on the cobblestones. He looked up at the late evening sky, where thousands of stars and planets glittered, and a balmy breeze caressed his face. Past the warehouses and shops he

  walked, his mind on the young woman he'd met only a few nights ago, a lady whose image had taunted him ever since. Strange that he couldn't drive her from his mind, this woman he wanted to see again and again. He recalled her name, Fianna, a pretty name for a pretty woman. All the lovely things about her returned to haunt him–her lilac scent, as much a part of her as every breath she took, her green eyes and long chestnut hair. He hadn't felt this way about a mortal woman for centuries. No point in dwelling on her now, for there could be no future between a mortal woman and one of the undead.

  Within a few minutes he reached Tavern Street and the Snow Leopard, then pulled at the handle on the oaken door. Noise and laughter greeted him, all the tables occupied, the tavern crowded as it was every night, and filled with the yeasty aroma of ale, the smell of roasting meats. He squinted through the pipe smoke as his gaze covered every table, until he located the person he'd come to mee
t, then wended his way toward a far corner.

  There, Gaderian eased out a chair and sat down, indicating to a nearby waitress that he wanted a mug of ale. "Have money this time," he said to Egan. "And money to reimburse you for the last time." He slapped four coins on the table and slid two in Egan's direction. He glanced over at the table next to theirs, where several men played a game of dice and cards.

  Egan reached over to scoop up the coins. "House almost done?"

  "Thankfully, yes. Getting a little tiresome, living in a cave." After the waitress set a mug down for him and slipped the coins into her pocket, he raised the brew to his lips, grateful to ease his thirst on this hot, dry night.

  "What about your servants?" Egan asked. "How do you know they won't turn you in?"

  Gaderian spoke with firmness. "None of the servants I'll hire will betray my secret, because I will pay them well for their loyalty. If they suspect I am not mortal–and I assume they will harbor that suspicion–they will surely know they'll gain nothing by informing on me. My servants will earn far better wages by working for me than any reward the government offers for telling on me. I will treat them with kindness and respect, but I will make it clear that I expect fidelity from them."

  "Makes sense." Egan leaned closer, speaking in low tones. "Don't look now, but Stilo just sat down on the other side of the room. He's got his eyes on you."

  Gaderian slid his fingers up and down his moisture-covered mug. "He's never liked me, ever since we first met. Could never figure out why."

  "Don't you know? You attract all the women. In short, he's jealous."

  "Not my fault if all the women like me." He spoke in jest, but Stilo's enmity bothered him. He knew the man to be mean and vindictive, one who might well take his dislike out on someone close to him, Gaderian. And it's good he had no lovers now, for he wouldn't want any harm to come to someone he cared for. He had enough problems to handle, with the bandregas stirring up trouble, creating a division between the undead and the mortals of Avador. Unobtrusively, Gaderian leaned back and glimpsed Stilo, the blond vampire now turned away from him, lighting his pipe. Of medium height and husky build, the man wore a frown, prompting Gaderian to wonder what worried the man. Aside from Stilo's enmity, something else about him bothered Gaderian, an indefinable quality he couldn't quite put his finger on.

  "Let's talk about something else," Egan said. "Have you heard about the addition here at the tavern?"

  Gaderian drank from his mug and set it down. "Addition?" He looked from side to side.

  Egan nodded toward the hallway that led off from the main room. "Fortune teller. She can scry, supposedly."

  "Scry?"

  "Look into a mirror and tell your fortune." He grinned.

  Gaderian grinned, too. "Magic and mirrors." A charlatan, one only too happy to separate a man from his money. Up until now, he'd considered the tavern owner a responsible person.

  "Who knows? Perhaps there's something to it." Egan leaned across the table. "Why don't you try it? See if she can tell your fortune."

  He shook his head. "I don't need my fortune told. I already see trouble ahead if we don't do something about the bandregas." He shrugged. "But what can we do? I need time to think about it, time to devise a plan." Thoughts rampaged through his mind, a means of defeating these creatures, driving them from Avador, or better yet, killing every last one of them. He tapped his fingers on the table, his mind shifting from one plan to another.

  Egan's voice wrenched him back to the moment. "For now, why don't you visit this fortune teller–I don't know her name–see what the future holds for you."

  "I suppose she'll tell me I'll inherit a gold mine and marry the most beautiful woman in the kingdom." He smirked.

  Egan smiled. "From what I've heard, she may be the most beautiful woman in Avador."

  Gaderian eased back and drained his mug, then set it on the table with a clunk. "I've got better ways to spend money. I should leave soon, need to feed." Hunger taunted him, a craving deep in his gut. Too many nights had passed since–

  "You're afraid." Egan scrutinized him.

  He jerked his head up. "What?"

  "Afraid to have your fortune told."

  "Not I." Gaderian thought for a moment. Maybe he should visit the fortune teller, not that he believed in scrying, but he welcomed any diversion from his problems. Besides, a pretty woman was an added lure, even if she was mortal. Aware that fortune telling was a cunning deception if there ever was one, she would never guess his true essence, never perceive he was one of the undead.

  A satisfied look framed Egan's face. "Ah, I can see you're considering." He nodded toward the hallway. "The scryer."

  Gaderian scraped his chair back. "I never could resist a challenge. Besides, what do I have to lose, besides a little money?"

  * * *

  Fianna watched her customer leave, a contented smile on his face. As she'd requested, he left the door open to indicate she remained free to accept other customers. She counted the copper coins in the wooden box on the desk, their clinking sound a potent reminder of how much money she'd earned this night, even considering that she must share the coins with Cedric. And the arrangement was only fair, since he granted her free room and meals. She yawned and glanced at the hourglass on the table, noting the late hour as fatigue enervated her. Shortly after she'd started work her, Cedric had removed his papers to another room, and the table remained clear, with only her mirror on it. On this third evening in her new position, she was heartened by the response she'd garnered and the money she had earned, convinced she could perform this skill well, telling only the truth, and for the most part, satisfying her patrons. Just this morning, she'd gone to the shoemaker to be fitted for a pair of shoes, which the man had told her would be ready in a couple of days. She was tired of going barefoot, tired of looking like a vagrant. She hoped to buy a new dress within the next couple ninedays, even if it was plain and serviceable. Tonight she wore a dress from home, a wine-colored linen with a black-trimmed collar and black tassels around her waist. Gold hoop earrings she'd brought from home dangled from her ears, swinging with her every movement.

  Unbidden and unwanted, her thoughts wrenched to Angus Kendall. What if he caught up with her? That fear continually loomed in her head, and she agonized that she might have to move to another town. Would she be safe anywhere else? But surely Angus or her stepfather–if either pursued her at all—would send a servant after her. Here in Moytura, she could lose herself among its thousands of people. No one would find her, she assured herself. And now that she had independence–she hoped–she yearned for stability, a place to set down her roots, eventually marry and have children. Or remain unwed, if she met no one she cared enough for to share her life.

  Through the open door, she heard the talk and laughter from the dining room, knowing the noise would continue for much of the night, thankful she was a sound sleeper. And speaking of sleeping, Cedric had told her what hours she was to work, during the late afternoon and most of the evening. He didn't expect her to work too late at night, so if no more people came, she'd leave here and seek her pallet–

  "Good evening." A tall, dark-haired man entered the room, wearing a black tunic of fine linen with gold braid at the shoulders, a gold chain belt encircling his waist and ankle-high black boots. The man from the cave! She blinked; her heart raced. They exchanged startled glances and quickly, she searched her mind for his name. Gaderian Wade! And his voice! deep and rich as raisin-filled honey cakes, his gaze as compelling as a hawk diving for its prey. He had a commanding mien about him, as if he could take charge of any situation, and no one would get the best of him.

  "Ah, it's you!" He smiled as he closed the door behind him. "The lady who shared my cave. This is indeed a pleasant surprise."

  "I thought I'd never see you–" she stopped, her face warming. She looked down and fiddled with the tasseled belt of her dress.

  He grinned. "You thought you'd never see me again? Ah, so you've been thinking
about me."

  She shook her head, too vigorously, she feared. "No, it's not that. But what are the chances we would see each other again?" She bit her bottom lip, clenching her hands in her lap.

  He pulled out the chair and sat across from her. "Fate, perhaps?" He gestured toward her mirror. "Speaking of which?" He dropped two copper coins in the wooden box and crossed his long legs. "I wish I could stay longer, but there are things I must tend to."

  "Of course." Seeking a trancelike state, she stared into the mirror for a long time, her every thought on him, his proximity hindering concentration. She caught his scent, a faint trace of cloves, conscious of his dark eyes on her, his every movement. Why did he affect her this way, as if she were a schoolgirl who'd never been alone with a man? Why did his mere presence make her heart pound, and all her senses become wondrously alive?

  Images in the mirror swirled in front of her, visions at first vague, gradually crystallizing into a pattern, one she had trouble interpreting. She saw crimson rivers of blood, flowing on and on, as if from a wound. She shook her head to clear it, too well aware of his gaze on her. Surely, something was wrong here, a false picture. She waved her hand across the mirror and stared at the black surface again.