Pushing her hair off her face, she stepped through an open doorway and looked around, noting the gaps in the stone walls and the holes in the roof. Sitting in the autumn sun was more appealing than wandering through chilly, barren rooms, so she turned to leave, but when she reached the doorway, she heard footsteps behind her.

The woman who stepped out from the inner chambers wore a tunic and trousers made of a shimmery, dusty black material. Her red hair, which flowed over her shoulders, was held in place by a silver circlet that fit snugly around her head. A Red Jewel hung just above her breasts. Her smile of greeting was warm but not effusive.

“How may I serve you, Sister?” she asked quietly.

The hair, faded of its vibrant color by time, and the lines on the woman’s face spoke of long years, but the emerald eyes and the proud carriage said this was not a witch to trifle with.

“My apologies, Lady.” Surreal met the other’s steady gaze. “I came to see the Altar. I didn’t know someone lived here.”

“To see or to ask?”

Surreal shook her head, puzzled.

“When one seeks a Dark Altar, it’s usually for help that can’t be given elsewhere, or for answers to questions of the heart.”

Surreal shrugged. She hadn’t felt this awkward since her first client at her first Red Moon house, when she realized how little she had learned in all those dirty little back rooms. “I came to…” The woman’s words finally penetrated. Questions of the heart. “I’d like to know who my mother’s people were.”

Surreal suddenly felt a whisper of something that had been there all along, a darkness, a strength she hadn’t been attuned to. As she looked at the Sanctuary again, she realized that the things built around this place were insignificant. The place itself held the power.

The woman’s gaze never wavered. “Everything has a price,” she said quietly. “Are you willing to pay for what you ask?”

Surreal dug into her pocket and extended a handful of gold coins.

The woman shook her head. “Those who are what I am are not paid in that kind of coin.” She turned back toward the doorway she’d come through. “Come. I’ll make some tea and we’ll talk. Perhaps we can help each other.” She went down the passage, letting Surreal leave or follow, as she chose.

Surreal hesitated for a moment before dropping the coins into her pocket and following the woman. It was partly the sudden feeling of awe she had for the place, partly curiosity about what sort of price this witch would require for information, partly hope that she might finally have an answer to a question that had haunted her ever since she’d fully understood how different Titian was from everyone else. Besides, she was good with a knife and she wore the Gray. The place might hold her in awe, but the witch didn’t.

The kitchen was cozy and well ordered. Surreal smiled at the contrast between the feel of this room and the rest of the Sanctuary. The woman, too, seemed more like a gentle hearth-witch than a Sanctuary Priestess as she hummed a cheery little tune while the water heated. Surreal sat in a chair, propped her elbows on the pine table, and watched in amused silence as a plate of nutcakes, a small bowl of fresh butter, and a mug for the tea were placed before her.