Wilhelmina began to cry. “Briarwood. They put her in Briarwood.” The sobs became a brokenhearted keening.

Daemon held her gently while he stroked her hair, murmuring the “words of gentle sorrow” in the Old Tongue, the language of Witch.

After a minute, Wilhelmina pushed him away, sniffling. He handed her his handkerchief and, smiling, took it back when she stared at it, uncertain what to do with it after using it.

“She talks like that sometimes,” Wilhelmina said. “We’d better get back.” She left the alcove and hurried down the path.

Dazed, Daemon followed her back to the house.

Daemon stepped into the kitchen and gave Cook his best smile. “Any chance of a cup of coffee?”

Cook snapped a sharp, angry look in his direction. “If you like.”

Confused by this sudden display of temper, Daemon shrugged out of his topcoat and sat at the kitchen table. As he puzzled over what he’d done to upset her, she thumped a mug of coffee on the table and said, “Miss Wilhelmina was crying when she came in from the garden.”

Daemon ignored the coffee, more interested in Cook’s reaction. “There was an alcove in the garden she wanted to visit.”

The stern look in Cook’s eyes instantly softened, saddened. “Ah, well.” She cut two thick slabs of fresh bread, piled cold beef between them, and set it before him, an unspoken apology.

Daemon took a deep breath. “Cook, what is Briarwood?”

“A foul place, if you ask me, but no one here does,” she snapped, then immediately gave him a small smile.

“What is it?”

With a sigh, Cook brought her own mug of coffee over to the table and sat down across from Daemon. “You’re not eating,” she said absently as she sipped her coffee.

Daemon obediently took a bite out of the sandwich and waited.

“It’s a hospital for emotionally disturbed children,” Cook said. “Seems a lot of young witches from good families become high-strung of a sudden when they start leaving childhood behind, if you understand me. But Miss Jaenelle’s been in and out of that place since she was five years old for no better reason that I could ever see except that she used to make up fanciful stories about unicorns and dragons and such.” She cocked her head toward the front of the house. “They say she’s unbalanced because she’s the only one in the family who doesn’t wear the Jewels, that she tries to make up for not being able to do the Craft lessons by making up stories to get attention. If you ask me, the last thing Miss Jaenelle wants is attention. It’s just that she’s…different. It’s a funny thing about her. Even when she says wild things, things you know can’t be true, somehow…you start to wonder, you know?”

Daemon finished his sandwich and drained his mug. “How long has she been gone?”

“Since early spring. She put a flea in all their ears this last time. That’s why they’ve left her there so long.”