Catherine straightened, held up her hands, even as her heart pounded in her chest.

“My name is Catherine Daly,” she said. “May I ask yours?”

The boy stared at her, wild-eyed. He was breathing in gasps, air sawing in and out of his lungs.

Catherine glanced back at Guy. The two of them looked a nightmarish pair in the darkness of the cemetery, sweaty and filthy as they were. She imagined they weren’t a sight that would ease anyone’s mind upon waking from the grave. Guy’s expression almost mirrored the boy’s, both of them looking dazed and vaguely ill.

Catherine turned back around as the boy let out a nervous laugh. “I’m dreaming, surely,” he said. “This is just… I don’t—”

“You’re not dreaming,” Guy told him. His voice came out surprisingly steady despite his countenance. “You were dead.”

The boy snapped, “If I were dead, I think I’d know it.”

“It’s fair to say you didn’t,” Guy replied.

Hesitantly, Catherine said, “Can you tell us your name?”

The boy frowned, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t… I can’t recall.” He went still, his eyes widening. “I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?”

“That’s all right,” Catherine told him. “It might take a while to come back.”

She hadn’t the faintest if this was true or not, but she was willing to say whatever was necessary to keep him from panicking any further.

“What can you remember?” Guy asked.

Regarding him, the boy said, “Am I still in Invercarn?”

“Yes,” replied Catherine. “We’re in Invercarn.”

The boy swallowed hard. He studiously avoided looking at the empty coffin as he pressed one hand to the dirt wall nearest him. His cravat hung crooked, his hair fell into his eyes, but there was no indication he’d slip from life anytime soon.

In a quiet, uneven voice, he said, “I’d like to get out of here now.”

CHAPTER SIX

CATHERINE SCRAMBLED out of the grave with her lantern in hand. Guy came up after her, and together they helped the nameless boy onto the grass. He stood on the threshold of the pit, looking down. He seemed very much a part of the graveyard, in his dusty, worn-out suit, his features obscured in the dark.

Shaking his head, he murmured, “This can’t be real.” Yet the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

Catherine knew it must be a difficult thing to come to terms with. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, unsure of how to proceed. All magic centered on the basis of give-and-take. It was the reason why her life was shortened to give even a semblance of life to another.

And that raised a question begging to be answered.

Just what had been given to grant this boy new life?

When a gust of wind swept past, the boy shuddered in his thin suit. Guy held out his coat, but the boy stared as though Guy were offering him a used handkerchief. Suspicion glittered in his dark eyes as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Who are you, then?” he demanded. “What do you want from me?”