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Chapters (86)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Booklist
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
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  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“I listen until it speaks to me, then I shape it into what it asks to be.” He shot her a humorous glance, the first humor she’d seen him display. “That is to say, I shine it up and sell it to someone so they can brag about their good taste.”

He wasn’t really being humorous. He meant what he first said about listening until the metal spoke, but he didn’t like the earnestness of that so he tried to shift the mood. Something to remember. The man had a sensitive side that he hid with the care of a miser for his gold. And she wondered, was there anyone on earth who really knew Adam Ramsdell? Or was he as friendless and solitary as he seemed?

11

AS SOON AS ADAM drove past Gothic’s last house, he pointed at a narrow paved road that turned off to the left, barricaded by an ornate iron gate topped by patinated copper finials. “That’s the way to the Tower. Angelica Lindholm holds seminars there, and this time of the year, during the Gothic Spring Psychic Festival, she rents rooms to properly vetted tourists.”

Elle took a quick, delighted breath. “There’s a Spring Psychic Festival?”

Adam wished he’d thought before speaking. Twenty-four hours ago it wouldn’t have mattered, but now he’d agreed to make an ass of himself pretending to be a knight.

“What happens at a psychic festival?”

“Pretty much what happens at every renaissance festival in the country.”

“Fried churros, kissing wenches, puppet shows, jousting demonstrations?”

“Add palm readers, horoscopes, crystal-ball gazers, aura readers, all led by Gothic’s own fortune-teller, Madame Rune, and you’ve got the picture.”

“How fun!” Elle clapped her hands, then glanced around as if the sound of her own enthusiasm startled her.

“That’s one way to put it.”

She slid down in the seat. “We’re certainly exposed up here on the road, aren’t we?”

He, too, glanced around and saw what she saw: below them, the vista of the ocean, grassy rolling hills dotted with live oaks, a mature olive grove that could provide cover and the road stretching before and behind them like an arrow pointing them out to a sinister observer. In town, she had had the sense of being among friends. Here, they were alone and, as she said, exposed.

He didn’t make the mistake of telling her she was imagining trouble where none existed. His own uneasiness had been growing. Why? Had he subconsciously noted something ominous? Pulling over, he studied their surroundings. “I see no evidence of a watcher,” he told her.

“Really? That’s good, because for a minute, I forgot how scared I am, and I...should never, ever forget. I should be vigilant because...maybe that’s why I was hurt. Because I wasn’t paying attention.” She shrank farther and farther down into the seat as if trying to make herself invisible.