“What if someone tries to harm you?” I feared this constantly, that his monstrous visage would inspire violence. “That is not fair to you. We should all be warm or none of us.”

He patted my hand. His dwarfed mine, at more than twice the size, but he was remarkably gentle. “I am faster and stronger than anyone who may wish me harm. I do not mind doing this task. The cold does not bother me. And I like the wide-open spaces. It is still exhilarating to run as fast as I can.” He paused, then smiled shyly. It was such a tentative smile, like a new bud of a flower. So fragile and unformed. “And I like being reunited with you after.”

I met his smile with my own, which helped his budding flower grow. “I like that, too. But I do not speak Russian. So we will be at a loss in the city and—”

“I do.” Mary grinned, her breath fogging out in front of her face. “At least well enough to order dinner and get a room. My uncle loved Saint Petersburg. I want to see it for myself.”

“That settles it.” Adam patted my hand one more time and then gently pried it free. “I have already seen it.”

“In another life,” I countered.

“That is enough for me. I will meet you back here in three days.” He loped away, within seconds too far away to argue with.

Mary climbed back into our open carriage and took the reins. “Come. I want to be warm for more than a few hours at a time.”

I joined her, and we rode down toward the city. Our carriage was a sled, so she stopped on the outskirts and found a stable for the horses. We rode in a hired buggy to the center of the city. I wanted somewhere nondescript and anonymous. Mary chose the nicest hotel she could find.

That night at dinner, our bowls filled with soup and our glasses with wine, she glared at me. “We are in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I want to go to an opera. I want to visit the cathedrals. I want to enjoy this expensive meal. And you are determined to be miserable. Adam is fine. He likes the solitude, and he likes coming back to us afterward.”

“It is not that,” I blurted out, and then I realized what it was. I looked down at my bowl and the silver spoon next to it. It blurred. “How can I enjoy myself when Victor is still out there? How can I enjoy myself when Justine is dead? William? Your uncle and Henry—not dead, but not alive, either. Not really. I bring their restless ghosts with me. They were killed because of me. Because of Victor’s twisted need to possess me forever. How can I ever smile, how can I ever enjoy myself again, knowing what my life has cost?”