Lilith smiles, and it is all Bram can do not to tell her, then and there, how much she moves him. She is even more striking than his memory of her, which now seems pitifully inadequate. Looking at her he realizes it is not simply a question of beauty, of a fortuitously straight nose, or luminous skin, or dark eyes. There is something else. Some other quality that sets her apart. He cannot find a satisfactory way to explain it to himself.

A spark of energy? A glow? No, not that. A presence … I cannot put it into words.

She looks up at him and he is flustered to be caught, yet again, gazing at her. And in his agitation he moves his arm back slightly and his elbow nudges the Lalique. It is as if everything that happens next happens in a dreamlike haze of slowed motion. He sees Lilith’s eyes widen. He catches sight of the vase slipping inevitably, irretrievably, off the edge of the table. He hears a gasp, though he cannot be sure who has uttered it. He snatches at the falling object, but grasps only air. It continues on its inexorable journey toward the floor, toward its certain ruin.

But the vase never reaches the ground.

It simply stops, in the air, as if suspended on an invisible thread.

Bram knows this to be impossible, but he also knows, beyond any doubt, that he is seeing it happen.

Lilith quickly reaches down and takes hold of the heavy piece of glass, returning it to its rightful place without for one second meeting Bram’s astonished eye.

“Now,” she says, in a voice that is far too matter-of-fact, “where has Radley got to with that tea?” She turns and walks briskly to a painting above the fireplace. “This will interest you, I think. See? This was painted by none other than Mr. Alma-Tadema. One of Mama’s favorite artists. I think the orange of the girl’s dress a little harsh, but it is effective in its setting, don’t you think?”

She meets his gaze now, and he is surprised to see fear in her eyes. He could question her. He could turn the conversation back to the glassware, back to the minor miracle he has just witnessed. But he sees that she is willing him not to. Not now.

Very well, not now. But one day. One day we shall speak of it. For we must both own to seeing that same impossibility occur, if I am ever to unravel the mystery that is Lilith Montgomery.

Chapter 9

9.