Slowly, cautiously, Bram gets to his feet. He looks a little bruised, and shocked, but otherwise unharmed. He takes in the devastation of the room and then returns his bewildered gaze to me.

The Dark Spirit has, mercifully, been silenced by my outburst.

I take a long, deep breath and look at the man I love, levelly, calmly. I want to hold close in my memory that dear, loving face in case, after I have spoken, he never turns it upon me again.

“You know me as Lady Lilith Montgomery, daughter of the sixth duke of Radnor. And so I am. But my father also happened to be Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven. A position that, when he died, passed on to me. My chosen name is Morningstar, and I lead a coven dedicated to the art of necromancy, sworn to commune with the dead in the Land of Night for the good of all, and to protect the Great Secret. In short, my darling, darling Bram, you have fallen in love with a witch.”

*   *   *

Bram pulls the rough blanket a little tighter around Lilith’s shoulders. In his narrow bed they lie together, fully clothed beneath the covers, holding one another in an embrace that he wishes would never end. In those first moments after Lilith told him, after she uttered in all seriousness—and he knew it was serious—the word “witch” he had felt as if he were falling. As if nothing he thought he knew would ever be true again. As if he could not, now, be certain of anything. The ground under him might not be real. Indeed, at that moment it had seemed to dissolve beneath his feet and no longer to be able to bear his weight. He knew one thing—Lilith was not lying. Nor did he believe her to be mad. Which meant that what she said was the truth. She was a witch. A witch, she had gone on to explain, who talked to the dead and who was capable of magic. This last was not, in fact, a surprise to him.

I sensed something. I always knew there was something about her. Something … otherworldly. She glows with it.

Even so, it is a giant step to take, from suspecting something strange to accepting that the woman he adores casts spells and summons spirits. He considered the possibility that it is he who is mad, but Lilith has done her best, in the hour since her revelation, to reassure him that this is not the case. He kisses the top of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. He can feel her tender heartbeating against his own chest, even through their many layers of warm clothing.

“You are very quiet,” she says softly. “I am afraid of what you might be thinking. Of what you might be thinking of me.”

“I am thinking that I am the luckiest man alive to be holding you in my arms.”