“… is surpassed only by the power of a risen witch.” Druscilla nods, finishing the quotation from our Book of Divine Wisdom. “It has always been known that a necromancer who is successfully risen would wield phenomenal power. History tells us that Willoughby instructed his assistant to aid him in the process. He was to administer the Elixir. But Willoughby had jealous enemies. They bribed the assistant, and he did not perform the rites. He failed to raise his master, and Willoughby was left to roam the Darkness. Until now.”

“Now he has found a way back. Through the Sentinels. He spoke of me doing his bidding. The Sentinels’ bidding, do you think? He expects me to give them the Elixir?”

Druscilla’s face is serious. “Tread carefully, Morningstar. He is a fearsome adversary. Whatever he wants, he will not care who suffers in order for him to obtain it. Be aware, child. Do not ever let your guard down again.”

As she speaks I hear again the words the wicked spirit hissed at me as he tortured poor Druscilla so—the one who is dearest to you. Bram! He means to get at me by hurting my darling Bram. When I think of the suffering he has just inflicted on Druscilla, an experienced witch, my blood chills. I cannot leave Bram defenseless against such a creature. I cannot.

*   *   *

Bram holds his hands over the small, enameled, paraffin heater he has just had delivered to his room. It is modest, and old, and not sufficiently large to properly heat his drafty attic studio, but it gives a blissful point of heat. Now he will be able to thaw his frozen paints and restore life to his numb fingers when he is trying to work. At first such a purchase had seemed rash, given his worryingly meager finances, but he has convinced himself it is a necessity.

At least poor Lilith will no longer shiver as she sits for me to paint.

He turns to regard the unfinished portrait on the easel. The lamplight offers only tantalizing glimpses of the face he has come to know so well. The face he adores. He longs to continue with the portrait, but to do so in such feeble light would be a mistake. He steps closer to the canvas and reaches out to touch her cheek, and as he does so he senses he is no longer alone in the room. Wheeling around, he is astonished to see Lilith herself, real flesh-and-blood Lilith, standing in the doorway.

“Bram, forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”

He hurries to her. “You need never apologize for visiting me, any time of day or night. But how do you come to be here?” he asks, leading her by the hand to stand by the heater. “It must be two in the morning … I did not hear you arrive, no voices downstairs … how did you…?”