How often Father reminded me that it was all to ensure I was properly prepared to take over from him one day. And now that moment has come, and the Lazarus Coven is in my hands. I sit on the edge of the high bed and reach to the side of the headboard with its carvings of rose-briars, to pull the bell rope. Slipping off my shoes I wriggle my tired toes and sigh with relief that the worst part of the terrible day is over. I feel almost overcome with weariness suddenly. I was about to ring for Violet, but instead I decide to have a moment to myself. I feel a small shiver of excitement as I step over to the far wall and slide the little oil painting to one side to reveal the safe. I close my eyes and let my fingers spin the lock, muttering the words that release the combination that guards the precious items within. There is a faint clicking sound and the door springs open. Reaching in to take out the antique green leather case I find myself revived at the very thought of holding the wonderful stones in my hands. I settle at my dressing table and open the box. The Montgomery diamonds have been in the family for generations, and are famous even abroad. My mother wore them when she was first married to my father, but has always considered them too ostentatious. It was Father who suggested they be given to me on my eighteenth birthday. Mama was aghast at the idea to begin with, questioning how an unmarried woman could possibly wear such a necklace in public. But dear Papa, knowing the deeper significance of the gems to us—to me—insisted. He also insisted I be permitted to wear them when I came out into society, and so I have done, at many grand balls. Each time I feel the cool diamonds against my skin I sense a connection with my ancestors. Not merely the aristocratic family of the dukedom of Radnor, but my coven family. For the stones are a central part of the Lazarus Coven, as without them, the Elixir would be powerless. I cannot resist touching them. Their magic is strong. The low light of the bedroom is still sufficient to make them flash blue and green. They are in an unusual arrangement, linked together as if they were a cascading waterfall of ice, each diamond set into a fine holding of pure white platinum, hard and bright. As always, proximity to the stones revives me. Iago, who has little time for the importance of such things, jumps up onto my lap, purring loudly, putting himself firmly and furrily between myself and the object of my interest. The clock chimes the hour.

“You are right, puss. I must call Violet and get myself ready.”