“Come along.” I reach out my hand and Bram takes it. “It is a beautiful night, let’s not miss it.” He follows wordlessly until I become suddenly shy at his nakedness. “Perhaps you had better put your trousers on first,” I say, feeling I should look away but not wanting to. My own lustfulness makes me blush.

“Why? Can we be overlooked up there in your aerie?”

“That’s just what Charlotte called it.”

He smiles. “Well, if there’s any danger of her showing up I’d better do as you say.”

I find watching him slip into his narrow-fitting trousers almost as erotic as watching him slip out of them. He leaves his broad, smooth chest bare. My own desire both shocks and thrills me. I walk briskly to the lift, letting Bram jog to catch up. He slides shut the iron door of the cage and we ascend to the roof.

It is indeed the most glorious night. The stars are outshone by the lustrous pearly moon that glows directly above us. Below, the city slumbers, with only night workers and a few revelers moving about, subdued in the lamp light. Humans are not by nature nocturnal, but witches often are, and of course necromancers do their best work drawing on the energy of the night. Will I ever be able to make Bram see the beauty of it all? To welcome midnight as joyously as others welcome dawn? I think I will. I think he will suit the strange new life that awaits him.

We have not been seated on the smooth walnut bench more than ten minutes when I am startled by the sound of the lift being called back down.

“Who can be using it?” I cannot keep the anxiety from my voice.

“Perhaps Terence needs to speak with you.”

“He would call up on the telephone. He is far too discreet to intrude.”

We both stand and watch the lift return. The ornate ironwork of the cage obscures the figure within, until the doors open, and onto the rooftop steps Nicholas Stricklend. I instinctively stand in front of Bram, but he moves forward and places a protective arm about me. Terence arrives breathlessly at the top of the spiral staircase that services the other side of the roof garden.

“I am so sorry, Lady Lilith. He would not be stopped.”

“Don’t worry, Terence. It’s not your fault.”

The butler hesitates, sensing something is amiss. He retreats to the top of the stairway but lingers there.

Bram addresses our unwelcome visitor. “Who are you? And what do you mean by forcing your way up here uninvited?”

“My name, as your hostess very well knows, is Nicholas Stricklend.”

“Stricklend!”

“Ah. I see Lady Lilith has told you all about me. How illuminating. She must trust you completely, Mr. Cardale. It is Mr. Cardale, is it not? Or have I been embarrassingly misinformed?”