Sophie regained consciousness, but she remained still, her eyes closed. Concentrating on her Awakened senses, she tried to create a mental picture of her surroundings from the sounds, smells and sensations that engulfed her. There was salt in the air, which wasn’t unusual in San Francisco, but this was a bitter, slightly sour odor, as if she was very close to the sea. The salt smell was touched with the tang of diesel fuel, which suggested that she might be in a port. Oddly, there was also the crisp smell of wood and the hint of spices in the warm, close air. Even before she felt the slight shifting movements beneath her and heard the faint slap of water against wood, she knew she was on a boat. She was lying down, not on a bed, but on something soft that held her tightly and raised her head and feet.

“I know you’re awake.”

The voice brought Sophie’s eyes open. Scathach! The shock of red hair was the only point of color in the dark room, and for a single instant, Sophie thought the woman was floating in midair. She struggled to sit up-she’d been lying in a hammock, she realized-and discovered that the woman was sitting cross-legged on a wooden box, her black clothing helping her to blend in with the darkened room. But as Sophie straightened, memories flooded back and she knew that this was not the Shadow. This was Aoife of the Shadows.

Sophie looked around, noting the heavy curtains covering the windows. One of the windows had been boarded up, and the rest were crisscrossed with thick metal bars.

“How did you know I was awake?” she asked, struggling upright in the hammock.

“I heard the change in your breathing,” Aoife answered simply.

Sophie maneuvered herself to the edge of her swinging perch. Dangling her legs, she looked at the figure sitting on the box. The resemblance to Scathach was startling-the same bright red hair, the same brilliant green eyes and pale skin-but there was something about the jut of her jaw that set her apart from her sister. And while Scatty had tiny laugh lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth, Aoife’s face was smooth.

“You are not frightened?” Aoife asked, tilting her head slightly to one side.

“No,” Sophie said with sudden realization. “Should I be?”

“Perhaps if you knew me…”

Sophie was about to say that she knew all about Aoife, but that would mean revealing that the Witch of Endor had passed on her memories, and she still didn’t want Aoife to know that. “I know your sister,” she said instead.

“I am not my sister,” Aoife said, her accent changing, revealing hints of her Celtic background.

“Who do you serve?” Sophie asked.

“Myself.”

“Elders or Dark Elders?” Sophie persisted.