Chance took hold of her hand again—whether to reassure her or himself, he was not sure. “You already know what to do. You’ve done this many times with your clients, but this time, you’ll be the client.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to psychoanalyze me?”

“With your help.” Then Chance looked at Uriel. “I’ll take her down to the mazes. Will you stand watch for us?”

“Always,” said the angel.

Chance seized Miranda’s other hand. “We could walk, but if you close your eyes for just a moment—that’s it. See? Here we are.”

“Here” was a wide, green valley containing a number of strange features. There was indeed a maze of high hedges, but there was also a flat, circular labyrinth of red brick on a cream-white limestone base. A deep, moss-green pool was situated to one side, a thicket of twisted trees on the other.

“I know it appears a little confusing,” Chance said, “but I thought you’d like to pick out a maze for yourself.”

“What’s the maze to be used for?” Miranda asked, squinting in the bright, hot light that radiated from all directions.

“To calm your mind, help it to focus . . . that sort of thing.”

“Then the pool won’t work. I can’t swim. And those woods look like a fairy tale gone mad.”

Chance gave a small sigh, a slight slump of the shoulders. Miranda must have noticed out of the corner of her eye, because she immediately amended her brisk tone. “But . . . um . . . the red brick thing’s very pretty. I like that. And the hedges.”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

She smiled back and asked, “You made them, didn’t you?”

He nodded and gestured out over the valley a second time. “Is that better?”

She looked again and blinked. There was the stone labyrinth, larger, spiraling to the center, and the hedge maze behind it, taller and sprawling. There was no sign of the pool or the thicket. “You . . . you really did make them, didn’t you.”

“I made all of this, actually,” Chance said without a hint of a boast.

“Chance . . . what are you? You’re not an angel.”

The inevitable question had come, but that did not make the answering any easier. “No, I’m not one of the beings you refer to as angels. I’m . . . hmm. I suppose you might think of me as an elemental.”

“Fire, water, earth, and air?” she listed, tilting her head doubtfully.

“Not quite. More physics, less alchemy.”

“Oh, well, if you’re going to invoke the gods of quantum—” she started to say with manic cheerfulness.

“Miranda,” he interrupted gently, “I made plenty of time for us, but we’ll have to begin at some point.”

“I talk when I’m nervous,” she said, her teeth clenched, almost but not quite controlling a tremor at the corner of her mouth.