Page 164

Victor drops his book, the spine hitting my legs, which are draped over his lap.

I glance up from my own novel, my gaze going from the book to his ashen face.

“What is it?”

Gently, Victor moves my legs aside and stands. He walks a few feet before he leans heavily against the nearby wall.

I set my own book aside, alarmed. I pretty much have to kick a path through the scattered children’s toys to get to him.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

Is he having a heart attack?

Is that even possible?

When he meets my eyes, there’s an old and familiar torment in them. “You may have stopped me all those years ago, Sara, but I am afraid …” He trails off, his eyes going to our home’s large balcony, which overlooks the Pacific. “I cannot stop my brothers.”

A chill slides through me. We haven’t even talked about this subject inmonths. For it to come up now, and so ominously …

Victor heads outside, driven by some force I can’t sense, and I’m helpless but to follow him.

He stands at the ledge, his hands gripping the railing so tightly I can hear the wood beginning to splinter. Amazing to think that those hands that can hold me so gently can also do this.

“The wheel of fate has been set in motion,” he says. “It still turns without my help.”

Despite my unease, I smooth my fingers over his hand. Beneath my touch, his hold on the railing loosens.

“I can feel it,” he says, not bothering to meet my gaze. His eyes move restlessly over the land. “My brother is waking.”

I go cold all over. “What?”

He won’t look at me, his body forced into a rigid stance.

“Pray for the world, dear Sara. War is coming.”