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“—and we can destroy her, once and for all! You don’t have to do this! We can fix this! Please—”

The last word broke, because he knew what she was going to say before she said it. “I’m sorry. I love you—”

“Gillian!”

“Watch over Elinor for me—”

“We all will,” Mircea promised, his voice low.

Unlike Marlowe’s agonized “No!” And then he somehow broke the restraint, too, and leapt—

At nothing, because just that fast, all of it was gone: the portal, the woman it had protected and now consumed, everything. I had looked back just in time to see Gillian thrust the staff at the sky and the portal take her, disappearing along with her and leaving nothing behind—except for Morgan’s body, lying unconscious on the ground, and only now beginning to stir. Because her former self was still in there, wasn’t it? I thought, and then had to grab onto Marlowe as he screamed and leapt for her, and it took three of us to drag him away.

Conclusion: 1596

Six months later

He was just a shadow, seated in a corner of the tavern, as far away from the fire as he could get. Even my eyesight might have mistaken him for the darkness cast by an overhanging beam, except for the occasional glimpse of a liquid eye. And for the skin ruffling sensation creeping its way up my spine.

I almost turned to go, but I needed the money. And this one was paying well—better than well. Besides, I’d worked for vampires before. They were, after all, the ones most concerned with revenants, the monsters created when a vampiric change went wrong.

And as a dhampir, revenants were my bread and butter.

The skin ruffling sensation became worse as I threaded my way through the tables, although it was hard to concentrate on my prospective employer. The crowd this evening was large and boisterous, but not for the usual reasons. Instead of drunken laughter, off-key singing and outrageous flirting with the barmaids, they were angry.

No, make that furious, I thought, as a fight broke out, causing me to have to sidestep.

An English sailor had his head slammed into the bar, and then was kicked at the fire when he fell over, scattering sparks across the scarred, wooden floor. Another barely escaped a knife to the ribs, only to gouge a knuckle into his opponent’s eye, hard enough to burst it. Then they and the group of Spaniards they’d been quarreling with tumbled out of the door, taking their fight into the street beyond.

The bar was frequented by Spanish sailors, possibly because the taverna was owned by one of their countrymen, and news had just come in of the destruction of the great Armada, broken on the rocks of the Scottish coastline, after having been flayed by wind and waves and lightning for days on end.

It almost seemed like some supernatural force had been at work.

Perhaps God is a Protestant, the English sailors had jeered. Perhaps the devil fights on your side, the Spanish had seethed. I guessed it depended on your point of view.

My point of view was that I wished they’d bleed on something besides my boots, and pushed an unconscious combatant aside before sliding onto a stool across from the shadow.

“Nice place you picked,” I said, noticing the heavy gold ring he wore, with some kind of family crest.

Expensive.

Good; I mentally upped my fee.

And then stared, slack jawed, as he spilled an entire bag of gold onto the table, every piece of it glinting with hope and promise.

“I am Mircea Basarab,” he told me simply. “Your father. And we have much to talk about.”

* * *

“It looks strange,” Elinor said, as they approached the alehouse.

“What does?” Kit asked, and shifted her to his other hip. That was harder these days, as she’d finally had a growth spurt and was getting too big to be carried. But he didn’t want her to soil her pretty new shoes on the mucky cobblestones, so he was managing.

A thieves’ call echoed down the street announcing his arrival, and several heads poked out of nearby houses and then went back in again.

He was becoming a familiar sight in this area, and no longer provoked comment.

But one little boy waved to him, and Kit managed to wave back despite his armload of flounces. A few people were beginning to warm up, mainly because he was running the alehouse now. As well as the portal that allowed them to avoid the worst ravages of the famine that still gripped the country in its skeletal hands.