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“But not at all illuminating,” Adam maintained, his jaw setting stubbornly.

“While you have been scraping your knuckles, I have been to Ropwell’s apartments.

A crown was all it took to get his valet talking.

It would seem that his lordship’s man has not been paid for some time now.

But when Ropwell left this evening, he promised that the fellow would receive all that was owed him before the week’s end. ”

“Did you find out where Miranda could have been taken?” Damien asked.

“Do you think I would have returned here, Wodesby, if I knew that?” Adam shook his head.

“The servant has only been with Ropwell for a quarter. He knows little beyond the fact that his master owns several properties, for his lordship is always complaining that the income they produce is paltry. My uncle is at White’s now, trying to ascertain the locations of Ropwell’s lands. ”

“If he is going to ground in his own burrow?” Damien speculated, slumping wearily into a chair, his head in his hands. “And we cannot even be certain of that.”

“Dammit man,” Adam said, grabbing Wodesby by the shoulders.

“Ropwell is going to force Miranda to raise a ghost. She may be able to cozen him for a bit, but what do you think her chances will be when she cannot locate those jewels that he seeks?” Like a terrier worrying a bear, he shook Miranda’s brother.

“Is that all you can do, oh Mage of Albion? What about that much vaunted magic of yours?”

“Magic has its limitations,” Damien admitted, looking candidly into Brand’s eyes and seeing his love for Miranda writ there plain.

He had wronged this man and his sister both.

Fate was not always to blame for misfortune.

If Damien had simply blessed the match as his mother had wished, all might have been well.

But he had chosen to interfere and now all his pride and all the power of the Blood could do nothing.

“Before history began, the world was filled with mages and witches, our legends say. No different were we, than any other men or women in our lusts and greed. We fought each other in our struggle for power, laying waste to lands and peoples. So it was that Hecate placed restraints on the forces of magic, so that it could not be bent to such horrendous destruction again. When we use our powers for ourselves, they may well go awry. Visions are muddied and vague; a summoning may prove the conjuror’s doom, the messages of the cards are oft misleading to those of the Blood. ”

“So you are saying that your powers cannot help you locate Miranda,” Adam stated flatly, his hold relaxing.

“Then what is it worth, all your thunder and lightning?” His hand swept the vast contents of the shelves in a dismissive wave.

“What is the use of all these books and all your magic, if I lose her in the end?”

Brand’s fists fell to his side, tensing into knots of despair and Damien felt a strong kinship to the Outsider.

Indeed, for Miranda, the Blood might prove her undoing, unless .

. . Reaching into his pocket, the mage pulled out his sister’s pendant, staring deep into the crystalline depths.

“Do you love my sister, Brand?” he asked distractedly.

“This is scarcely the time to probe my intentions, Wodesby,” Brand complained bitterly.

“Now if there is naught you can do in the supernatural realm, I am going to begin my hunting in the usual manner. I will find Ropwell somehow and when I do, I might save a bit of his guts for you. But first, I am going to seek my uncle and find out what information he might have unearthed.”

“There may be a better way,” Damien said, his excitement growing as new possibilities opened before him.

Brand’s destiny was clearly entwined with Miranda’s.

Such strong bonds could work both ways and the marquess’s love had called his sister back from the brink of the Light itself. “You are not of the Blood.”

“Uncommon bright you are tonight,” Adam commented, grabbing his hat from a chair.

“Nonetheless, Wodesby, I fully intend to marry your sister as soon as I find her. She has no need of your consent at her age. If the mage that you have already pledged her to wishes to turn me into a maggot, then let him do his worst, but have him wait until I find her, if you please.” He turned toward the door.

“I cannot do magic for Miranda,” Damien said, the worried crease in his brow relaxing in relief as the solution presented itself. “But I can conjure for you, Brand, and I will, if you would give me a token.”

Adam turned shaking his head in disbelief. “A token? By heaven, man, she is your own sister.”

“It must be for you that I conjure,” Damien insisted, his expression inscrutable. “Or else her sanguinity may interfere with my spell. A pledge of some kind is necessary.”

“Anything, if it will help me find her. Name it!” Adam declared.

“A dangerous offer, sir, if you would deal with witches and mages,” Damien cautioned. “Be wary. For our price is rarely gold and silver and the cost of magic must be in proportion to the service rendered.”

“Tell me what you want, Wodesby, and let us be done with it,” Adam demanded, his patience waning. “‘tis your sister’s life at stake.”

“Not my sister here, but your love,” Damien told him smoothly. “A mere matter of semantics though it may seem, it will make all the difference. Very well, my price is my consent to my sister’s marriage. You must agree to abide by my decision.”

Adam tried to read Wodesby’s expression, but no longer was he the worried brother.

In the space of a few seconds he was every inch the Mage.

By pledging his word, the marquess knew that he would likely lose Miranda to the man that her brother had already chosen.

But if that was the price of her life, then he would pay it.

“Done!” Adam replied, his expression grey and hard as granite.

“So shall it be,” the Mage intoned, his voice deep as the knelling of a bell. He rolled up his sleeve once again, tucking the folds in his runic band and went to the shelves. “Look for maps, Brand. Particularly London and its environs. ‘tis my guess they could not have gotten too far.”

Though Adam wanted to question, Wodesby’s brisk professional manner precluded any explanation.

Obediently, the marquess searched through the section that the Mage had indicated.

“Here they are, maps. The Land of Hungary, Greece, Genoa, France, Finn’s Land, England.

. . “ He pulled out a series of folios, spreading the volumes of copperplates and engravings upon the library table.

“Now, do exactly as I tell you,” Damien commanded, unfolding Brand’s hand and placing Miranda’s jewel in the marquess’ cupped palm. “Hold this by its chain, moving it back and forth above the volumes. Concentrate on my sister and let the motion lead you.”

“Dowsing?” Adam asked, looking doubtfully at the pendant. “I have heard of such divining for water or metals, but never for people.”

“‘Coscinomancy’ it is called, but it employs the same principles,” Damien explained.

“Miranda has found records of the practice dating back to Greek times using diverse devices. To find the missing, some personal item is usually the best, but it is not the tool so much as the wielder.” Once more, he shifted from forbidding mage to worried brother, fixing the marquess with an appealing gaze.

“You must believe, Brand. If ever you have believed anything in your life, believe in your love now.” With the tip of his finger, he set the emerald swinging and began a rhythmic chant.

Though Adam could not understand, the Mage’s words resonated in his mind, their flavor strange, like a new spice on the tongue.

As the incantation echoed, Adam closed his eyes, picturing Miranda’s upturned face.

He saw her once again for the first time, shy and uncertain at Lady Enderby’s party.

The chain swung to and fro as he moved slowly along the edge of the table, the motion of the links seeming to tug him along.

Miranda in his arms, waltzing, Tantalizing him with her nearness.

Suddenly his hand was pulled downward and he opened his eyes.

“Horwood’s maps of London.” Damien seized the folio with a whoop of delight.

“He has not taken her from Town yet.” With a careless sweep, he brushed the rest of the volumes to the floor.

Meticulously, he set out the thirty two pages of engravings, covering the library table completely with the detailed drawings of streets and alleyways. “Again, Brand, concentrate.”

Once more, the Mage began his wizardry as Adam took up the jewel.

Letting the swing of the emerald guide him, the marquess filled his mind with thoughts of Miranda.

As the chant touched his senses, he pictured her as she had been at Gutmacher’s Hall of Wonders, fearless, confronting the charlatan.

He felt her at his back, peering over his shoulder, the warmth of her hand penetrating his jacket like a lick of fire.

All at once, Wodesby’s pitch rose to a mourning keen and though Adam could not translate, he felt the meaning in his marrow.

To lose Miranda just as he was beginning to know just how much she meant to him?

How could he have been so heedless? He had failed her . . . failed her utterly.