The woman in the garden smiled at me through the darkness.
Her white dress hung from her body in torn, bloodstained strips. Dead leaves clung to her tangled hair, and soil covered her bare feet. Yet none of those things frightened me as much as her eyes.
One was gold.
The other was crimson.
My eyes.
No—not exactly mine.
There was something ancient in hers, something that made the mark on my wrist burn as though my blood recognized a long-lost relative.
Behind me, Theron had gone frighteningly still.
"Don't move," he whispered.
I barely heard him.
The woman lifted her hand and pointed directly at me.
Her lips moved.
Though the window separated us, I heard her voice inside my head.
You have taken long enough.
I stumbled backward.
Theron caught me around the waist.
"Do not lis
