Chapter Forty-Five
* A Ghost at the Table*
The Lax townhouse was steeped in its usual evening quiet. Regina sat in the drawing room, a novel open but unread on her lap, a half-finished glass of pomegranate juice on the side table. Her mind was replaying the dinner, the painting, the sheer audacity of Lyra’s counterattack.
The front door opened and closed with more force than usual. Firm, impatient footsteps clicked down the hall. Aurora appeared in the doorway, her face not its usual mask of cool control, but pale, her eyes burning with a distant, agitated fire.
Without a word, she marched across the room. She snatched the glass of juice from Regina’s table and drank it down in three long gulps, as if trying to douse an inner flame.
Regina watched, her novel forgotten. She had not see
