THEIR SCREAMS WERE helping. Morrigan’s early morning anger was abating. She sat in the room where two nights before she’d assisted Marell in his transfer. Her lover sat beside her in his new and younger body. They occupied the twin high-backed chairs. Behind them hung the ancient portrait of the man and woman who bore a striking resemblance to them both. Well, not to Marell anymore. But his eyes were still the same. Dark—and dangerous.
Before them lay the Weave. The red-and-black woven rug bearing the triskelion design—three skeletal legs running widdershins around a circle. The same design that inscribed the medallion around her neck. This morning, she wore a dark olive blouse with tight beige slacks and stiletto heels. Marell again wore a black suit and a white shirt.
The drapes were d
