Instead of shattering, Fatima faded away into a ghost-like image seared onto Victory’s retinas. It was as if she’d never been there.
Mikelos eased his bow from the violin, and the silence was almost louder than the melody he’d played. “You hardly ever mention Fatima.”
“She was a complicated woman, from a different world. I lost her when she lost Santiago. Even if she is the past, we can’t change it.”
“Do the shadows know that?”
Victory led him along the hallway, with nary a twinge as they stepped across the spot that had held the shadowy version of Fatima. “Perhaps we are teaching them.”
Many doors opened from this long hall that traversed the length of the house, but intuition prompted Victory to stop at one. The library. Jarimis sat behind the broad wooden desk in the rear of the ro
