CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rachel read and catalogued five more letters before she closed the drawer, put away her laptop, and crawled into bed. The details of the investigation had her intrigued, but she doubted they had any relevance to Polidori’s death almost four years later. She sank into the feather mattress and stared up at the ceiling, crossed with broken shadows cast through the window by the courtyard lantern below. Two hundred years of dreams had been thrown across the same patterned plasterwork since Polidori had lain in this bed.
Alone, Rachel thought.
The rain was still heavy on the windowpanes, lulling her toward sleep. She bunched the pillow beneath her cheek and drew in a deep breath. At first, she thought of Adam, alone in their bed in New York. But then, as her thoughts mellowed
