Two glum faces peered out of Drakulya's coach at me while I climbed through the open door. Child-like, Aljehambra was nestled in Gwendolyn's arms, head on her chest, hand curled against her mouth. Gwendolyn's hand smoothed over her brow. Stationed in the center between the two bench-seats sat the mini stove with a pipe running out the top of the coach. Hot coals glowed within as warmth blasted me. Thankful, I leaned toward it, warming my hands.
“Sabrina, are you alright?” Gwendolyn asked, concern filling her voice.
“Just a few bumps. A little cold and wet, but I'm fine.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” Gwendolyn's soothing voice comforted.
I paused in my motions of sliding onto the opposite bench seat only to meet Penelope's chilly gaze. I settled down beside her. At once, the dagger became agita
