19
JESSICA STOPPED in the shadows and peered through the bars of a gate. The broad, furry silhouette of Iztho came to a halt behind her. His voice rumbled somewhere near her shoulder. “In here.”
An abandoned garden. Reddish moonlight gilded creepers trailing the rim of a dry fountain, a statue at its centre. Not a single pinprick of light lit the dark form of the house. Exposed roof beams clawed at the night sky like the ribs of some dead creature.
Iztho pushed her gently aside, sliding his hand under his cloak. “Let me go first. I don’t like the look of this.”
They had gone back to speaking English; for this night only, he said.
Jessica pushed him back, a bit rougher. “No. She said no weapons.”
His eyes met hers in a stern look, the glacial blue irises faded to lifeless grey. “This
