Chapter 7
7 Dominic. Wake, Dominic. Pere Mal’s opened his eyes, staring up at the faintly illuminated ceiling of his bedroom. Had the spirits called to him? He’d heard something, but he wasn’t sure what it had been. He sat up slowly, feeling the creak of his bones. He’d slept poorly of late, tensions rising in the city and in his own domain. His gray silk pajamas clung to his ebony skin, damp from his exertions, tossing and turning in his fitful sleep. His attention was drawn to the candle on his bedside table. There was no draught in the room, but the candle flickered wildly for a few moments before guttering completely. A wisp of smoke rose, the acrid scent filling the air, and then the smoke seemed to take shape, beckoning like an elegantly-fingered hand. The vestiges of sleep still holding
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