Rory stared back at Dorin. “A new church run by heretics and vampires? Has anyone asked for that?”

“Not exactly, but then they don’t know about us yet. Consider the many possibilities our long lives could achieve in business or politics. We would dominate any arena we chose. Our kind should stick together.”

He didn’t like the way the conversation was going and had to be blunt. “But you’re not my kind.”

“We are alike in many ways. What would the world think if one day they had proof that reality was not as solid as they once believed?”

“You already know the answer to that—they would deny such a reality existed and set about looking for ways to obliterate us from the face of the earth. And are they wrong to do so? I see no reason for my own existence, and I’m not sold on yours either. We are mistakes.”

“We are exceptions!” Dorin rose from his chair and approached Rory with featherlight footsteps. “And as exceptions to nature’s laws, we are allowed to bend the rules now and then. Admit it, you bend the rules whenever you need to, but I’m guessing that you still feel terribly guilty about it. Stop feeling guilty. You are what you are. It can’t be helped. Live as long as I have and you’ll realize you’re the only one stopping you from being true to yourself.”

That was a blatant lie. Breaking the so-called rules and hurting others hurt him. He hated it. “Why have you lived so long? Yes, you were attacked by some shaggy feral child, but you’re no vampire. I know my kind when I see them. What the fuck are you?”

Dorin shrugged. “I don’t know. I have theories. For instance, did my blood mix with the creatures’? Was my body accidentally granted properties it should not possess? Sometimes I think I absorbed something akin to the raw life force that exists in the forest. One can freeze the trees, burn them to their roots, or cut them down, and yet fresh green shoots will sprout from the trunks of the fallen and the cycle repeats without end. Or maybe it’s just plain magic, just like the fairy tales say, and there’s nothing beyond that simple statement to figure out. The only real question I have is how did that devilish little imp do this to me? I mean that literally. I was in such a state before and after the event that I often wonder if I am remembering all the facts.”

“What facts do you think are missing?” Rory toyed with his cuff link. “The creature drank your blood and perhaps infected you with some magical property, and you never died. What more do you need to know?”

“The process. I would like to watch the process of how a human is made into something inhuman. It’s the ultimate transmutation, is it not? I was born human. You were born human, yet here we sit, two missing pieces from Mother Nature’s grand puzzle with no corner edges in sight. I’d like to take a stab at solving the mystery, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t like what he was hearing. Years of searching had convinced him a satisfying answer would not be forthcoming. “I don’t believe there is a solution to our condition. Not one you would like.”

Dorin pushed his hands into the air as if he could protect himself from any of its ill effects. “Are you certain? Have you explored all options? As a vampire, you have a distinct advantage. You know exactly what you are and have centuries of folklore to draw upon.”

“Most of it irreverent superstition. It’s useless, my friend.”

A wistful expression softened Dorin’s gaze. “I’m lonely, aren’t you?”

The comment struck a sour chord. He was terribly lonely, and it seemed to grow worse each passing year. “I manage.”

“I’m five hundred years old. You’re only half a dozen decades—see, I’ve done my research. Can you imagine how far your loneliness has yet to sink? I’m telling you the truth when I say it will. A hundred years from now, you’ll be despondent. Three hundred years from now, even the small things that now give you pleasure will fade, and it only gets worse. Why just ‘manage’? What if there were more of us working together to make the world a more efficient machine? We have the wisdom and the years to plan long-term. We could work as a team. The war has offered chaos, and I am offering a new order, a hidden agenda, and stability for all. Name a business or a country and you will be handed your first choice and allowed to dominate it behind the scenes as its silent but irrefutable ruler.”

Ruler? These were strong words or delusion. “How would this miracle be achieved?”

“We infiltrate and ingratiate ourselves to influential people and groups. Without bragging, I can claim to have already mastered that. In this city alone, I have my hand in politics, the shipping industry, railroads, banking, even the movie studios, and there’s so much more to come.”

Movie studios? Interesting. With a clever lawyer to fight libel, and the right PR, perhaps Madelyn had a chance of earning her way back in? “It sounds like you’re well on your way to world domination. So why tell me about it. What’s stopping you?”

With a lizard-like flick of his tongue, Dorin licked his lips, and the effect was repelling. “We’re outcast and outnumbered, but we don’t have to be. There should be more players on our side of the chessboard. Not many, but enough to be effective. That is the one thing I cannot do on my own.”

He played the words over again in his head. Did he understand correctly?

“I’ve made a study of vampires and their habits....”

So this was why he was here? Panic overwhelmed him. Madelyn was in danger. He leaped from chair. “We’re done. I’m leaving.”

“No!” Dorin’s eyes widened. “I’ve waited centuries for this. Everything is falling into place so perfectly. The objects from my reliquary have been returned to me. For the first time I have a friend”—he extended his hand to Rory—“who can provide answers. Don’t walk away. I’m begging you. I can make you wealthy and powerful beyond anything you might achieve on your own. Together, we can reshape the world into a new and lasting order unlike anything it has ever known.”

“Or desired.” Was this what Bill wanted? A place in Dorin’s new criminal underworld, run by ghoulish creatures that went bump in the night and their human toadies? “Allied forces defeated Hitler’s army. They’ll have an easy time picking you off.”

“Why do you still side with the humans even though you’re not one of them anymore?” Dorin walked toward a glossy wood panel. “It’s sad. If they knew what you were, they’d destroy you. Do you think that beautiful girl in the next room wouldn’t flee in disgust if she knew her handsome escort was really a blood-swilling fiend?”

He hoped to God Madelyn would never know. He couldn’t bear to see the look on her face go from friendly trust to frantic horror. “Don’t tell her. She doesn’t need to know. Let her live her life.”

“I agree.” Dorin fiddled with a latch on the panel. “I have a treat for you, something for us to bond over, and in the process, you can help Madelyn too.” The wooden panel opened onto a small closet-like chamber. On the floor lay a man bound and gagged, his eyes wild with fright as he rolled on his side, writhing as much as the ropes binding him would allow. It was Walter, Madelyn’s loud-mouthed agent.

The sight of a helpless victim made Rory’s bloodlust roar to life, and his fangs descended before he got himself under control. “Holy crap!” He stepped back. “Shut the door. Keep him the fuck away from me!” He turned on his heel; he needed to get out of there, now.

“Come back,” Dorin coaxed.

“I don’t want to be involved in anything you cook up!” He meant it.

“You’re already involved. I’ve seen the way you look at Madelyn. She’s lovely, so talented, and she should have been a star.” Dorin pointed to Walter, who had tears streaming down his cheeks. “And this bastard ruined her life! He blabbered her secrets out of sheer vengefulness. He couldn’t make use of her anymore and wanted to make sure no one else would either. Isn’t that repulsive? What does that tell you about him? For one, he has no morals and abused Madelyn’s trust. Two, there’s no need to feel guilty about helping yourself to a much-needed blood snack. Walter is on borrowed time. I have it on good authority that his blood pressure is through the roof and his liver’s shot. Making a conservative guess, I’d give him less than another year of hard living before his poor old ticker goes kaboom. End his miserable existence now. You’d be doing him a favor.”

Choking sobs escaped Walter’s gag.

The temptation to bite and feed tore at him. The need was intense, and God help him, his will was fading fast. He had to stop looking at Walter.

“It’s all right. I understand. It’s the old moral dilemma of ‘should.’” Dorin clapped his hands loudly. “Madelyn, would you come here please!”

“No!” Rory growled. “Don’t do this.”

Madelyn knocked and entered the library. She appeared unsettled by the shouting. “What’s wrong? Keep it down, or else Hank will lose count again.” Her gaze drifted toward Walter and an explosive scream burst free. “Oh my God!” She turned to run and smacked into Rory’s chest. “What the fuck is going on!”

Rory took hold of Madelyn and gently drew her aside. “It’s all right, we’re leaving.”

“We can’t just leave him,” she stammered. “H-Hank, call the police, get help!”

Hank rose from the table and lumbered into the library with a weird half smile on his lips. He seemed unfazed by the sight of a bound man wriggling on the floor.

Dorin stepped forward and closed the library door, trapping everyone inside. “Hank isn’t going to be calling the police, because he’s the one who hunted Walter down and brought him to me.”

Hank laughed. “He pissed himself in the back seat of the Ford and cried the whole way.”

Madelyn lunged at Hank and struck him hard in the face. “Bastard!”

“Ooo.” Dorin laughed. “Look at that passionate temper. She still cares about Walter even after the shoddy way he treated her. Loyalty, there’s something to be said for it.” He turned to Hank. “Take the money to Mr. Boven and thank him profusely for his services. We are done here. You may leave.”

Hank nodded and left the room.

“We are not done!” Madelyn rushed toward Walter and fell to her knees. She tore at the bindings, trying to loosen them. “Untie him right now! He has a bad heart.”

Dorin pulled Madelyn to standing. “Come away.” He locked his arms around her as she fought to break free.

Rory wanted to snatch Madelyn from Dorin’s grasp, but was afraid of what might happen to her if he did. Could Dorin possess enhanced strength along with his unnaturally long life? Was he capable of snapping Madelyn’s neck with the turn of his wrist? It wasn’t worth the gamble. He remained close, waiting for Dorin to leave him an opening. “Hurt her and you’ll get nothing from me.”

Dorin’s forearm pressed against Madelyn’s windpipe as she gasped for breath. His other hand slid across her chest, grasped her breast, and gave it a squeeze. “What have we here?”

Madelyn kicked Dorin’s shins, but he refused to release her.

Dorin reached inside Madelyn’s jacket and snatched the gun from the pocket, clicked the safety off, and pressed the barrel to Madelyn’s temple. “Stop kicking!”

Madelyn froze and looked terrified.  

Rory stared back at her, feeling helpless. He was fast, but was he faster than Dorin? His opponent remained an unknown.

“My God. This got out of hand quickly.” Dorin pulled Madelyn toward a large desk. “I have a proposal for you.”

It was his first opportunity to move closer. With his hands raised, Rory took a cautious step. “Let her leave and we’ll talk.”

“You don’t understand.” Dorin tightened his grip and made Madelyn whimper. “I’m interested in you both. You may not see things the way I do, but I believe you eventually will. We should be the elite. Tonight could be the birth of a new alliance. It’s always intrigued me that vampires can make more of their own, a feat I’ve tried and failed at. There should be more of us, but only the finest and handpicked will do. Mr. Ravenscroft—Rory—have you ever turned another?”

Rory shook his head at the horror of it. Vampirism was the last thing he’d inflict on another.

“Pity. I wanted to watch. I’ve dreamed of sitting back and witnessing the miracle as it happened, taking in every detail, every movement, every precious sound. Think of it as a sacred act of creation. The weaker body is sacrificed and a glorious new form takes its place.”

A depth of bitter emotion he’d thought he’d exhausted long ago poured out of his mouth. “You know nothing. It’s not that way at all. It’s a desecration!”

Dorin brushed his face against Madelyn’s hair. “The day I received confirmation that my special package was on its way to Los Angeles, I asked Mr. Boven to locate the perfect match for you. There had to be chemistry, and we were right, weren’t we? Several other women were considered, but Madelyn outshone them all.” He relaxed his hold on Madelyn just enough to allow her to gulp a breath.

With a reddened face, she gasped, “Creep.”

This was torture. Rory lunged forward to free her, but Dorin jammed the gun against her skull, causing the skin surrounding the barrel to blanch, so he backed away.

Once again, Dorin’s arm locked around Madelyn’s throat and choked off her windpipe. “Look at how beautiful she is, but all this will soon be gone. Age and time will take its revenge. You could stop that from happening and grant her a place of importance in the world. You’d be giving yourself an eternal companion as well. Teach her. Bring her into our world. The new reality brings with it a sober maturity. She might be angry with you at first, but once she’s taken her place in the greater scheme of things and tasted power and its many rewards, resentment will fade.”

He’d never forgiven his maker for selfishly ending his life. “I doubt it.”

An odd gleam flickered in Dorin’s eyes. He slid the gun from Madelyn’s temple and aimed it at her chest. “What if I stopped her heart? Would you help her then?”

Dear God, no. Was Dorin too crazed to be reasoned with? This entire scheme made no sense. Had it occurred to Dorin that all he was making was enemies? “I don’t know how to do what you’re asking.” He didn’t. “Stop now.”

“But you were conscious when you were changed?”

“Through most of it.” Some of the experience was so shocking his mind had checked out and rejected it.

A look of hope entered Dorin’s gaze. “But you know the steps?”

He shook his head. “I don’t.” That was true.

Dorin laughed, but it was tense and joyless, and he clutched Madelyn tighter. “You’re lying. And I’m not afraid to kill.” In an abrupt flash, he aimed the gun at Walter’s head and fired a shot. The bullet struck Walter’s skull with a pop. Walter gurgled, stopped struggling, and melted limp against the bindings.

Madelyn bawled, “No! He wasn’t hurting you! He’s just a drunk. Oh fuck....”

All his instincts screamed this was going to be bad. Sweat had broken out on Dorin’s brow. Clearly, Dorin was desperate and meant to do what he said. There was no way he could stand still and watch Madelyn’s life come to a senseless end. He had to act or forever regret it. Every muscle coiled and he leaped on Dorin with all the vampiric force he could muster, shoving him and Madelyn to the floor, knocking the wind out of them both.

Lying stunned on the carpet, Dorin gasped a hiccupping cough.

Madelyn sprawled on her back but quickly fought her way upright with the ferocity of a wild cat. “God damn you!” She clawed Dorin’s cheek and drew blood.

Dorin howled in pain and pointed the gun at her. “Get away from me, bitch!” His finger squeezed the trigger.

Time stopped. Rory had what felt like an eternity to launch his body between Dorin and Madelyn. The gun fired, and the deafening sound and the acrid scent of hot metal and burnt powder hung in the air. A sharp sensation like an uppercut punch to the ribs overwhelmed him, and the breath burst out of him. He curled forward and fell, clutching his side. When his hand registered sticky warmth, only then did he realize that after all these years, he’d finally been shot.

Dorin looked horrified. “No!” He threw the gun to the floor. “That’s not what I wanted.”

With her hands shaking, Madelyn grabbed the gun and fired at Dorin. “This is what I want!” The first shot whizzed past his head. The second struck his shoulder. The third grazed his arm as he wallowed on the floor groaning.

Rory fought to draw breath. Pain, the smell of blood, and confusion ripped through him. In a cresting moment of agony, his fangs and his fully vampiric face took form.

Madelyn screamed and backed away.

Gulping air, Rory raised a hand. “Madelyn,” he rasped. “Run.”

Dorin glared at Madelyn as he heaved onto his elbows. “You’ve ruined everything, stupid bitch. You’re bad luck!”

“But I’m a lucky shot.” Taking aim at Dorin’s chest, she fired. The bullet must have punctured his lung, because it left him wheezing. His eyes flickered shut, and after a few violent twitches, he lay still.

She looked in the bullet chamber and set the gun down. “Empty.” Her gaze bounced between Rory and Walter. A moment of deliberation passed, and finally she seemed to register that Walter was beyond any sort of help she might offer. Her attention focused on Rory. “What did I just see?”

His head was swimming. What had she seen? Had his eyes flashed amber and jaws descended wide to display fangs as lethal as a cobra’s? He hoped not. “The keys are in the side pocket. Go.”

She ignored Rory, hurried to Walter’s side, and pressed her fingertips below his ear. “No pulse. Poor bastard, he didn’t deserve this.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she choked on a sniffling sob.

Was she crying for a man who shared her all over town for his own gain and then told everyone about it? He lacked the energy to begin to understand such a thing.

Her attention turned to Dorin. Panic creased her forehead. “I just killed a man.” Her words sped. “We have to call someone. We need to get you to a doctor, fast. An ambulance will take too long to get here. I’ll drive.” She attempted to lift Rory to sitting. “I shouldn’t be moving you, but I can’t leave you here!”

“You can leave me.” He’d learned years ago after being badly wounded in a knife fight that he might fall into a stupor for hours or even days, but he wouldn’t die. It was too late for that. The worst that would happen was he’d linger at the threshold of a nightmarish limbo realm until his body regenerated enough to rise like the life-ravenous thing it was and go hunting for blood.

Madelyn smoothed a long lock of hair from Rory’s face. “I know a guy who’ll take cash and not ask questions. He’s a real doctor. Bill uses him in emergencies.”

For somewhere deep within, he found the strength to stand, and leaned heavily against Madelyn. “I don’t need a doctor, just a quiet place to rest.” And fresh blood, but he didn’t mention that. “Do you know somewhere we can go?”

She bit her lip. “Yes. There’s a motel on the beach—”

“Uh.” He twisted the wrong way and winced. “Take me.”

Madelyn wrapped her arms around him for support. Her pristine white dress now appeared covered in a splash of red rose petals. “But you’ve lost so much blood! This is madness. I should take you straight to the hospital.”

He pointed to a cushion on a chair. “Hand that to me.”

She grabbed the velvet cushion and thrust it into his hands. “There’s a bullet in you. You need help, clean bandages, and a transfusion.”

“Madelyn.” Leaning heavily on her, he took a shaky step and nearly fainted. “All I need is for you to take us someplace safe. I’ll be okay.”

“But you’re not okay!” Her voice cracked. “You’re bleeding to death, and I just killed a man. I don’t want to kill you too.”

Hobbling another step, he moaned. “You didn’t kill anyone.”

She guided Rory toward the door. “I did! I shot Dorin four times! Only the last one did any real damage, but it won’t sound like the act of an innocent person in court.”

He grew so light-headed he could hardly remain on his feet. “You’ll never go to jail for murdering Dorin.”

She pointed to Dorin’s inanimate body. “Yes, I can. Bill’s influence with LAPD isn’t that powerful. There are a lot of things they might look the other way for, but murdering a rich weirdo in his castle—no. News will get out.”

He clutched the cushion to his side to staunch the blood and held on to Madelyn’s shoulders with the other arm for fear he’d slide to the ground. “Help me.” Pain carried him over the edge, and he blacked out.

* * *

WINTER STORMS IN DUBLIN came early that year and were especially fierce. Howling winds and frozen rain that slanted sideways battered the cottage windows like pebbles cast from the sky by an angry giant. Rory lay in bed, swaddled in blankets, where his mother had left him safe and sound while she took her shift at the pub.

Someone came to the front door, jerked hard on the handle, and tried to enter by force.

He jolted upright, fully awake. “Who’s there?”

“Goddammit, let me in!” Jack bellowed. “Who locked this door?”

Rory pushed the covers aside, feeling the chill of the room. “Ma made me draw the latch!” Would such a simple explanation be enough to send Jack Gilhooly on his way? He hoped so.

“Well, get up and open it!” Jack’s fist pounded the door. “And hurry, I’m freezing my bollocks off!”

His feet hit the cold floor and he shivered. The fire had gone out. Standing on tiptoe, he drew the latch. The moment it slid free, Jack burst into the cottage, and he was forced to jump aside.

“Get dressed. We have an errand to do.” Jack rubbed his hands together and blew on them for warmth. “No fire? That mother of yours can be slothful, but she has a glorious ass, so I shall forgive her.”

The insults Jack aimed at his mother had become more frequent. The things Jack accused her of often weren’t her fault. The fishing had been dismal this season. Aunt Martha had taken work on a fishing boat that had taken her to the edges of the Nordic countries, and she’d been away for months. Money was tighter than usual, but still Jack hectored Fanny and had even asked her for a small loan.

Jack knelt in front of Rory. “Do you remember the promise I made to your ma?”

Which one, the promise to stop smacking everyone across the cheek at the slightest pique of temper, or the promise to be a better provider and take the needs of a woman with a young child into account? And there were so many more.

Jack’s eyes went soft. “I promised Fanny I would have a special surprise ready for her on the day we wed. The wedding is Sunday. I’ve got nothing! You must help me.”

Rory recoiled. He knew what that meant. “We’re going housebreaking in a storm?”

Jack nodded. “It’s the perfect cover! No one is out tonight. We’ll not be recognized. The sounds of the storm will confuse anyone who might be listening. We’ll come and go as easily as phantoms in the mist.”

“It’s cold.”

“Bundle up. You’ll be fine.”

“We’re out of firewood. How will I get warm when we get back?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Jack waved the statement away with the swish of his hand. “I’ll steal a wobble-legged chair from the pub and break it apart. See? There’s a solution for everything. Now get dressed.”

With little enthusiasm, Rory donned the clothes Jack had bargained for him and they headed into a bitter night.

To save time, Jack lifted Rory onto his shoulders and took long strides across town. Usually he enjoyed the perspective of added height, but tonight it just brought the frozen rain closer to sting his cheeks. Soon, his fingers became numb and it was difficult to hold on to Jack’s collar.

They crossed the river, and after what felt like a very long time, came to an elegant neighborhood with its tall brick mansions and private park enclosed within wrought iron fencing.

Rory knew this place. “Is Tomás here?”

“No.” Jack lifted Rory off his shoulders. “It’s just you and me, lad, doing something kind for our dear Fanny.”

He knew his mother would not want him stealing. “Are you sure this is kind?”

“Of course it is!” Jack looked scandalized. “I can’t take your ma to church and ask her to be my lawful wife without a proper ring, now can I? Fanny would not put up with that!”

A terrible feeling gnawed at his gut. “I want to go home.”

“Without a ring? Do you want to see your ma cry at the altar? I don’t.” With rain sheeting down, Jack led Rory into a narrow alleyway between two imposing townhomes. He pointed to a third-story window framed with climbing rose vines. “That is a lady’s bedroom, and the lady is not at home. I have it on good account, from her maid, that there is a hidden drawer beneath the third shelf of her armoire that contains her jewelry, including a fair collection of rings.”

Nausea crept up on him. “We’re going to steal her rings?”

“And any other trinkets that catch your eye. Don’t be too picky.”

Didn’t the lady need her wedding ring? “But it’s her ring.”

“Nah. She’s elderly and widowed and don’t need no wedding band no more. Fanny does.” Jack climbed onto a planter, picked Rory up, and hoisted him toward the ledge of the second-story window. “Come along. Grab on to the window sash. Once you’re there, it’s easy climbing to the rose lattice.”

Was it easy climbing? His fingers were cold and not as nimble as usual. The lattice looked weathered and fragile, and he suspected might not hold his weight. “I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be that way, lad! Think of others. Your ma will be so happy when she sees something golden and sparkly on her left hand. Do it for her.”

The rain had turned to pellets of punishing hail that made opening his eyes wider than slits impossible. He clambered onto the lattice and clung for dear life. The wood was splintered from exposure. Grasping a vine, he was poked by a sharp thorn and pulled his hand away. “Ouch! I can’t climb this, it hurts.”

“I’m counting on you, Rory! Help me make Fanny’s dreams come true. We can’t let her down. Imagine the smile on her face when she gets a real wedding with a real ring and not some pub-side handfasting and piece of red yarn. Keep going.”

He climbed higher. The vines bit into his skin and snagged at his coat every inch of the way, but he held tight. The tangled vines were the only things with integrity; the lattice itself was rotten and not to be trusted. After an arduous struggle that left his fingers raw from the jabs of prickly thorns, he reached the ledge of the third-story window and pushed against the leaded panes, but it couldn’t be budged. “It’s locked!”

Jack hissed. “It shouldn’t be. Try again.”

He pushed harder, but the window was definitely latched on the inside. “Locked.”

“Damn the stupid woman! We had a deal. I’ll have sharp words for that backstabbing maid. Go ahead, Rory, break the window!”

“How?” He looked down and it was a mistake. Viewed from this angle, three stories looked immense. For a moment he got dizzy, lost his breath, and clutched the vines for support.

“Strike it with your fist!” Jack shouted against the gale. “Draw your hand inside your sleeve and punch the glass as hard as you can.”

“I’ll get sliced!”

“No. Glass is fragile. It shatters and tinkles away. Then reach in and open the latch. Be quick and the hardest part will be behind you.”

The pads of his fingers were so shredded by the thorns, he was grateful the cold had numbed them. “I don’t want to! I’m coming down.”

“No! Don’t be a troublesome brat. Do as you’re told and let’s get on with it.”

Half-afraid Jack wouldn’t allow him to climb down, Rory pulled his hand inside his sleeve, made a fist, and struck the window. The moment of impact stung and he howled in pain, but the window merely rattled and did not break.

“Harder!” Jack stomped his boot. “If I could climb up there I would. Cover your fist, take a deep breath, and knock that glass out of its frame!”

He tried again, this time putting his weight into the punch. The glass shattered and his arm slid against a broken shard that cut him. A stinging sensation like a bad burn shot up his arm. When he glanced at it, blood dripped down his sleeve. “I’m bleeding!”

“You’re all right. We’ll get you home in a wink, but first undo the latch and get what we came for.”

His limbs shook. “I can’t!”

“Oy! What’s all this?” Tomás walked into the alley and shoved Jack against a brick wall. “Fine cousin you are. Knocking off houses without me?”

Jack struck back. “Me and the nipper are bagging this one! We don’t need your help.”

Tomás punched Jack in the face and sent him reeling. “You mean you don’t want to rightfully share with me. I told you about this house, you ungrateful bastard. I knew you was up to no good when I went by the pub and you wasn’t there. Even Fanny didn’t know where you was. I couldn’t get over here fast enough to see with my own eyes that I was betrayed by kinfolk.”

“Tomás, you’re not the only one who’s been betrayed!” Fanny huffed into the alleyway, her face red from running, and her long hair hung wet and lank around her pretty face. “Jack, I told you I’d have none of this. Where’s my Rory?”

“Ma!” Rory called out to her. “I’m hurt. I can’t climb down.”

Fanny looked up and screamed. “Rory! Be careful, baby. What are you doing up there?”

“My arm’s bleeding. I’m scared the blood will ruin my new coat.”

“Who gives a damn about the coat.” She leaped onto the brick planter and hoisted herself on the second-story window ledge. “I’m coming, Rory. I’ll help you down.”

He shifted on the ledge. “I think I can make it to the second story.”

“Stay put, love.” Fanny climbed like a cat. “Hold on to something and I’ll come and get you. We’ll climb down together.”

“It’s all right, Ma. I can slide down the vines.”

She climbed the lattice in long reaches. “You’ll get cut. Let me get you.” In little time, she was almost level with him. Her gaze scanned the broken window. “How badly are you cut?”

He pushed up his sleeve to display a deep gash that trickled crimson on wet skin.

“What were you doing?” Her gaze filled with accusation. “Housebreaking?”

Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I didn’t want to.”

“I know.” Her face collapsed with emotion. “This is my fault. You’re a good boy. I love you. When we get home, I promise I’ll never let that bastard Jack Gilhooly through our door again.” Clutching the lattice with one hand, she reached out to him. “Come here, love. Take my hand. Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on tight.”

He reached for her hand. It was cold and slick, but still reassuring. She knew the truth and he still had her love. That mattered more than anything.

Her gaze searched his. “Rory, I just keep letting you down, don’t I? I’ll try to do better.”

At that moment he wanted nothing more than to be at her side, in the cottage warm and safe beneath a pile of blankets. His foot hovered in space, ready to take the first step.

With an alarming crack, the lattice snapped and pulled away from the wall. Fanny was flung backward. Some of the tangled vines went with it, ripping their roots from the brick. She lost her footing and slipped. Rory screamed as his mother snatched her hand away to avoid carrying him down with her.

Like a butterfly fluttering against the wind, her skirt fanned wide, and her eyes opened in surprise and never left his. In a moment of horror that stretched painfully long, she toppled to the alley below, smashing her skull on the cobblestones. After a violent twitch, she lay still. The angle of her broken body resembled the peaceful pose of a sleeping cat.

Like a punch to the gut, all breath left his lungs in a quiet hiss. He didn’t scream. A scream required more energy than he possessed. Jack knelt at her side and wailed. As the first grief-drenched note sailed free, there was no doubt or false hope. She was gone.