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I TUCK THE TOP OF MY skirt over my waistband, freeing my ankles from the heavy folds of the material, and run. Thyra simply pulls up her lighter-weight skirt and grips it with both hands, exposing her riding breeches. She receives stares and comments from people on the street, but pays them no heed.
“Cover your mouth and nose!” Kai lunges in front of us, pulling the lapels of his coat over the lower portion of his face.
I recognize the sense in his command as we draw close to the Opera House. Black smoke billows from its upper stories and rolls in waves over the growing crowd. Several of the onlookers fall back, rubbing at their eyes and coughing. I pull the edge of my cloak over my face, leaving only my eyes exposed.
The entire opera house pulses with heat. Flames shoot through the roof and race along the sides of the building, feeding on the dark beams and melting whitewashed plaster from the wooden framework. My eyes water from the smoke. All I can make out are indistinct shapes— swirling shadows that fill the balcony at the top of the staircase and occasionally coalesce into a single body that pierces the curtains of smoke and tumbles down the marble stairs.
I spy a tall figure with hair the color of the flames. “Erik!”
Sweat drips from his nose and chin, streaking the soot coating his skin.
Kai throws out a hand to stop Gerda. “The whole structure could collapse,” he yells over the din. He pulls Gerda and me close, pressing us against his ribs.
Thyra walks past us to stand beside Erik, who scans the crowd. He seeks Anders, of course.
What if he never made it outside? I still my shaking hands before turning to Gerda. I’m sure he is safe, I mouth at her.
With one arm pressed against her mouth and nose, Gerda nods, but I read terror in her eyes.
“There!” Thyra grabs Erik’s arm and shakes it. “Against that street lamp.”
Gerda slips free of Kai’s grip and trails Erik and Thyra as they force their way through the jostling crowd. As Kai and I follow, a scream pierces the rumble of voices. I look up to see a young man fling his body through one of the upper windows. The man has blond hair and wears a white tunic over dark tights. Is it Christiane’s friend, who was flirting and laughing not long ago? I force myself to focus on Kai’s slender back.
When we reach the lamppost, Erik squats down in front of Anders and grips the other man’s forearms. Gerda kneels at his side as Thyra bends over them, her pale hair spilling from her hood.
I push past Kai. Falling to my knees, I lean in and examine Anders carefully, despite his protests.
Anders’s hazel eyes are glazed. “I’d just stepped outside.” He lifts a trembling hand to wipe his damp brow. “I was waiting for you, Erik. Christiane had to go to rehearsal and I thought ... I wanted to wait outside the building, to make sure you could find me.”
“Glad you did,” Erik says grimly.
“He seems all right.” I use the edge of my cloak to wipe the soot from Anders’s face. “In shock, but no additional injuries.”
Erik picks up the wolf-head cane lying across Anders’s legs. “What happened? Do you remember?”
“Yes, I ... ” Anders clutches one of my hands. “It was sudden, like a lightning strike. I was leaning against this lamppost when I heard a crackle and a snap like a whip, then flames appeared, inside the building and across the roof.” He stares over Erik’s shoulder and his eyes widen. “It was you! I was not sure before. Now, in this light ... It was you.”
I follow the trajectory of his gaze and realize he’s staring at Thyra.
Her pale face glows against a backdrop of dark smoke and the flames roaring behind us tip her white curls with red. Her light gray eyes are clear as ice.
Or bright as a blade.
I gasp and tighten my grip on Anders’s fingers.
“What are you talking about?” Erik’s gaze slides from me to Anders, finally coming to rest on Thyra’s expressionless face.
“She was my angel. The one who saved me from the battlefield. Only it wasn’t an angel, it was her.”
Thyra straightens. Behind her, Kai’s face expresses all the emotions her icy visage does not.
“What are you saying?” Kai stares at Anders. “Thyra rescued you?”
Anders nods. “Yes. There was a wolf by her side. It was odd, but I wasn’t thinking clearly at that point. I didn’t seem impossible. I don’t know much about angels.”
Thyra lifts her chin. “I was on my way to the village to check on Gerda. I hid in the woods when I ran across the battle, hoping to escape notice until it was over.”
“You could’ve been captured.” Gerda gazes up at Thyra, her blue eyes very wide.
Thyra shrugs. “I was careful. No one could see through all that smoke, and I was hidden in the trees. I planned to ride on, when the soldiers marched away, until I heard something.”
“Me.” Anders leans against Gerda’s shoulder.
“Yes. And I thought ... Well, I didn’t want to leave you behind, alone in that place.” Thyra pulls up the hood of her cloak, shadowing her face. “It was a bit selfish, really. I worried how I would feel later. Anyway, it seemed logical to try to save you. I did not want ... I didn’t think leaving you was my best choice.”
Erik rises to his feet. “Whatever the reason, thank you.”
Kai steps up beside Thyra and clutches her hand. She does not meet his intense gaze but also doesn’t pull her hand away.
“Christiane ... ” Anders grips the lamppost and pulls his body to a standing position. “She could still be inside. We must look for her.”
Erik grabs Anders’s arm, steadying him while holding him back. “No one can get close to that building, much less go inside.”
Gerda stands, wobbling a bit. “Perhaps they escaped out the back door?”
“I have to do something.” Anders takes the cane from Erik and grips it tightly, his eyes focused on the Opera House. “I can’t live with myself if I do not try.”
Through the smoke I spy a slender figure leaning over the balcony railing. It’s a woman with dark hair and a pale face, wearing a sweater that blends into the gray of the smoke.
Anders has seen her too. “Christiane!” He stumbles forward, leaning heavily on his cane.
Erik throws out an arm to halt his progress, but he’s chosen the wrong person to protect. It’s Gerda who takes advantage of a parting of the crowd to rush the marble stairs.
When I scream and jump to my feet to race after her, Kai and Thyra grab my arms and pull me back.
Quickly exhausting my knowledge of curse words, I struggle in their grip. Erik pushes past the gaping onlookers to chase Gerda until a muscular man takes offense and knocks him roughly to the ground.
I yell Gerda’s name but even if she hears me, I know she will not listen.
She never listens. Not when she is doing what she thinks is right. She would walk into hell to save someone, even a stranger.
Tears drench my cheeks. Kai tells me to be still. I am not about to listen either.
That is my sister, and I love her. Nothing else matters. I will run into hell too, if that’s what it takes to save her.
Thyra slaps me, hard across my cheek. “Stop it. Hysterics will not help. Kai,” she commands, “hold her. I’ll go after Gerda.”
Kai’s brown eyes flash. “The hell you will. I forbid it.”
“You are not my master, Kai Thorsen. I will do what I must.” Thyra pushes me into Kai’s arms and runs toward the building. The milling crowd blocks her, forcing her to one side. She joins Erik, who sits up, holding his head.
We are so caught up in this drama we miss it—Anders limping forward, some inner strength lending him the power to reach the bottom step. He drops the cane, which rolls off the sidewalk into the gutter, and crawls up the stairs. He reaches the halfway mark before any of us realize what he’s doing.
As Thyra helps Erik to his feet, Kai marches me to where they are standing. “We can’t reach them now.” He gestures toward the building. Flames have sprung up between the sidewalk and the steps, like a curtain pulled across the base of the stairs, blocking any approach.
It is something designed to keep us from aiding Gerda or Anders. Something unnatural.
I turn my head. There, at the edge of the crowd, stands a tall, dark-haired figure, wrapped in a black greatcoat. Beside him is a slighter figure, hidden in the folds of a hooded cloak. His servant, perhaps.
Sten Rask. I meet his sardonic gaze. He nods and raises his walking stick, as if in greeting.
There’s a crystal orb topping the cane. It catches the light of the flames, making it appear the orb contains actual fire.
Because it does. Look closer, Varna. That is no ordinary walking stick. That is a scepter, like in the paintings of kings and queens.
Rask flicks his wrist and flames shoot from the scepter, arcing over the crowd and setting another section of the building alight.
There are too many people separating us. I focus on those beautiful dark eyes.
I will kill you. If Gerda is harmed in any way, I will hunt you down and I will destroy you.
Rask’s smile broadens. He lowers the scepter. Varna, my dear, you will come to me one day. But not to kill me. You will come because you choose to do so. To embrace your true nature. To accept what only I can give you.
I cry out and slam my fist into Kai’s ribs. He releases me and I elbow my way through the crowd, but the tall figure in black has disappeared, along with his mysterious companion. Turning my gaze back to the Opera House, I spy Gerda on the balcony, holding the hand of the dark-haired girl.
It is Christiane. Gerda guides her toward the stairs just as Anders reaches the top step and pulls his body onto the balcony floor, rolling to Gerda’s feet.
A thunderous roar drowns out every other sound. The stairs, their wooden underpinning scorched by the fire, give way and collapse in a thundercloud of smoke and ash. Only the landing and its balcony still stand, hoisted on a rickety framework of wooden poles and beams, forlorn as a ship in dry dock.
“Come away,” shouts a voice in my ear and I turn to see Erik staring directly into my eyes. Behind him stand Kai and Thyra, covering their faces with the edge of their cloaks.
Erik tugs at my sleeve. “We need to fall back. Now.”
“We can’t leave them there!” I push at Erik’s hand. He grabs my flailing fingers and pulls me into a tight embrace.
“We cannot help them, Varna. Only God can help them now.”
Erik drags me across the street, away from the worst of the rolling smoke and ash. “Wait here.” He presses my back against a rough brick wall.
I stare at the Opera House. Gerda’s golden hair is still visible amid the drifting clouds of smoke. On one side of her stands Christiane, dark head held high. On the other side is Anders, leaning against her shoulder.
I silently pray for God to save them. Or if not God, then I beg the same of the man who obviously caused this conflagration.
Whatever you wish of me, I will give you. Whatever you ask, I will do, if you will just save them. Or Gerda, at least. All of them, if you can. If not, save Gerda.
It is madness to think Rask can hear me, or will heed my plea. But everything is madness now.
If there is anything you can do ...
A shadow falls over the street. A black cloud glides overhead, blocking any sliver of sky.
No, it is not a cloud. It is wings—dark wings, as wide as the street. It is a great bird, sailing straight for the burning Opera House.
The screams and shouts of the crowd intensify. The huge creature pulls its wings against its body and dives toward the balcony.
Slender, ridged legs extend, displaying black talons curved like sickles. The bird—or whatever it is, for it looks like no bird I’ve ever seen—reaches with clawed feet and plucks Gerda from the balcony.
She is imprisoned in its talons as if in a cage. Clutching my arms across my chest, I rock on my heels and pray she’s unharmed.
Just as the great bird lifts off, Anders grabs hold of a leather strap dangling from its other leg. So this is no wild bird, acting by instinct. This creature was sent by someone.
You have saved her from the fire. Now return her to me.
Words wind through my mind, sensuous as a snake. Come to me, Varna. If you want your sister back, you must come to me.
Erik shouts his friend’s name, but Anders is swept away, clutching the great bird’s fetters, his legs fluttering like pennants beneath him.
The creature sails into a cloud of smoke and vanishes.
I stumble into the street. Kai dashes forward and grabs me before I collapse onto the cobblestones.
As quickly as they sprang up, the flames recede, leaving only embers and coils of black smoke. A stiff wind rattles the framework under the balcony, and it lists to one side. The bodies of those overcome by smoke or flame slide into the balustrade like so much cordwood.
Seated on the railing on the opposite side of the balcony, Christiane dangles her legs over the edge.
She is going to jump.
The four of us run toward the burnt-out building.
I notice the alley near the stage door, not far from where Christiane perches on the balustrade above. “Over here!”
I guess her plan—a hedge of bridal veil bushes lines the wall just below this side of the balcony. Their slender branches are already covered in delicate green leaves and soft clusters of white flowers. It’s a smart choice, if one must jump.
It is still a tremendous leap. I gaze up into Christiane’s dark eyes. They’re as lifeless as cold coals.
Another blast of wind tips the balcony farther. Christiane only stays in place by gripping the railing with both hands.
She has no choice, if she doesn’t want to be sucked down into a whirlpool of rubble when the balcony collapses.
The others join me at the edge of the singed bushes. We link arms and press our bodies into the arching branches of the shrubs, ready to keep Christiane from tumbling onto the stony surface of the alley.
“Now!” Erik shouts.
The bridal veil bushes shudder under the impact of the dancer’s body. Curled in a tight ball, she rolls from the swaying branches into Erik’s arms.
Erik gathers her still form to his chest and strides across the street to an alcove under the stairs of a narrow brick townhouse.
The rest of us follow, Kai pausing to snatch up Anders’s cane, still lying in the gutter in front of the smoking building.
As Erik gently lowers Christiane to the ground, I notice one of her legs is twisted the wrong way. I still my chattering teeth. I cannot go to pieces over Gerda’s abduction right now. There is work to be done.
Christiane’s eyes are closed. “Do not wake her.” I cast about for anything I can use as a splint. “I need to brace her injury.”
Kai catches my eye and holds out Anders’s cane.
I whip off my cloak and squat down beside the prone form of the dancer. “We need to stabilize her knee.” I take the cane and place it next to the dancer’s leg.
“You must help.” I look up at Erik and Kai.
The two young men follow my instructions as Thyra slides around to hold Christiane down by her shoulders. As we yank the leg back into place, the dancer’s eyelids fly open and she utters a heart-rending wail.
“Again,” I say, closing my ears to the sound.
While we work on her leg the ballerina whimpers and moans. Thyra strokes her forehead and murmurs soothing words with a gentleness I’d never have expected.
We manipulate the limb into some semblance of a normal position before I use my cloak to tightly bind the cane to Christiane’s leg. After I finish this process, Kai and Erik stand and help me to my feet.
I wipe my sweaty face with my sleeve. Even though the fire has died down, residual heat and smoke blanket the air. “We need to get away from here, but cannot move her far.”
“We must.” Thyra turns to look at me, her eyes bright as steel. “This was no ordinary fire, nor was that bird anything natural. Is it the work of Sten Rask?”
I clench my jaw and nod.
“He has Gerda and Anders then?” Erik’s fingers clutch something inside the pocket of his coat. The pistol, no doubt.
“Probably.” Thyra shares a significant look with Kai. “We should carry Christiane to Sephia’s cottage. She will receive the best care there.”
Erik pulls his hand from his pocket and rakes his fingers through his hair. “We need to go after Rask to find Gerda and Anders. We can’t backtrack now.”
Thyra takes Kai’s proffered hand and rises to her feet. “If this is the doing of a master sorcerer, we need Sephia’s assistance just as much as Christiane does. We cannot face Rask on our own.”
Erik bangs his fist against the brick wall of the foundation. “So we let Rask take our friends to God knows where? How will we ever find them if we don’t track them now?”
“Perhaps Erik is right.” Kai strokes his chin with two fingers. “No, seriously, Thyra, spare me that look. Listen—Erik and I can try to track Rask. We will not confront him, but we can determine where that bird carried Gerda and Anders. You and Varna take Christiane to Sephia and we’ll meet you there when we locate the others.”
Thyra looks like she wants to argue, but sighs instead. “I concede. But take Bae with you. He’s just outside the city walls, waiting in the woods. Luki and Freya are with him—they can come with us. We’ll need Freya to transport Christiane, at any rate.”
“And Luki for protection.” Kai smiles. “A logical plan.”
“Always.” Thyra’s lips twitch upward.
A great roar and crash split the smoky air. It is the balcony, finally giving way. I focus on the small group of people near me, refusing to look at the Opera House.
More bodies, more blood on Sten Rask’s hands, and for what? To find the mirror? Or to draw me to him?
Or both, Varna. Probably both.
Erik bends down to pick up Christiane. “Enough talk, let’s get her to the woods. The sooner you carry her to Sephia, the better.”
Thyra lifts her pale eyebrows. “Very well, Master Stahl. Lead on.”
“After you accomplish that, Erik, meet me at my rooms. I need to throw together a travel pack or two.” Kai rattles off the address. Erik nods as if he knows the street well.
“I would like to go with Erik and Kai,” I say. “Gerda is my sister. I must find her.”
Thyra shakes her head. “No. It is not the impropriety,” she adds, after a quick glance at my face. “I don’t care about such nonsense. It’s simply that I believe you are connected to Rask as more than just a casual acquaintance. I’m afraid he will sense your presence if you are anywhere near him, and that could betray the others.”
I bow my head. She is right. “I just want to be there when he is defeated.”
Thyra takes my arm as we follow Erik and Kai down the street. “I’m afraid you must be there, Varna, and I’m not sure you will really want that, in the end.”
