The me I see in you
Is the part of you I hate
Venice
They heard her screams resound throughout the Palazzo. Winter, who was helping Cosima bake bread, ran as fast as she could through the frescoed halls. Reaching Lucrezia, she kneeled beside her. The Italian girl’s screaming stopped and she was as still as a doll.
“Lucrezia? What did you see?” she whispered urgently, drying sweat on the girl’s face with a lacy handkerchief Cosima kept on her bedside table.
At that moment, Conte Vendramin barged into the room. “What did she say? Something about Alvise?” he enquired hopefully.
“Nothing yet.”
“Lucrezia. Figlia mia,” he began, but then his daughter interrupted him.
“I must remind her,” she said in English.
“What, Lucrezia? What? Remind who?”
“I must remind her she is Sarah Midnight.”
Conte Vendramin’s and Winter’s eyes locked. They had no idea what Lucrezia meant, but they both could sense a change in the atmosphere, a shift of fate. The day of reckoning was here. The destiny of the Secret Families was being played out in the Shadow World, and somehow, Sarah was the key.
“Is Niall alive?” Winter murmured, but she knew Lucrezia would not answer. Her nonsensical whispering had resumed already.