his next words. “Psychic ability isn’t truly a gift like the one great power we each use against mortals. It is learned, developed. And as John did with his Edward, I have chosen to postpone your training until you have existed longer, learned more of yourself and our world. But I cannot explain Julian’s lack of ability. I have sometimes thought his gift to be so strong it has kept him from developing other powers.”
“Have you told him that?”
“Of course.” Angelo almost smiled. “Long ago.”
“And he still fears you?”
Angelo did not answer.
Rubbing his hands, John peered up at Philip through tired eyes. “It’s important that you don’t become involved in this. I don’t think you’re simple or a half-wit, but you could be hurt if you stay. Go home to Gascony and wait with Maggie until this thing is over.”
“What will you do?”
“I leave tonight. I’ll go to Amiens and get Edward first. He and I will go back to Edinburgh. Master Angelo has a few affairs to tie up here, and then he’ll leave in a week or so for his summer home in Venice.”
“Why are you splitting up? Wouldn’t we all be stronger as a group?”
“No,” Master Angelo said. “I am hopeful that Julian may come to his senses, and giving him so much ground to cover makes his current task more difficult, if he means us harm at all. Killing strangers is one thing. Killing those in our circle is another.”
“How many of the other vampires are psychic?”
John’s gaze dropped. “All of them besides you, Julian, Maggie, and my Edward.”
“All of them?” Philip’s eyes widened. “Then what does he possibly hope to gain?”
“Nothing. He is simply afraid . . . to the point of madness.”
This made no sense. Philip experienced a moment of intense unhappiness and hated the emotion. “All right, John. You go. I’ll stay here with Master until he’s ready to leave for Venice.”
Angelo leaned back in his chair. “I have no need of protection, my son. My hands can snap Julian like a matchstick.”
“No matter. I’m staying anyway, until you’re ready to leave.”
With no more words to say, John moved for the stairs, looking back at them once.
Eight nights later, Philip and Angelo packed a few scant belongings and prepared for their separate journeys. The short time they had spent alone together pleased them both. The old master forgot his books and cerebral conversation, preferring to spend spare time outside hunting with Philip. But the house had now been secured, carriage horses stabled inside Harfleur, and bank accounts transferred to Venice.
It was time to leave.
Philip jogged with snow-covered boots into the library. “Horses are saddled. You ready?”
Angelo gazed around. “Yes, but I will miss this place . . . and you.”
“Don’t be so maudlin. Julian will forget this by summer, and we’ll all meet in London, or maybe Paris.”
They walked outside into the night air. Dark trees lined the path to the barn, allowing bits of light from the moon to glimmer through. Philip seldom formed attachments to places, but this path had always held a certain charm with its hidden black spaces—but still so wide that he could drive Kayli into full gallop two steps out of the stable door. Wanting to lock this night in his memory, he stared at each tree they walked past. Because of this, he stopped short when movement caught his eye.
“Angelo, there’s something—”
Before he could finish speaking, a shadow stepped out from the base of a tree, and moonlight glinted in his eyes. He heard the sweeping arc rather than seeing anything. Then Angelo’s body toppled to the ground, his separated head landing with a soft thud in the snow. The whole picture took a few seconds to sink in.
Then the pain hit.
Searing, scorching, hysterical faces exploded inside his eyes. Turks, ragged peasants, pale children, sobbing women, all danced and clawed at his brain while he writhed helplessly, scratching at his own temples to get them out—men with long surcoats, crosses in one hand and swords in the other, crying fanatical words while rushing to battle, horses and fire and a lady called Elizabeth who always waited, a dark-skinned vampire with no name biting his shoulder, hating him, making him pay for all eternity by stealing his dream of heaven. The visions and agony went on and on, a parade of lost souls seeking retribution. Finally the waves began fading. The sounds hushed.
“You’re all right. It’s over.” Julian knelt beside him, a sword in one hand, blood