old friend sitting on the floor next to a cross mounted on a stand. Elam strode up to him and set the beam just under Patrick’s eyes. “Send Sapphira and me,” Elam said. “We’ll find her.”
Patrick squinted at the light. “How? Won’t she be hidden?”
“I’ve been in Morgan’s prisons. I know how to get to them.”
Patrick picked up a lantern and climbed to his feet. Striking a match, he lit the lantern’s wick. “Where are they?”
“You have to go through portals, but I’m not sure which ones lead where anymore.” Elam turned off his flashlight. “We’ll have to experiment.”
“I will go.” Patrick’s tears glistened, reflecting the lantern’s flaming wick. “Just show me what to do.”
Elam shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t care about danger!” Patrick clenched Elam’s shoulder. “This is my daughter we’re talking about. She’s my only child, a child of prophecy.”
Elam laid his hand on Patrick’s and gently loosened the former dragon’s grip. “If she’s a child of prophecy, she’ll be protected. That’s why I’m more concerned about your safety than about hers.” He lowered Patrick’s hand. “Let me do it. I have a lot of experience.”
A loud grunt sounded from behind Elam. He spun around and caught a glimpse of a female stumbling through the portal window’s drapes. As she pulled the curtain aside, an eerie glow brightened her outline. She carried a fiery torch and waved her hand at it. “Lights out!” she commanded, and the fire disappeared.
Elam relit his flashlight and pointed it at her. The beam illuminated her white hair, and her eyes reflected the beam, bouncing it back with a blue tint. She lifted her hand, shielding her face.
“Sapphira!” Elam redirected his flashlight and strode toward her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m not ” She winced at the glow from Patrick’s lantern as he walked up to her.
Elam stepped in front of the lantern, casting a shadow across her face. “Why were you in there?”
“First of all, I’m not Sapphira. I’m Acacia. Second” she pulled up her pant leg, revealing a red, oozing wound on her ankle “I’m hurt, so I’d like to sit.”
“By all means.” Patrick helped her down to the floor. “I’ll fetch Paili and our medical bag.”
She sat cross-legged, obviously favoring one of her ankles. “I hope he hurries. I have something important to ask him.”
Elam stooped next to her. “Ask me. Maybe I know.”
“A tragedy is imminent. Do you know of anyone besides Shiloh who might be in danger?”
“No . . . No, I don’t.” Elam sat down and gazed at Acacia. In the glow of the portal, her white hair shimmered, and her eyes sparkled bluer than even Sapphira’s. “So,” Elam began, “uh . . . do you know where Sapphira is?”
“Sapphira and I were trying to find Shiloh.” She extended her wounded leg and rolled up her pant cuff. “One of Morgan’s serpents bit me, so Sapphira had to clean out the wound and send me home.”
“That looks nasty! You’re lucky to be alive!”
Loud footsteps closed in, followed by rapid breathing. Patrick rushed through the doorway, his lantern swinging in one hand and a medical bag dangling from the other. “To be visited by one oracle of fire is amazing enough,” he said, “but two in the same evening is quite a surprise.”
Acacia squinted at him. “Two?”
“That’s why Paili is delayed.” Patrick nodded toward the hallway. “She is speaking with Sapphira in the front den. Sapphira was just leaving, so Paili will be along shortly.”
“Sapphira? How can that be?”
“She said she heard about Shiloh being kidnapped, so she baked some fig cakes for Paili. Apparently they were her favorite treat many years ago.”
Acacia’s eyes flashed. “Don’t let her eat them!”
“What? Why?”
“That couldn’t have been Sapphira! She was with me! She didn’t bake any fig cakes!”
Elam leaped up and grabbed Patrick’s arms. “Paili’s in the front den?”
“Yes! Hurry!”
Elam sprinted from the room, his legs pumping so fast, he felt like he was flying. Careening around corners, he dashed down one hall, then another. Finally reaching the front of the house, he threw open the door to the den. There was Paili! Sitting by the fireplace! He lunged across the hardwood floor and slid on his knees up to her side.
He scanned her body. No sign of the fig cakes. Trying to slow his breathing, he gazed into her eyes. “Paili . . . I mean, Mrs. Nathanson. Are you all right?”
Tear tracks smudged her cheeks. She drooped her chin to her chest and shook her head. “Not