handed him the trowel. “But remember that I am quite capable of taking away everyone you have ever loved. Until you give me Shiloh, you will never have a moment’s rest.”
“There isn’t anyone else!” Patrick roared.
“Oh, no? How about young Markus? Or should I say, Elam? Without him, you would truly be friendless.”
Patrick clenched his teeth. A dozen retorts popped into his head, but any one of them could bring more danger to Elam. He pointed at the tor with his trowel. “Just . . . leave . . . me!”
“I’m going, but I’ll be back again with a report on Shiloh’s suffering. I’m sure you’ll want to hear all about it.” Morgan transformed into a raven and flew away, croaking as she circled overhead. “Your little tombstone will do no good, Valcor. The memory of Paili and Shiloh will fade into oblivion. They were little sparrows that no one cared for. . . . Just little sparrows.” The raven straightened its course and flew away.
He dropped to his knees again and dug frantically around the concrete marker. He sank it deep and packed dirt tightly around it. “Someone will remember Shiloh,” he said, grunting with every shove into the earth. “This stone will see to that.”
When he patted down the final clump, he read the inscription out loud. “Shiloh Nathanson, beloved daughter of Patrick and Paili Nathanson. Born 1948. Last seen at this tree on October 31, 1964.” He squinted at the carved numerals. “Nineteen forty-eight?” Moaning softly, he rolled his eyes upward. “The engravers got it wrong,” he whispered, shaking his head. “They got it wrong.”
Patrick laid a trembling hand on the tombstone. Hot tears welled in his eyes. Rubbing them away with a grimy knuckle, he sniffed hard and gritted his teeth. He couldn’t cry. Not yet. The battle for Shiloh had just begun.
Circa AD 1986
Gabriel glided through the maternity ward, eyeing the numbers on the doors as he passed. Finding room 1545, he slid under the door and re-expanded. With the lights dimmed, shadows obscured the faces of the two adults in the room, but it didn’t matter. Gabriel knew them immediately. Hannah and Timothy. Mother and Father. Twenty years of searching had led him to this hospital, and the computer in the basement pinpointed the room and included details about their baby Ashley, a daughter of dragons, a chance to redeem himself as a guardian.
He drifted toward his parents. Hannah lay in bed, nuzzling a swaddled infant with her smooth, ageless cheek. It made sense that her dragon genetics would keep her young. Easing closer to his father, Gabriel studied his wrinkle-free face. How had he maintained his youth? Becoming fully human should have started a normal aging process, but he didn’t look a day older than when he left for the States almost forty years ago.
Timothy leaned over the railing and gently pulled the baby’s slender arm from underneath her pink blanket. Cooing at his daughter, he placed his finger in her grasp. “Ashley!” he cried in mock pain. “What a strong grip you have!”
Lifting his energy field, Gabriel glided over the bed and gazed down at his new sister. “Ashley,” he said in his electrostatic voice. “I’m glad to meet you.”
Ashley’s eyes locked on his. Gabriel drew back. Did she hear his greeting? Could she see him now? No one but Sapphira had been able to see or hear him before. He floated to one side of the bed. Ashley’s gaze followed. He floated to the other side. Ashley followed him again.
Timothy cocked his head upward. “Is she looking at something?”
Gabriel shrank his energy field to the size of a baseball and drifted higher.
“That fly on the ceiling is all I can see,” Hannah said.
“Isn’t that unusual?” Timothy asked. “I thought babies couldn’t see so far away. Gabriel didn’t follow objects with his eyes until much later.”
Hannah sighed. “No . . . he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Timothy shook his head. “I’ll try to remember.”
“It’s okay. Hearing his name doesn’t hurt quite as badly as it used to.” Hannah turned Ashley’s face toward her and chirped in a suddenly cheerful voice. “You’re just a smart little girl, aren’t you?”
“Smart, yes,” Timothy said. “But . . .” His voice faded away.
Hannah took Timothy’s hand in hers. “Say what is on your mind, my husband. I will not be angry.”
Timothy squinted at her. “You sound like you did in the old days.”
“I spoke that way intentionally.” She rubbed her thumb along his knuckles. “Let us retrieve our