He took the book from her and saw his hands were shaking. Dear God, how he hated this. He looked down at the scrambled letters and heaved a huge sigh. What had she said about the consonants being vowels-and the u's were what? Pointers? "No, you must be tired too, Rosalind. There's no sense to be made of this."

"Bloody hell, you stubborn jackass, it is easy! Be quiet now and listen." She read slowly: "A river slices like a sharp blade through the Vale of Augur, narrow and deep and treacherous-"

Grayson jerked the book from her hands and scanned the page. "You made that up. I don't like you teasing me like this. This dream about Rennat, what you're pretending to read, no one could decipher that code so quickly. You should be writing the ghost novels, not I."

She laid her hand on his forearm. "Grayson, for whatever reason, the code translates itself to me instantly. I cannot explain it, but it's true."

He looked down at the book again. "There is no way you can make sense of that except-" He shook his head, thrust the book at her again. "All right, I'll transcribe what you say." And he began to write as she read.

"Smooth black stepping stones span the river like burned loaves of bread, but the stones reject a man's foot. That is because they are meant for the Tiber's hoof. A man may only dare to walk on the stones to cross the river when the three blood moons are full and have risen in concert over Mount Olyvan. Heed this rule or you will die."

She raised her head, and said, her voice thin as a thread,

"Grayson, what is this place? Three full blood moons that rise together over this Mount Olyvan?" She shivered. "I'm afraid." And she was-very afraid. She said slowly, "Nicholas knows about this. He said his grandfather owned a copy."

Grayson lifted her from the chair and pulled her against him, lightly stroking her back, something he'd done to soothe her since she was a terrified child newly arrived at Brandon House. "I don't understand this either. But whatever it is, you're right-Nicholas Vail is a part of it. But what I don't understand is, why was I the one to find this particular book? Why did the old man at the bookstall call to me and not to you? After all, you're the one who can read it, not I. I'm willing to wager you my new saddle that Nicholas can read it too. And what happened to that whistling old man and his bookstall? It's as if he was waiting for me to come, then poof!-gone. All I see in my mind now are leaves blowing in the wind, a few rotted boards. Fact is, I'm afraid too." He eased her back against his arms. "There is something very odd going on hare, but we will find out the truth of it, Rosalind. Now, I want you to read the book to me so that I may transcribe it while you read, all right?"

Suddenly she was excited, filled with energy, not fear. "Yes, of course I will. You know, Grayson, I'm thinking the old man showed the book to the right person." She turned to look a moment into the sluggish fire, nearly embers now. "Before I read more, let me tell you about my dream. I told you that Rennat the Titled Wizard of the East spoke to me."

"Yes, but-"

"Well, the thing is, I can't remember." And try as she might, she simply couldn't remember. "Grayson, I-" She stared up at him, helpless and mute. She was perfectly white now. "Why can't I remember? It's gone, the dream of Rennat, it's all gone now. And he was so clear to me, what he said, all of it-now it's just gone."

Grayson was suddenly scared to his feet. "What the devil is happening here?"

"I don't know." She pulled away and slammed her palms against her head. "I have a great memory. Why, I can remember that girl's name you took to the barn loft that July afternoon-Susie Abercrombie."

He stared at her with a fascinated eye. "You shouldn't know about that," he said slowly. "I was very careful, since my mother always knew all." They were both silent for a while. Grayson picked up the book. "Perhaps I should burn this damned thing."

She grabbed his hand. "No, oh, no, you can't. There is something here, Grayson, something that places you and me and Nicholas in the middle of something. We don't know what that something is right now, but we'll find out, you'll see. We must speak to Nicholas."

She didn't know where it came from, but she felt a smile on her face. Then the wild energy left her. She felt empty and so tired she could sleep on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

She heard Grayson say as if from a great distance, "You're right, we do need to speak to Nicholas Vail. I'm praying with all my might he'll have some ideas about how to proceed. We can send him a message first thing in the morning. You look very tired, Rosalind. Enough of this."

She said, "You don't want to wait, I can see it, you want to run all the way to Nicholas's house-no, he's staying at Grillon's Hotel. I'd like to run right along beside you, but I'm so tired, Grayson."

Grayson touched his fingers to her white cheek. "We will figure this out, trust me. Until tomorrow. Come, I'll walk you up."

Rosalind paused on the step, looking back down at him. He was cradling the book in his arms. She said, "Yesterday I was only concerned about the ball at Pinchon House, wearing the new gown Uncle Douglas ordered for me, dancing with at least three dukes, but now-everything is backwards and upside down now. I feel like we've strayed into the pages of one of your novels, Grayson."

Backwards and upside down, things you would say to children in the nursery, Grayson thought.

They parted at the top of the stairs, Grayson to his bed-room, the book now pressed tightly against his chest. Rosalind watched him until he paused at his bedroom door, looked back at her, and gave her a small salute.

Rosalind slipped into had and fell immediately asleep. There were no more dreams. She slept soundly until Matilde, whose plentiful bosom was the envy of every female servant in Sherbrooke town house, shook her awake the following morning. "Miss Rosalind, come on now, it's time to wake up."

Rosalind's eyes flew open, suddenly aware that light flooded in on her from the window, and she shot up in bed. "Oh, goodness, what time is it, Matilde?"

"Going toward ten o'clock, Miss Rosalind. Mrs. Sophie told me to see if you were ill. I told her you were never ill, you did not even understand what it was like to suffer colds like J do, endlessly. I told her-"

Rosalind threw back the covers. "Yes, yes, Matilde. I understand. Have you seen Master Grayson?"

Matilde crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "He went out early, just as soon as he'd fed the last bit of bacon to that racing kitten of his, didn't tell anyone where he was going, at least that's what I heard Mr. Willicombe tell Mrs. Fernley."

Rosalind paused. "Did you notice if he was carrying anything, Matilde?"

Matilde, whose secret ambition was the stage, struck a pose, fingertips tapping her chin in rhythm with her tapping toe, eyes narrowed in deep thought. "Yes, there was a wrapped package beneath his right arm. Sly, Master Grayson was about it, and ever so protective."

She'd just hat he was furtive. Curse him, he hadn't waited for her, he'd gone by himself to see Nicholas. She would kill him.

Matilde said, "I heard Mrs. Fernley tell Mr. Willicombe that Master Grayson knocked at least three times on your door early this morning, but you were nestled in the wings of the angels."

Well, that was something, but not enough. She was still going to hurt him.

Rosalind was pacing the drawing room an hour later, alternately grinding her teeth and looking at the clock on the mantel. Where the devil was Grayson?

The Rules of the Pale -she wanted to read it before Nicholas did. Small of her, she knew, but somehow she simply knew deep down that she had to be the one to read it, and very soon now or-or what? She didn't know.