“Madam Ghost,” he murmured, summoning back her spiraling mind. “Livia. We’ve an objective.”

She huffed out a startled laugh. “Now you become the voice of reason?”

“More proof that the world’s turned upside down.”

“You feel this, though. The power. The possibility.”

“I assuredly do.” Husky and low, his voice stroked through her.

They could be capable of a great many things together—powerful things, devastating things. Fortunate that her ghostly state created an impediment, for had she flesh, even his reasoning and gravity would not restrain her.

“Leo and Whit,” he said.

Yes—she and Bram must find them. “Say these words with me: kidbará kunu satu de. A locating spell from vast deserts of Sumer.”

He repeated the words, stumbling over the pronunciation. He said them again, the words smoothing out, and together, they began to chant. Their voices blended together, harmonizing in the darkness. The chant threaded around them, spinning outward, dissolving the walls of the chamber. The huge house faded, the street outside melted away, and the city itself dissipated like smoke in the rain.

Bram cursed.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at the bright mists now surrounding them. “This is the place of Ambitus, the In Between. The sphere through which all magic travels. The realm between life and death.” She gave a rueful laugh. “So long I’ve been in this place, but I’d forgotten that you are a stranger here.”

The Ambitus crackled with energy and potential. An eddying conduit of magic. Abstruse yet quick. That energy had been all that had sustained her during her long imprisonment. Yet it hadn’t been enough to keep her from madness.

He gazed around, wonder vivid in his lapidary eyes. “Are we still in London?”

“We are everywhere. The In Between encircles and permeates the world. It was here I existed after trapping the Dark One.” She couldn’t keep the tightness from her voice. Her old madness seemed to call to her from the haze.

He gazed at the mists surrounding them. “A thousand years here? But I thought this was the space through which one traveled.”

“Incantations break down the walls that divide one realm from the other. When one becomes adept at magic, the time spent here dwindles to nothing. It is merely a channel. But, in the beginning, it becomes a way station between the will to magic and its realization. And for me, it became my prison. Imprisoned between the worlds. Alone.”

He looked grim. “I’d not wish that on anyone.”

“It was a fitting punishment.”

“Let’s be gone from here,” he said, “and quickly.”

She struggled to calm herself and push back memories of her long captivity. “The spell has to continue. Keep chanting. As you do, think of Whit. Picture him in your mind. His face. His voice. Memories of him. Use them, link between you. Do not let go of this—if either of us becomes abstracted during this part of the spell, we’ll be trapped here.” She nodded toward the swirling mist. “You see them? The blighted and unwary. I was one of their number.”

He swore as flickering shapes in rough human form spun through the haze.

“There must be a way to free them from this place.”

“The Ambitus has no walls to demolish, no battlements to breach. Once trapped, there is nothing to be done, you remain here forever. Only my connection to you pulled me fully from its grasp. But with you here, I’d have no such anchor. We’d both be imprisoned.”

His expression darkened. “Then we’d bloody well better concentrate.” He closed his eyes tightly and resumed the chant.

She followed suit, allowing the words to infuse with power as she conjured Whit and the Gypsy woman, Zora, in her thoughts. Whit had no magic of his own, but Zora did—fire magic which Livia had bestowed upon her. Given the strength of the bond between Whit and Zora, they would be together. If Livia could locate Zora, Whit would surely be close by. She held fast to this, keeping the oblivion of the Ambitus at bay.

“There—you feel it?” A spark in the mists. The dancing flame of Zora, the steel resilience of Whit.

“It’s them,” Bram said.

“Focus on them. Your mind as sharp and direct as your sword.”

Feeling Bram’s energy surging through her, she guided them through the mists of the In Between. Fleeting impressions of fields, trees, twisting rivers, all rolling past, remote. A vertiginous sensation as distance collapsed in on itself. Bram hissed in another breath.

The folding of distance abruptly stopped. No longer did she and Bram stand in a chamber in his home, nor were they in the In Between. Now they stood upon the bank of a chattering stream, stands of alders beside the water. Moonlight sieved down through the branches. It touched upon the forms of a man and woman lying a small distance from the stream, and two horses hobbled nearby.

Relief coursed through Livia. They had done it—crossed the Ambitus without being trapped.

The man and woman lay upon a woolen blanket, another blanket draped over them, the woman on her side, the man snug behind her. His arm wrapped around her waist. One could not fit a coin between them, for they were pressed close to one another, as close as two could be shy of making love.

A hot, startling dart of longing pierced Livia. This was a union of hearts, of bodies, and utterly unknown to her.

Bram, too, stared down at the sleeping man and woman. His expression sharpened, his lips pressed together, forming a taut line.

When had he spent the whole night with a woman? Did he have any memories of sleeping beside his bed partner, holding her close? Waking with her? Was that even something he desired?

Only days ago, Livia would have said no. But seeing the flare in his eyes, the searching, she might have to reconsider.

But they weren’t here—wherever here was—to ponder the obscurities of intimacy.

“Whit,” she said.

Though she spoke barely above a whisper, Whit came instantly awake, his hand going straight to the curved sword beside the blanket. He sat up and unsheathed the sword with a single movement. Barely a moment later, Zora also wakened. She raised up, and the flames that sprang to life around her hands threw flickering light upon the trunks of the trees and the grassy riverbank. Both the nobleman and the Gypsy wore vigilant, fierce expressions.

Vigilance gave way to recognition as they both saw Livia. Yet wariness returned when they beheld Bram.

Whit stood and faced them. He was fully dressed, down to his boots. Ready to move at a moment’s notice. He did not lower his sword.

“Put your blade down,” Bram growled.

Whit fired back, “And be skewered on yours?”

“Take note.” Bram opened his hands. “I’ve no weapon on me.”

“Nor the means to use it, if you had one,” added Livia.

“We’re not truly here.”

Stepping forward gingerly, Zora cursed softly in her language. She and Whit finally noticed that not only was Livia translucent, Bram was, as well.

“Are you dead, too?” Zora asked.

“Not yet,” answered Bram.

“This is simple magic.” Though it had not truly been simple. She still felt the quicksilver energy of Bram’s psyche, resonant within her. “A means to find you.”

Caution continued to hone Whit’s expression. When Livia first encountered this mortal man, he had been swaddled in privilege, entrenched in the constant need to gamble, dissatisfied. Intelligent but unchallenged, possessing unrealized potential.

Much had changed between then and now. Like a sword upon the blacksmith’s anvil, Whit had been forged by fire into something sharp and strong. And the woman beside him, with fire dancing in her hands, held just as much strength.

Thank the gods and goddesses they were Livia’s allies.

“What do you want?” Whit’s gaze stayed fixed on Bram. Mistrust whetted the air between them. “Out reconnoitering for your master, Mr. Holliday?”