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Alessandra put a finger to her lips and pointed into the adjoining room with her other hand.

Birdie’s voice dropped. “Who knew of your Cheld, and they had quite a tale to tell.”

Her interest piqued, Alessandra accepted a chocolate biscotti from Birdie. In her funk, she’d completely forgotten about breakfast.

“So who did you talk to? What did they say?”

Birdie’s brow creased. “Before I tell you, I need to know. Have strange things still been happening to you? Toni said you no longer believe you’re in danger—”

“I’m not,” she said emphatically. “But yes, my ‘abilities’ have continued to manifest.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Birdie said, looking for customers. “Sit down. When the shop is empty, we need to talk.”

* * *

Kenton grippedthe iron railing in front of him, waiting for any sign of movement from the mansion next door.

It struck him, not for the first time, or even for the fiftieth, that perhaps the feud between their families would not run so deep had Alec, Lawrence’s older brother, been killed in battle.

But Alec’s traveling party had been attacked in a time of relative peace. Kenton’s kin had been blamed, and so it had all begun. Lawrence’s father had demanded bloodwite, which Kenton’s father had refused to pay, insisting on their family’s innocence.

And so a bitter and bloody conflict had broken out between the two families, one that had directly led to the curse.

The Cheld had brought them together again over the years—on opposite sides of the breach once more—and the enmity between the families remained as strong as ever, centuries after it had begun.

But Kenton was about to do something he’d never imagined—ask his enemy for help.

And so, when Lawrence walked out onto the wraparound front porch, Kenton ungripped his hands and descended the side stairs toward his enemy. There was no sign of Laria, which normally he would consider a good thing.

But not today.

Today, Kenton would take all of the help he could get.

“Chief,” he said, joining Lawrence.

Immediately suspicious of the moniker, which had been said deferentially rather than mockingly, Lawrence raised his brows.

“What are you up to, Morley?”

Oh, if his brothers could see him now. The words stuck in his throat, but he said them anyway. He said them for her.

“I need your help.”

As expected, Lawrence did not react at first. Poor Scot. He was likely too stunned to speak. Hundreds of years of animosity brewed under the surface of this meeting, and it would not be easily dissolved.

“We don’t need a truce to protect Alessandra,” Kenton added. He needed help, yes, but he did not wish to count Lawrence Derrickson among his few friends.

“Jesus, Kenton. Do you understand what you’re asking?”

Running his hands through his hair, Lawrence finally sat, picked up a white ceramic coffee mug, and drank.

Kenton sat beside him, hoping to diffuse the tension even further.

A blast from the train’s horn, the first departure of the day, reminded him of his interlude with Alessandra on the train car. He’d thought of little else since, aside from the fact that he was letting down everyone—his parents, his brothers—by coming here today.

“I do,” he said finally. He paused, then felt the need to add, “This does not mean I condone what you do. Allowing most of the Cheld to live threatens our existence.”

“How can you say that when you sit here asking for us to help protect Alessandra? What about her brother? Will you allow him to live as well?”