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The last of the blue-green glow faded Though Skye knew Bianca ht off the snow provided enough light at thefor her to see Balthazar’s outline, a broad, reassuring shadow She stepped toward hi both safety and comfort He remained utterly motionless

Her entire house had never seeh Skye kneo others were in the roo, so even the usual rushing sound of the breeze through the trees was absent The silence surrounding her was complete--

--so much that, fro, then a pop of metal onbecame shallow, she even heard the soft creak of the back door being opened

The Time Between: Interlude One

December 29, 1776

Trenton, New Jersey

IN ALL HIS MANY YEARS IN NEW ENGLAND, Balthazar had never knointer as bleak as this The snow lay on the frozen ground, nearly two feet thick, soft even weeks after falling because the sun had not provided enough warmth to melt any of it, however briefly, and create ice It muffled sound and made the terrain unfamiliar Roads and towns he had known for over a century were strangers to hirave disliked the snow Bloodstains showed too easily, as did their tracks

"And yet there’s nothing like a war for business," Redgrave said for the thousandth tied in front of the fire in the small inn where they’d taken up residence Between the foul weather and the nearby hostilities, Redgrave and his tribe were the only guests--and thank God "You’ll never eat your fill as often with less trouble than you will during warti fingers stroked through Charity’s fair curls as though she were his pet cat Balthazar’s gut churned; watching Redgrave touch his younger sister in that way had never ceased to disgust hih at least--after nearly a century and a half--Charity no longer flinched

"We should head south," Constantia said, leaning her head back against Balthazar’s chest He resisted the urge to push her away--that never worked, not for long, and defiance created ht of fashion--broad-skirted and bedecked with ruffles--and she’d even powdered her hair In this modest inn, with its beaten wooden benches and plain stone hearth, she looked as out of place as an eain so soon I’m sure of it We’ll have to travel farther afield if ant to keep feasting"

"Ready to see a bit rave crooned to Charity, who nodded obediently Her stare was unfocused, and the sleeve of her dress had fallen off her shoulder

Lorenzo’s feral grin widened as the bar a tankard of ale for the and pretty--coal-black curls and pluuests upstairs for a few coins exchanged quietly on the back stair Perhaps she was the innkeeper’s niece, or the daughter of a friend, Balthazar thought: a girl here to earn a bit of extra h to cheer guests who otherwise rumble about the cold rooh to teht in Lorenzo’s eyes before It meant pain, and death, and the crus

"Will you be wanting dinner?" the barht to have been She understood soroup; she was ht This stirred in hi more than pity It would have been better if she hadn’t knoas coht filling"

Lorenzo ran one finger along her forear suds onto the floor and h "We’ll eat our fill soon enough," Lorenzo said, to even louder laughter "You, my dear--I wish to write a poem about you"

Oh, God The subjects of all his vile poems were his worst murders Balthazar wished he hadn’t seen the vulnerability or innocence in the young barmaid’s face Then he would not have pitied her He tried to deaden hihtly less cruel--but he hadn’t succeeded, not yet

"What is your name?" Lorenzo asked "I must know your name, you see Ito escape but unable to, replied, "I’ "What in the world rhymes with Martha?" His Spanish accent hardened the th sound into a t

"Thank you, sir Good evening" The barmaid dropped a quick curtsy and hurried out No doubt she lived in a room on the premises No doubt Lorenzo would find her

You could find her You could warn her

Balthazar closed his eyes tightly, trying to silence the voice of compassion in his own heart

For the past 136 years, he’d drifted along in Redgrave’s wake He’d never stooped to Redgrave’s level-- from innocent humans for sheer pleasure--but little remained of the proud Puritan boy he’d been in life When he found huands or hteous vengeance he could muster; he kneever, that the pleasure he felt when he drank their blood was not righteous It was purely carnal During wartime, when they found the mortally wounded, he dispatched them quickly to the afterlife for what he tried to think of as their , he ate aniht him This was asmurderers and did not move to stop them