‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. Always. I’ve made no one happy. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note.
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