Page 35 of The Dragon and the Dove

A hum of disapproval. ‘If Lorena was still here, she’d tell you to drink a pitcher of water, go home to sleep and wake on the right side of your bed.’

But Theo’s mother was long dead, and the sadness in Paola’s eyes was a mirror of his own. His aunt was all he had left of her.

‘And what do you say?’

Leaning back on her stool, she considered her response. ‘I say we drink, dance a jig, and worry about it all tomorrow.’

Theo smiled, and reached for his glass.

‘To goodness,’ she said, clinking it against his.

‘To goodness.’

Not greatness.

Somewhere in the depths of his soul, that old voice laughed.

Chapter 8 Valerie

Valerie Doe slept like the dead. She always had – ever since she was a foundling left on the doorstep of House Armand eighteen years ago. She’d been sleeping when Madame Fontaine opened the front door and poked the wicker bassinet with her cane. And as she was carted up the winding stairwell of Cordelia Mercure’s private turret. And for the entire hour they stood there debating her fate.

She slept through howling gales and raging thunderstorms, through the constant ruckus of the Hollows and the nights when new foundlings woke screaming from their nightmares.

And yet, Val never dreamed.

When her head hit the pillow, the world disappeared. She liked it that way. Her mind emptying after a day of thieving from rich bastards with too much coin, larking about in the Hollows with Theo or Bibi, or, more recently, dodging the encroaching promise of death.

Every night, Val brushed out her generous curls, slathered on her face cream, donned an expensive pair of silk pyjamas and welcomed the oblivion of sleep.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, for the first time, Val dreamed.

She stood on the edge of a black pond, staring at her own reflection. The water stirred, and the vision – the one who wore Val’s face – reached up towards her. The surface broke, and a scattering of light danced across her face.

Her eyes shone gold, as bright as the crowning dawn.

She waggled her fingers at Val.

Sparks danced between them.

Take it, she said.

Val knelt by the pond.

Well, if you insist.

Their hands brushed, and something erupted in Val. It felt as though she had followed a firework. The feeling … the change … was almost too much too bear.

There came a sharp tug and then the world was ripped out from under her.

The black water crested—

And swallowed her whole.

‘Holy shit.’ Val hinged bolt upright. Head throbbing, shoulders as stiff as pinewood, she flung her hands out, fisting the tassels on her bedroom rug.

Not drowned.