Christina Dodd’s

The Chosen Ones

STONE ANGEL

A novella of the Chosen Ones

By Christina Dodd

& Audrey Shaw

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Christina Dodd &

Audrey Shaw

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this work may be

reproduced in any fashion without

the express, written consent of the

copyright holder.

Stone Angel

is a work of fiction. All

characters and events portrayed

herein are fictitious and are not

based on any real persons living or

dead.

The Legend of the Chosen Ones

"Long ago, when the world was

young…" a gorgeous and vain

woman abandoned her children, a

boy and a girl — twins with hideous

birthmarks — to the river and the

forest to meet their deaths. Instead,

they became the first of the

Abandoned

Ones,

gifted

with

abilities that could save the world …

or end it.

The boy was marked with a

sinister tattoo and given the gift of

fire, and he gathered others around

him with similar gifts to become the

Chosen Ones — seven men and

women who became a powerful

force of light in a dark world.

The girl had the mark of an eye

on the palm of her hand and

became a seer. She turned to the

devil, gathering six other gifted ones

to her. They became the Others,

bringing darkness and death to the

world.

The Chosen Ones and the Others

have fought for centuries for the

hearts and souls of the Abandoned

Ones.

All around the world, that battle

goes on today …

CHAPTER ONE

SHE COULD hear them singing.

Ignoring the mythical, musical

stones around her wrist, Charisma

Fangorn concentrated on the difficult

task ahead of her — soundly beating

the other Chosen Ones at Trivial

Pursuit.

It was winter in New York. The

Chosen Ones were cozy in Irving

Shea’s mansion in the Upper East

Side. And all was quiet on the

streets. Too quiet, Caleb D’Angelo

said in an ominous voice, but his

wife Jacqueline hushed him, and

told him to cherish these moments,

because it would get interesting

soon enough. Jacqueline was a seer,

so everyone listened and obeyed.

Aaron Eagle was to Charisma’s

right, trying to keep a straight face

while reading her the question on

the next Trivial Pursuit card. He

finally managed to ask, "Is Uranus

visible to the naked eye?"

Samuel

Faa

dissolved

into

laughter.

Charisma sighed.

Boys

.

She exchanged an eye-roll with

Isabelle Mason Faa.

The four of them were gathered

around the gaming table in the

center of the library, each of them

perched in dark mahogany chairs

with

beautifully

patterned,

but

highly uncomfortable seat cushions.

Charisma hadn't been able to

feel her bottom for twenty minutes

now.

A few days ago, during a game

of rummy, they had tried sitting in

the plush, midnight blue chairs that

normally surrounded the fireplace.

Not only did they receive a

withering glare from McKenna,

butler extraordinaire, for scooting

furniture across the solid wood

floors, but they were sitting so low,

Charisma had to balance on a stack

of ancient tomes to see the table.

Personally, she thought they

should buy a card table and some

folding metal chairs, but at the

suggestion, McKenna had reacted

with such horror, she shut up and

decided the torturous mahogany

chairs worked just fine .

So here they were, back to the

hard-as-rocks seats, trying to earn

Trivial Pursuit wedges, their legs

tingling from the lack of blood flow.

The rest of the Chosen Ones,

along with their loved ones, were

arrayed about the room, enjoying

the fire while a blizzard roared

through the New York streets.

Rosamund Hall was sequestered

in the window seat, leaning against

overstuffed mustard-colored pillows

and simultaneously reading and

pouting. Her husband, Aaron, had

said she couldn't join the game of

Trivial Pursuit because she knew all

the answers. So instead, she was

reading

a

huge

leather-bound

volume that looked from where

Charisma was sitting like it said

something about physics. Since

Honors Physics class had made

Charisma's senior year of high

school a nightmare, she vowed not

to ask Rosamund what she was

reading about today.

If she did, Rosamund would tell

her.

And good manners had their

limits.

Charisma turned to glance at

Jacqueline and Caleb D ‘Angelo,

playing Uno in front of the fireplace.

Jacqueline's porcelain skin was

flushed, as much from the fire's

warmth as from the look that Caleb

was giving her. They had been

married for over two years, and

they were still googly-eyed around

each other.

John and Genny Powell were

shooting pool … badly. At least

Charisma assumed it wasn’t going

well since they hadn’t re-racked the

balls for over a half hour. But then

again, it’s hard to finish a game

when

you’re

busy

making

innuendo-laced comments every five

seconds.

The only member of the Chosen

Ones

absent

from

their

little

gathering was Aleksandr Wilder.

None of them had seen him since a

few days ago when he had jumped

out of their cab to get married at the

courthouse.

At least, that’s what he had said

he was doing.

But none of the Chosen Ones

but Charisma had met the bride, and

Alex had been so secretive of late.

And everyone had been stung by

the fact that not one of them,

presumably his best friends after

nearly three years of living and

fighting in close quarters, had been

invited to his special day.

More worrisome, none of his

family

had

been

there.

And

Aleksandr was close to his family.

Nothing about this felt like

Aleksandr; it wasn’t like him to be a

selfish jerk. But Charisma had

decided

she

needed

to

stop

worrying about the fact he hadn’t

returned to the mansion or called.

She supposed he was on his

honeymoon, and she would ignore

how oddly annoyed that made her

feel.

Probably she suffered from the

loneliness that comes from being the

only uncoupled Chosen One. She

really was going to have to do

something about her lack of a mate,

as much for the sake of Jacqueline’s

prophecy (which said each of the

Chosen had to find a mate before

their

true

powers

would

be

released) as for her own sanity.

Living in the Mansion of True Lu-ove

could really wear on a single

person’s nerves.

Charisma sighed and turned

toward Irving Shea and his nurse,

Amanda Reed.

Amanda sat in a velvety blue

chair, reading to Irving from

To Kill a

Mockingbird

, and the old man and

the young woman were a study in

contrasts.

Irving was almost a hundred

years old, confined to a wheelchair,

one of the first black CEOs of a

major corporation in America.

Amanda was slender, pretty

and blond, and her appearance,

combined with her profession, made

her seem to the casual observer to

be soft and gentle. That was, until

the casual observer looked into her

stern gray eyes and realized this

woman could have brought the

Roman Empire to its knees. During

the time she had been with Irving,

she had made no friends among the

Chosen Ones, allowed no trouble in

her handling of her patient, and

even faced off with their cook,

Martha — and won.

Of course, when it came to

Irving and his precarious health, she

was always right, and tonight she

seemed to be lulling him to sleep

with her soft voice.

It was working, too. Irving was

nodding off, yet every once in a

while, he would stop Amanda and

ask her to repeat a passage.

To Kill a Mockingbird

was one

of his favorite novels, and when he

was feeling up to it, he liked to tell

the Chosen Ones about the time that

he met Harper Lee at a luncheon.

The part Charisma always enjoyed

the most was his description of the

food: devilled eggs, fried chicken,

and butter cake.

Irving's love of food nearly

matched Charisma's own. After he

had shown her the section of the

library

filled

with

cookbooks,

including a signed first edition of

Julia Childs's "Mastering the Art of

French Cooking," she had spent

hours poring over the recipes, tips,

and step-by-step instructions for

how to truss a chicken properly. Not

that she was ever going to get to try

it out, since Martha kept such a strict

eye on the mansion's enormous,

pristine kitchen.

As if on cue, Martha with her

usual stern look and tightly braided

gray hair came through the door

with a cart carrying what was

referred to as "high tea" by Irving

and "an amazingly filling midday

meal" by the Chosen Ones. After a

week of Martha's meals, if not for

the well-equipped gym in Irving's

basement, Charisma and the rest of

the Chosen would be plump. Maybe

even rotund.

Going to the sideboard, Martha

set up cranberry scones with heavy

Devonshire cream, tiny smoked

salmon

and

cream

cheese

sandwiches, cubes of raw sugar,

yellow thistle honey, and heavy red

ceramic mugs of steaming Earl Grey

tea.

The fine china had been retired

after Rosamund knocked a priceless,

hand-painted tea cup onto the floor

a

few

months

ago,

spraying

chamomile tea and shards of china

across a corner of the Aubusson

carpet. Martha's perfectly contained

wrath had brought Rosamund to

tears, and Aaron had had to take

her upstairs to "comfort" her.

Charisma turned back to the

game,

ignoring

the

insistent

humming of her stone bracelet. The

trouble with having a magic bracelet

was — sometimes it mumbled. Right

now, she knew her stones were

fussing about something to do with

Osgood. But what? And why was

this news?

Osgood was always trouble.

Always. She needed more

direction

.

Osgood wasn’t the biggest bad

guy, strictly speaking. That honor

belonged to the devil, and the

Chosen were doing their best to

keep him from grasping the Earth in

his hands. But it was pretty clear to

Charisma and the rest of the Chosen

Ones that Osgood was the devil’s

vessel, possessed and given power

for

the

express

purpose

of

eradicating the Chosen Ones and

descending the world and all of its

inhabitants into hell.

After the destruction of the

Gypsy Travel Agency, along with

most of the former Chosen Ones and

almost all of their resources, the

current Chosen Ones were the last

line of defense in an epic battle.

Times like this, when the Chosen

could relax and enjoy each others’

company, were getting fewer and

much farther between.

So Charisma gave the ridiculous

question about Uranus her best

fifty/fifty guess since she wasn’t an

astronomy buff.

"No?" she guessed.

“Yes!” Aaron said in triumph.

“You need dark skies and good star

charts, as it is very faint, but it is

visible with the naked eye.”

“Well,

excuse

me!” Charisma

said.

“We are talking about the

planet, right?” Samuel asked.

Isabelle sighed. “You just can’t

let it go, can you? Honestly, Samuel,

you act like you’re five years —

Charisma, what’s wrong

?”

Charisma clapped her hands

over her ears. The stones at her

wrist shrieked a warning.

Uno cards hit the floor.

Jacqueline screamed.

Message delivered, the warning

from the stones slowly faded.

For Jacqueline writhed on the

floor, immersed in a vision that

swept her from the real world and

into sepia-toned foreboding.

Caleb sat, trying to hold himself

back from jumping to her rescue. As

if he could…

The Chosen Ones watched,

riveted, as Jacqueline rose from the

carpet and blindly reached out as

though to stop something awful

from happening. Her eyes were

blank; for long moments, she

swayed as if she was moving in the

wind. “No,” she whispered. “No!”

Everyone in the library crept

forward, hushed in anticipation of

what her vision would reveal.

Then, as suddenly as it had

come, Jacqueline blinked, her face

cleared … and she was herself once

more.

The vision was over.

Caleb stood quickly, gathering

her into his arms.

Irving, still pale, but now

completely alert, said, "Perhaps,

dear, you'd like to share the vision

with us while it's still fresh in your

mind."

Jacqueline sagged, leaning on

Caleb for strength. "I can tell you

what I observed, but I don't know

what it means. I just … I don’t know

what it means."

“You never do,” Samuel said.

Isabelle elbowed him hard

enough to make him go, “

Oof

.”

“I know, Samuel. I’m sorry, but

those seem to be the rules.”

Jacqueline trembled from the force

of the vision. "Listen and see if you

can understand what I saw.”

“Give it to me. Let me see what

I can do.” Samuel might be a jerk,

but Charisma would give him one

thing — he was a willing jerk who

tried his best.

“I

was

in

a

mansion,”

Jacqueline said, “filled with statues.

Horrible white plastered statues of

people with terrified expressions on

their faces.”

“Like the people we saw

trapped and dying in the walls of

Osgood’s

skyscraper?”

Isabelle

asked.

“Not exactly. I mean, I knew

that at one time these statues were

people, but I don’t know if they’re

frozen or asleep or cursed. I walked

through an entry and then through

wide double doors, and I was in

some sort of workshop. There were

sculpting tools and buckets of

plaster. And standing at the work

table in the center of the room was

a man holding a hammer and

speaking to one of the statues.”

Jacqueline turned pale, and covered

her mouth and breathed slowly as if

trying to contain her nausea.

“Except this statue was of a young

girl, and it wasn't covered in plaster.

It wasn’t white, and she had tears

running down her cheeks. Her arm

was stretched out as if she was

trying to reach something, or

someone.”

In her mind, Charisma could see

the scene, and it made her want to

put her back against the wall. “That

is so eerie.”

Reasonable

as

always,

Rosamund pushed her tortoiseshell

glasses up her nose and asked,

“What did the man look like? Is he

one of the Others? If I have a good

enough description, I can do some

research and figure out what we’re

up against.”

“He was handsome. Tall, with

wavy chestnut brown hair and an

elaborate tattoo of a tiger along his

right arm. ” Jacqueline looked at the

champagne-colored gloves she used

to cover up the matching eye-

shaped tattoos on her palms. “Since

we, and the Others, all have marks

of some sort, I would say it’s a good

bet he’s one of …

them

.”

“Sounds

like

we

have

a

winner,” Samuel said.

“Anyway, he said to the statue,

Your sister better hurry up because

Osgood has given her three days to

bring us the old man, or I get to

smash you into little bits

. He

sounded furious, and he waved that

hammer around the whole time.”

Jacqueline swallowed. “What do

you think it means?"

The Chosen Ones looked at her,

equally dumbfounded, and worried.

If Osgood had a hand in this, it was

trouble.

Charisma was trying to piece

together the puzzle of who the

young girl was when she realized

that Irving's nurse, Amanda, was

softly sobbing behind her.

As the Chosen turned to look at

her in surprise, Irving gently leaned

to where she sat crumpled on the

floor,

To Kill a Mockingbird

flung to

the

side.

He

pressed

his

handkerchief into her hand. "My

dear, don’t you think it’s time you

told us the truth?"

“The truth?” Charisma muttered.

What truth

?

Lifting her tear-stained face to

the group, Amanda nodded, and

swallowed, and nodded again. "I

know

what

Jacqueline's

vision

means. It means if I don't deliver

Irving to the Others in three days,

my sister will be killed."

CHAPTER TWO

NOW THEY hated her. The Chosen

Ones all hated her.

Amanda had done everything in

her power to avoid getting fond of

the Chosen Ones. She had no choice.

She faced hell every day and she

could never allow herself a moment

of joy or kindness or friendship.

Now here she was, having a

weeping fit on their floor while they

stared at her as if she was a tick

they’d discovered after a walk in

the woods … sucking their blood.

It was true, too. She was exactly

that kind of bloodsucker. She was

the worst kind of human … yet

what else could she do?

If she didn’t do as the Others

demanded, her sister would die.

If she did, honor and decency

would suffer, and on the day she

departed this life, she would face a

judgment both terrible and just.

Amanda could feel her eyes

welling up again. Holding Irving's

handkerchief to her face, she sobbed

unrestrainedly.

Isabelle was the first to gather

her thoughts enough. "Amanda,

could you please clarify for us. Your

sister is being held by the Others in

the form of a statue?”

Ashamed and defiant, Amanda

nodded.

“Why?" Isabelle asked.

Amanda was shaken, not just

by Jacqueline's vision and what it

foretold, but also by having the

attention of every person in the

room on her … except for Martha,

who in the manner of someone who

had seen and heard too much to be

surprised anymore, laid out the tea

on each individual plate.

As if sensing the disturbance,

Irving's

butler,

McKenna,

came

through the door and calmly joined

her, making murmured serving

suggestions that made her brown

eyes flash with irritation.

“Go on, child,” Irving urged

Amanda. “Tell us the whole story.”

Amanda

nodded,

but

she

couldn’t look at him. Of all the

people she had betrayed, it was him

who would have suffered most from

her treachery.

“Let me … let me start at the

beginning.” So long ago. So far

away. “First of all, you should know

that I am fifteen years older than

my sister, Sophia, and I'm her only

guardian. Our parents left soon after

she was born because … because

they were frightened by the strange

mark on of her arm."

"What

was

the

mark?"

Rosamund asked.

"It looks like a tattoo, a perfectly

formed lily. It reaches across her

back." Amanda sighed shakily. "I

remember my parents bringing her

home from the hospital. They were

in shock. They said it wasn't natural.

They stayed for few months. They

wanted to abandon Sophia. When I

refused

to

leave

her,

they

abandoned both of us.”

“Great folks,” Aaron said,

sotto

voce

.

Amanda couldn’t pretend she

didn’t hear him. She was done with

pretending. “Yes, they cowered at

every

portent,

believed

every

televangelist, looked for omens and

ran from their responsibilities the

first chance they got. They were not

admirable people, and my DNA is

nothing to brag about. But I loved

that baby, and I didn’t tell anybody

my parents were gone. I’d been

working summers for three years—”

Genny interrupted. “You were

too young to work.”

“I was too young to work

legally

,” Amanda corrected.

The Chosen Ones looked at each

other, and nodded their heads or

shook them.

They had all been abandoned,

too, and Amanda would bet some of

them had worked as children, too.

She continued, “My family was

already on welfare, which made it

easier for me to fool the system and

keep food on the table. I used my

college savings to pay for Sophia’s

daycare so I could finish high school,

and after I graduated I worked

nights to put myself through nursing

school. Sophia was totally worth it.

She was bright and sweet-natured,

and I knew I had done the right

thing when I took her as my own."

Amanda felt the glow of pride at her

sister's accomplishments, and her

own.

The Chosen Ones circled her.

She supposed they weren’t

trying to be threatening — well,

maybe Caleb and Samuel — but they

made her ever more nervous.

"Anyway, when Sophia turned

eleven, the tattoo, well, I guess it

bloomed. It had always been a

closed bud along her forearm. But

that year, it grew and changed until

it seemed to be a full-fledged

flower."

Rosamund

pulled

out

a

notebook and a pencil from behind

her ear, and took notes so intently

Amanda knew she wanted to rush

to one of the books on the shelves

and find the specific meaning of

flower

tattoos

among

the

Abandoned Ones.

Amanda continued haltingly, "I

was in a … um … relationship. And I

wasn't paying enough attention to

Sophia. I know that now. I got

caught up with the one man who

hadn't run away when I said I was

raising my sister.”

Isabelle and Genny nodded

their heads in understanding.

"He led them right to me. The

Others." At the memory of how she

had been betrayed, Amanda’s face

flushed with humiliation and rage.

Aaron’s eyes grew cold.

Irving's lips pressed into a thin,

pale line.

John

asked

the

question

hanging in the air, the answer to

which they all probably already

knew. “So Sophia has a gift. What is

it? Why did the Others want her?”

Amanda

faced

him.

"She's

always been able to create small

force fields. She used to do it when

she was a baby and didn't want me

to take a toy away from her. But as

she grew older, the force fields

became stronger, larger. She could

control them, put them up at will. I

should have known someone would

notice.” She paused to collect herself.

“I should have known no one would

love me without an ulterior motive."

“That’s

dramatic,”

Charisma

said coldly.

Amanda matched her stare for

stare. “Is it? Have you ever been in

love?

Have

you

ever

been

betrayed?”

Charisma’s gaze faltered, and

she stepped back. “No.” She shook

her head slightly. “No, not like that.”

“I figured.” As Amanda thought

o f

him

, she could feel the anger

rising in her, the familiar surge of

pain and hatred. She tamped it back

down, knowing it would do her no

good to show the Chosen her

weaknesses.

She needed to make them

understand.

She needed their help.

“After the Others took Sophia,

they told me I would be placed here,

in Irving’s home. They wanted me to

use my abilities as a nurse to get

access to Irving and to all of you. I

was to report back each week with

information about the Chosen Ones

and especially Irving’s movements.”

McKenna’s shoulders stiffened.

He

was

known

for

his

protectiveness of Irving, and he

probably wanted to throw Amanda

out a window right about now.

She wouldn’t really blame him.

But she couldn’t blame herself,

either.

“And

to

ensure

my

compliance, Sophia would be kept

frozen, a statue in the Sculptor’s

home.” She choked on the last

words.

“That’s … horrible.” Samuel’s

dark eyes were wide and appalled,

and he reached for Isabelle’s hand

and held it as if he needed support,

or wanted to assure himself she was

still there, and with him.

“Frozen? In his home?” Genny

looked as horrified as Samuel.

“She’s still a kid. This is the most

heartless…” She seemed to struggle

for words.

John hugged her shoulders.

And as Amanda looked around

the room, she realized that, although

they didn’t know her sister, the

horror of it hurt them all. After so

much anguish and secrecy, the

knowledge that they shared her

loathing for the Sculptor and his

despicable actions allowed her her

first free, full breath in two months.

“The Sculptor will keep her prisoner

for as long as it takes for me to …

to…”

“Deliver me into their hands?”

Irving asked.

“Yes.”

Amanda

looked

apologetically at Irving, slumped in

his wheelchair and chilled even with

the heat from the fire washing over

him. “I’m not even sure why the

Others want you. You’re not

someone they should be frightened

of.”

“And yet they are. What does

that tell you?” John looked grimly

satisfied.

Irving saluted John. “Thank you,

my boy. And Amanda — old and sick

as I am, I have knowledge the

Others wish to gain, and strength

the Others wish to emulate.”

“If

only

they

had

your

courage.” John half-smiled, and

saluted Irving in return.

“The Others wish to take the

heart out of us. For what would we

do without our mentor?” Charisma

moved forward to gently squeeze

Irving’s arthritic hands.

“So

the

Sculptor

is

your

contact?” Caleb watched Amanda

intently, and his eyes were several

degrees chillier than anyone else’s.

“No.

I

report

to

Liam

Gallagher.” Amanda tasted the

slow, familiar burn of fury and

humiliation. “He’s an Other.

The

Other. The one who romanced me.

The one who betrayed my sister’s

location to the Sculptor.”

Charisma snorted. “Nice to see

this Sculptor fellow has a sense of

humor.”

“Yes, because humorless bad

guys are just the worst,” Aaron said

sarcastically.

Irving waved them into silence.

“What information have you

told them?” Caleb asked.

Amanda tried to contain her

rising fear that the Chosen, normally

so reasonable, would hurt her now.

After all, they had trusted her with

Irving, their source of wisdom and

support,

both

financial

and

emotional.

Yet surely they understood the

bonds of blood, kin and sisterhood.

Surely they did.

“I tried always to tell the Others

the truth, although never a truth

that could do you harm,” Amanda

said. “I told them that Isabelle and

Samuel had chosen each other as

mates, but I supposed they would

know that anyway since you went

to Osgood’s building. I’ve kept them

apprised of Irving’s rehabilitation,

and

done

whatever

they’ve

suggested to ease his pain and

hasten his recovery. They are

anxious for him to get well enough

to leave the mansion. I suspect they

intend to snatch him the first time he

goes outside.”

“And you wouldn’t stop them

because they would retaliate by

killing your sister,” Genny added the

part everyone was thinking.

“Yes,” Amanda agreed.

Silence descended.

The fire flickered.

Martha tapped on the teapot.

Finally, Charisma broke the

silence. “Blackmail is a bitch.”

Nods

and

murmurs

of

agreement circulated around the

group.

Amanda let out a little of the

breath she’d been holding. Maybe

they wouldn’t kill her for being a

turncoat after all. She steeled herself

and gazed at Irving, who had been

mostly silent, staring into the fire,

thinking.

Leaning close so she was face-

to-face with him, she said, “Irving,

I’m sorry I lied to you and betrayed

your

confidential

medical

information. I am so truly sorry. But I

need your help.”

CHAPTER THREE

IRVING

ATTEMPTED

to

sit

up

straighter, and Amanda moved

instinctively to help him. In the slow,

halting way he had spoken since his

accident, he said, “No one can blame

you for doing whatever you could

to get your sister back. No one

understands the importance of

family and love more than an old

man who has no family at all.”

Reaching out an unsteady hand, he

grasped Amanda’s cold fingers,

warming her with his sincerity.

He wasn’t angry at her. Thank

God, for he had been far kinder to

her than her own parents. “Thank

you, Irving.” Amanda had never

meant anything more in her life.

Rosamund adjusted her glasses

and, tactless as always, said,

“You’ve always been so severe, so

unsmiling. It’s nice to know you had

a good reason.”

“Sit down here and tell me

what I can do to help you get your

sister

back.”

Irving

gestured

Amanda into the chair beside him.

“I’m afraid I’m not much good for a

rescue mission.”

The joke seemed to diffuse the

last of the tension in the room.

The

Chosen

Ones

seated

themselves

around

Irving

and

Amanda.

Martha set up a small end table

next to Irving to hold his tea service,

while McKenna handed around tea

and plates of goodies.

Then all eyes fixed on Amanda,

and she started talking. And pacing.

“I’ve been thinking and thinking.

Every night, while I’ve been awake,

I’ve been trying to make a plan, a

plan to get Sophia back.” She shook

her head. “It’s not good, but since

according to Jacqueline’s vision, I

only have three days to save

Sophia, it’ll have to do.”

Irving nodded encouragingly as

he stirred sugar and a small amount

of milk into his Earl Gray.

It always struck Amanda that

she wished she liked the idea of tea

because Irving made it seem like a

beautiful afternoon tradition. But she

didn’t like tea, which seemed like

nothing more than a concoction of

soggy leaves and hot water.

As if reading her mind, Martha

handed her a can of ice-cold Coke

with the tab popped.

Amanda gave Martha a look of

gratitude – her hands were shaking

so violently that she couldn’t have

dealt with opening it herself. She

took a long gulp, feeling the caffeine

and sugar enter her system, relaxing

her. “Each week on my day off —

Sunday — I meet my contact at a

different location.”

“So you’re due to meet this

Liam Gallagher tomorrow,” Isabelle

said.

“Right. So — my plan is that first,

I meet my contact and force him to

help me. Next, we’ll infiltrate the

Sculptor’s house. Finally, we’ll steal

my

sister

back.”

Amanda

emphasized each point by ticking it

off on her fingers.

The Chosen Ones stared at her.

Genny shot the first question at

her. “How are you going to force

this Liam to help you?”

Amanda sank into a chair. “I

haven’t quite settled that yet.”

Caleb asked, “How are you

going to get into the Sculptor’s

house? Liam will just meekly lead

you in, no muss, no fuss?”

“There could be problems, yes,”

Amanda acknowledged.

“My vision was of course

incomplete, but the Sculptor seemed

to me to be a powerful man, a

magician or a witch with close

connections to Osgood.” Jacqueline

shook her head wearily.

“I wonder if I could sneak into

the house and do something,” Aaron

mused. He was a talented thief;

when needed, he could become a

wisp of smoke and breach any lock.

“And if they caught you,”

Amanda said, “what would happen

to Sophia?”

“The trick is to not let them

catch me,” Aaron said.

“Jacqueline just said it. The

Sculptor is a powerful magician. I’ve

been in there. In his mansion.”

Amanda shivered. “I assure you, he

has spells to protect himself and his

home. You don’t know if you could

get in the door, much less maintain

your camouflage. If I thought I could

have had any of you help me, by

now, I would have told you the

truth. I would have asked. I think if

one of the Chosen Ones stepped

foot through the door, an alarm

would go off within all of Osgood's

organization

and

you’d

be

surrounded by his goons and

captured.”

“So how will you steal your

sister?” Genny asked.

“I don’t know. But I have to at

least

try

. If I can make it through

step one, convincing Liam, then the

rest will fall in place.” Uncertainly,

Amanda added, “At least, I hope it

will.”

“Okay.” Caleb folded his arms

over his chest. “Convince me.”

“Liam’s power is the ability to

change into the form of another

person,” Amanda said. “All he has to

do is touch them.”

“Oo!” Rosamund started taking

notes

again.

“Very

interesting.

Although not unique, shape-shifting

is still one of the greater gifts.”

Amanda stood again. Paced to

the fireplace and back. “So I’m

going to have him turn into Irving.”

A moment of silence. Then all

around her, heads nodded.

“Ohhhh,

awesome

plan,”

Charisma marveled.

“It will look as though you’re

handing him over to the Others.”

John crossed his arms over his

broad chest and leaned back in his

chair, looking satisfied.

“Liam changes back into himself

once you’re in the house?” Aaron

asked.

“Once I have Sophia,” Amanda

corrected. “I don’t want to run any

risk of the Sculptor killing her when

he realizes that Liam isn’t Irving.”

“That only leaves one question.”

Amanda could almost see the

wheels turning in Rosamund’s head

as she calculated the likelihood of

the plan working and any loopholes

that could cause problems. “And it’s

kind of a big one.”

“What’s that, honey?” Aaron

asked.

Rosamund turned her violet

eyes on Amanda. “How

are

you

going to force Liam to help you?”

Everyone buzzed with ideas.

Irving’s

halting

voice

cut

through the room. “She’s going to

offer him more money than he could

imagine.”

Amanda promptly picked up the

thread. “I don’t know. I’m sure he

can imagine quite a bit.”

Conversation came to a halt.

Amanda looked around. “What?

You’re surprised I can recognize a

quote from

Star Wars

?”

Jacqueline

examined

her

thoughtfully. “I guess I never figured

you for the role of Princess Leia.”

“Better hope Liam is good

enough to play the role of Han Solo,

or it’s the garbage compactor for us

all,” Samuel said.

Aaron smacked him across the

back of the head.

Samuel flinched away.

Isabelle elbowed him in the gut.

Samuel

said,

“Oof!”

and

clutched his belly.

Amanda wouldn’t have thought

it possible, but she grinned.

Samuel’s eyes were watering,

but he winked at her. “Don’t worry,

princess. You’re going to do just

fine.”

CHAPTER FOUR

AMANDA WRAPPED her coat more

snugly around herself and walked

briskly down the stairs of Irving’s

mansion.

She didn’t look back at the

Chosen Ones as they pressed

themselves

against

the

library

windows.

Caleb had offered to accompany

her for protection, but she convinced

him, and the Chosen Ones, that any

change in her behavior would alert

the Sculptor and ruin the most

important part of her plan: surprise.

She was determined to carry

out the first part of her plan alone.

Hailing a cab, she directed the

dubious smelling driver to Columbus

Circle.

The ride took forever, as the

driver wove in and out of late

afternoon traffic, giving her time to

mull

over

her

continued

and

deepening hatred of Liam Gallagher.

She supposed it wasn’t good to

dwell on it so much, but since she no

longer had to watch her every move

to ensure the Chosen Ones wouldn’t

figure her out, she didn’t have much

else

to

think

about.

That

maddeningly sexy man had baited

his trap, and she, like a lovesick

puppy, had followed.

She should have been taking

care of her sister. That is what she

had done since Sophia was born. But

she broke her own rules and fell for

Liam — and look how that had

turned out. Now she was plotting

and planning and hiding. And she

was so tired of it all.

She remembered that night so

clearly.

Just before Christmas…

She and Sophia had splurged on

a real tree for their tiny apartment,

after Sophia begged and promised

to vacuum the pine needles every

day. It was sparsely decorated,

mostly with the thirteen ornaments

that belonged to Sophia – one for

each year of her life. Amanda had

lovingly picked them out every

Christmas until Sophia was ready to

choose her own, starting with a

heart made of tiny mirrors that

made the lights dance on the tree.

It was Friday night, the one

night of the week that Amanda

allowed Sophia to stay up late. Their

own little tradition was to watch

F r i en d s

reruns and eat buttery

popcorn with sliced apples and

cheddar cheese.

This time they had invited Liam.

Amanda had been dating Liam

since the summer, and she was quite

sure she loved him, which was a

little scary since she had never loved

anyone but Sophia. She was going

to tell him on Christmas morning

after they opened their presents. She

knew it was cheesy, but she wanted

her first “I love you” to be extra

special.

She had been such a gullible

fool.

When she heard the knock, she

bounded off the couch and opened

the door.

There, in her cramped and dim

apartment hallway, stood the most

gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Liam

Gallagher. Black hair so shiny he

looked like a Pantene model. A

lopsided grin that made his blue

eyes twinkle. And a sexy Irish lilt

that made everything he said sound

sweet and naughty at the same

time.

But tonight he didn’t wait for

her invitation, nor did he have the

usual bouquet of flowers for

Amanda or the box of dark

chocolates for Sophia. He glanced

furtively behind, rushed inside, and

shut the door. He grabbed Amanda

roughly by the shoulders. “Has

anyone else come by tonight?”

He was so insistent, so pleading

that she answered immediately,

“No. Liam, what’s the matter?

What’s happened?” Amanda could

taste the slow-rise of fear in her

mouth, the coppery taste of her own

blood where she’d started chewing

her cheek.

Liam looked anguished. “I need

you and Sophia to leave as soon as

possible. There’s no time for you to

pack anything. You need to leave

now, get as far away as you can

and change your identities. They are

coming.”

Amanda’s heart was pounding,

racing in her chest so quickly she

feared she might die right here and

now from a heart attack.

Sophia jumped up from the

couch and clutched Amanda’s arm..

“I don’t get it.”

She had grown so tall in the last

year but to Amanda, she still

seemed like a child.

In a voice far more calm than

she felt, Amanda said “I don’t

understand. Who is coming?”

“

The

Others.

They’re

after

Sophia. They know her power has

grown.” Liam kept whipping his

head around to the door, as if

expecting for it to be knocked down

at any moment. “You have to go.

You have to protect her.”

Amanda felt sick. She knew

who the Others were. When

Sophia’s beautiful mark had begun

to change last year, blooming into a

white lily, Amanda had furiously

researched what this could mean.

Because of the wonders of Google

and her tattered old library card, she

had ascertained that Sophia was

one of the Abandoned Ones. Most

were abandoned at birth by parents

too scared or full of hatred to care

for them. Then they were up for

grabs by either the Chosen Ones or

the Others.

She supposed that Sophia had

not been taken as an infant because

Amanda had stayed behind to care

for her. But with Sophia’s power

growing, the time had come for her

to be taken by either good … or evil.

The only question was: how did

Liam know this?

Which is what Amanda was

going to ask when they heard rough

voices in the hallway.

“

They’re here.” Liam turned to

Amanda, his gorgeous sapphire eyes

glistening. “I’m so sorry.”

Sophia grasped Amanda’s arm

tighter.

The

door

burst

inward,

slamming into Liam and knocking

him into the wall. He stumbled back,

fell to the ground, a bloody gash at

his right temple.

Sophia

screamed

as

three

enormous, muscled men, covered in

tattoos and holding guns and

knives, stormed the room. The first

one through the door, a man with

icy blue eyes and blond hair pulled

back into a ponytail, turned to

Liam’s slumped form. He said,

“Good work, sweetheart. Thanks for

leading us right to her.”

Liam groaned and touched his

hand to his forehead. “Damn you,

Eric, you didn’t have to hit me.”

The other two laughed.

The red-head kicked Liam in the

ribs.

The blond guy looked Amanda

and Sophia up and down. “It’s a

shame we can’t keep you both.

Pretty little things like you.” His

voice was silky, slimy, like a

serpent’s hiss.

Amanda felt Sophia shudder.

She couldn’t believe it.

Liam had led the Others to

Sophia.

He had sold her baby sister into

the heart of evil.

The bastard had betrayed them.

She felt her love for him shrivel,

becoming

something

ugly,

something like hatred.

Pulling herself up to her full

height, Amanda said, in a voice that

shook,

“You’re

breaking

and

entering. Leave now, or we’ll be

forced to call the police.”

The three men laughed even

more uproariously.

“

Go ahead, honey,” Eric said.

“Osgood controls pretty much the

whole force, so I doubt they’ll be

much help. Besides, unless they can

get here in the next two minutes,

we’ll already be gone.” Turning to

one of his greasy-haired cohorts, he

ordered, “Kill the blonde. The boss

doesn’t want her.”

“

Ah, come on, Eric,” the red-

haired one pleaded. “Can’t I play

with her first?”

“

You know the rules,” Eric said.

“

Yeah, yeah.” The redhead

wiped back his oily red hair, raised

his gun and aimed directly at

Amanda’s heart.

“

No!” Liam lurched to his feet.

Amanda flung herself aside.

Too late.

The redhead fired. The pistol

roared.

And like some horrible misfire,

the bullet ricocheted back at him. He

fell backward, shot through the

head … by his own bullet.

The other guy, tall, hulking,

dropped to his knees beside Sean.

“Geeze, boss. He’s dead!”

“

Whoa,” Eric said. “That’s cool.”

Amanda turned to Sophia, her

mouth agape.

Sophia

was

concentrating,

creating and holding a protective

bubble of energy around Amanda.

“

Oh, no,” Liam said. “The kid

can generate force fields already.

They are going to want her so bad.”

Eric gestured to his remaining

partner. “Robbie, handle this. But

don’t kill him!”

Robbie grabbed a handful of

Liam’s hair and slammed Liam’s

skull against the wall. Once. Twice.

The thump echoed like drums of

doom.

Liam put his hand to the gash in

his head, looked at the blood, and

slumped against the wall.

Amanda ignored the way his

knees gave way, the trail of dark

red against the white paint, the

chalky cast to his complexion.

This was his fault. All his fault.

Except … that it was hers, too. Her

mistake to love him. Her mistake to

fix.

Eric looked at Sophia, horrified

and gleeful at the same time. “Man,

I didn’t know anyone could make

force fields strong enough to repel

bullets. The boss is gonna be

thrilled.”

As the force field shimmered

around Amanda, Eric looked Sophia

over thoughtfully. “We better take

both of them to the Sculptor. He

might want to change the plan

when he hears this.”

At that moment, the force field

flickered and died.

Sophia swayed, sweaty and

shaking from the energy she had

exerted.

Amanda rushed to her, holding

the lanky 13-year-old, stroking her

dark hair off her forehead.

Sophia looked at Amanda, tears

in her light green eyes. “Oh, Mandy,

I’m so sorry. I just wasn’t strong

enough.”

Amanda hugged Sophia to her,

the way she had every day since

their parents left. She heard one of

the Others moving toward her, but

she didn’t take her eyes from

Sophia’s. “You were perfect, Soph. I

promise.”

Eric raised the butt of his gun

and smashed her temple.

And the world went black

.

CHAPTER FIVE

AMANDA LEANED back against the

worn vinyl seats of the cab,

remembering that awful night. How

she had fought her way to

consciousness, ignored her pounding

headache, only to find herself bound

and gagged, tied with rope and

cords to a cold metal chair.

She faced giant double doors

opened into a hallway filled with

white statues, likenesses of humans

in horrible torment. She wanted to

gasp, to pray, to close her eyes and

go mad so she didn’t have to face

this reality.

But a man stood by the doors, a

tall, powerfully built man with short,

brown,

lustrous

hair,

chiseled

features, and a tattoo on his arm

that seemed to be a tiger with

glittering eyes. The Sculptor. This

must be the Sculptor.

He allowed her to take in the

terrible scene, then glided toward

her, his gait easy, lithe, effortless. He

knelt beside her chair and pointed.

“Do you see that statue? The

woman on her knees? The one in the

slutty clothes? She’s been that way

for years … I froze her while she

begged for mercy. You see, she

wanted to change her career, but

once you’ve signed on with Osgood,

the deal is for eternity, and cannot

be broken. Osgood lost the income

from her, of course, but the other

prostitutes fell right in line.” His

voice sounded kind, like a pervert

uncle pointing out a torture scene to

his cringing niece. “And there. See

him? He’s almost a man, but when

he came here, he was a gangly

adolescent, taken from his mother

as a payment on her loan. Foolish of

her to think she could default, but

Osgood was fair. He gave her the

chance to repay. Too bad, what with

being ill and all, she couldn’t

manage it. She died of cancer, poor

thing, and grief.” From his crouching

position, the Sculptor looked up at

Amanda. “As the boy grows, I’ve

had to re-plaster him. It’s a bit of a

nuisance, but I like the continuity of

all white statues. It makes my

display a little more artistic. Don’t

you think so?”

Amanda wanted to rage at his

callus disregard for so many lives

wasted, so much time stolen. But the

gag filled her mouth with cotton,

and when he stood and put his arms

on either side of her, she cowered.

Wrapping his hands around the

back of her chair, he turned her to

face into his workshop.

He stepped out of the way to

allow her to see … Sophia, standing

still as stone, her arm outstretched

toward Amanda, tears frozen on her

cheeks.

As long as she lived, Amanda

would never forget that moment.

Her

heart

stopped.

She

screamed, the sound muffled by the

gag.

“

How do you like it?” His voice

was gravelly, the voice of a smoker,

perhaps, or a much older man.

“How do you like my newest

masterpiece? I call it, ‘Little Sister.’”

He chuckled at his vile joke, and his

laughter was a crackling, strained

noise.

Amanda screamed again. She

strained at the ropes.

“

I’m not going to plaster her,

like the others.” He waved his arm

in the direction of the statues in the

front hall. “I like her expression best

of all … her futile faith that you

would save her.”

Amanda

stared

at

him,

incredulous, shocked, revolted.

Her fault. When she read about

the Others, she should have acted.

Taken Sophia away. She had

thought they were safe. She had

trusted Liam.

She had been so wrong.

“

I’ll bet you’re wondering why,

when we have won the prize,

you’re

still

alive.”

He

smiled

conspiratorially and leaned in to

whisper, “I hear she saved you with

a lovely little force field.”

Amanda recoiled from his hot

breath on her ear.

“

Now’s your chance to save

her.” The Sculptor moved to face her

again, his brown eyes sparkling with

menace. “I’ve been thinking what I

can use I have for you, and I’ve got

a most brilliant idea. My boys inform

me that you are a nurse, correct?”

Amanda stared at her sister. She

couldn’t get her breath. But she

didn’t dare faint, either. She had to

listen. She had to do … whatever it

was the Sculptor wanted.

“

I assume you’ve heard of the

Chosen Ones.”

She nodded.

“

Their little leader, Irving, is in

need of a private nurse. The fool

went and got himself pushed down

the stairs. Horrible injuries, I hear.”

He moved to the long steel table

where each instrument was placed

just so, and picked up and examined

the chisel. Looking up quickly, he

caught her staring in horror at the

sharp, metal edge he caressed so

lovingly. “You do understand me,

right?”

She nodded again.

“

Good. Because here’s where

you come in. You are going to

infiltrate the very heart of the

Chosen Ones, take care of Irving,

and earn their trust. You’ll report

back to me everything you hear and

see, especially information about

Irving’s whereabouts. If I can

capture him, Osgood will reward me

handsomely.”

Amanda thought if this horrible

man had had a mustache, he would

twirl it … and that thought proved

to her how far gone she was in

hysterics.

“

Do this, and maybe, just

maybe, we’ll see about giving you

back your sister. Do we have a

deal?”

The

Sculptor

looked

triumphant, secure in the knowledge

that Amanda’s love for Sophia

wouldn’t allow her to refuse.

And it was true. Amanda didn’t

have a choice.

She thought bitterly of Liam and

her childish plan to proclaim her

love to him.

He hadn’t even cared for her.

He’d been biding his time, playing

his part until it was time for the

Others to take Sophia.

She had trusted the wrong man.

Loved the wrong man. And now she

would pay for it by betraying the

good guys, the Chosen Ones.

But to get Sophia back, she

would fight the devil himself.

So once last time, she had

nodded.

“

Excellent!” The Sculptor put

down

the

chisel,

arranged

it

precisely on the table, then clapped

his hands, bringing Eric from the

hallway outside the studio. “Make

the call,” the Sculptor said.

Eric had untied her roughly,

loosening the cloth gag that made

her jaw ache.

He

had

escorted

her

by

gunpoint back to her and Sophia’s

little apartment to pack up a few

belongings: clothes, two pairs of

sensible shoes, and her nursing bag.

Without a second glance, she left

behind the Christmas tree with all of

its lovingly wrapped gifts under it,

the bloody smudge on the wall

where Liam had fallen, and all her

hopes and dreams of the future.

She didn’t bother to ask where

Liam was; he was probably getting

some sort of medal for treachery,

and some claps on the back from

the Others for drawing her into his

web of lies.

Eric briefed her in the car as he

drove. The Others had pulled strings

to get her promptly hired at the

hospital as Irving's private nurse.

When the doctor advised that Irving

needed someone to continue his at

home care, he would recommend

Amanda.

“

What if the doctor doesn’t do

that?” she asked.

“

The doctor will do as he is

told.”

“

What if Irving doesn’t like

me?”

“

It would be sensible of you to

make sure he does.”

“

Right.”

She was not to tell anyone of

her sister’s situation. She was to

make friends with the Chosen Ones

if it would benefit the Others and

give

them

more

detailed

information.

Eric stopped the car a block

from the hospital. He turned to her,

caressed a lock of her blond hair

and smiled. “Break any of these

rules and your sister will be killed.”

“

Don’t worry about me. I’ll do

whatever I’m told.” She got out,

leaned into the back seat to get her

bag…

Then Eric let the ax fall. “Oh,

and every Sunday without fail,

you’re to report to … Liam

Gallagher.”

She jerked her head up and

stared into his nasty, smirking face.

At

that

moment,

Amanda

realized she had been cherishing the

faintest hope that Liam had been

duped, too. That when he came to

their door, he had truly been trying

to save them.

What a fool she had been.

But a fool no longer.

“

It doesn’t matter who I report

to. And don’t you worry — I will tell

Liam Gallagher everything I can find

out about the Chosen Ones. Why

wouldn’t I? I don’t care about them.

I only care about freeing Sophia

.”

That was true … until she met

the Chosen Ones. Until she got to

know them. Until she realized how

much they cared for Irving, how

hard they fought against evil, how

kind they were to her even when

she froze them out, cut them off,

snapped at them and waved away

their

attempts

at

friendship.

Unwillingly, she had begun to care

about them, to realize she couldn’t

without conscience betray them.

Now she prayed that in the

next few critical hours, the strength

and courage they had shown would

be hers.

Her sister’s life depended on it.

CHAPTER SIX

LOST IN her memories and steeled

with determination, Amanda stared,

unseeing, out the cab window.

Sophia had been her life.

Liam had been her love.

Now she was alone, and in her

coat pocket she had a piece of paper

with an obscene amount of money

written in Irving’s shaky cursive.

Thank goodness, the cab driver

stopped at the curb in Columbus

Circle, bringing her out of her prison

of self-loathing and into the real

world. She counted out change, slid

across the seat, and got out before

the honking horns reached full pitch.

People hurried by in black peacoats

and velveteen hats, hands in their

pockets and eyes downcast as they

plowed their way through their

fellow commuters and shoppers. She

glanced up at the Time Warner

Center, its glass windows shining in

the wintery sunshine.

Since Christmas, she had met

Liam ten times. Ten weeks of seeing

the person she hated most in the

world, while knowing the sister she

had always loved was frozen,

motionless, trapped.

He always tried to talk to her,

act normal, ask how she was doing,

whether she’d seen Sophia. He

always tried to act as if he cared.

She had stared at the bruising

on his face and the stitches in his

scalp and wished they had been

twice as bad.

Eventually he had given up, and

now he just watched her as if trying

without words to convey his

concern.

She must have been such a

sucker for him to believe that would

work.

Of course, that was exactly

what she had been.

Squaring her shoulders, Amanda

took off her fleece hat, smoothed

her blond hair away from her face

and went through the heavy glass

doors of the building, skirting the

escalators and entering Williams-

Sonoma.

She had to concentrate now.

Liam would be able to smell

deception, so she had to play this

perfectly.

Instantly an overly enthusiastic

greeter bounced over with a cheery,

“May I help you find anything

today?”

Amanda had worked plenty of

minimum wage jobs in high school,

and it didn’t seem fair to take her

crappy day out on this poor girl. So

Amanda gave her a strained smile.

“Could you direct me to the

seasonal section?”

“Good thing you asked. We just

moved the store around!

I

can

barely find anything anymore!” As

the girl led Amanda towards the

back of the store, she babbled about

the spring green KitchenAid mixers

and chick yellow wooden spatulas

and robin’s egg blue mixing bowls.

And every sentence ended in an

exclamation point!

She made Amanda feel tired

and old.

Then,

so

abruptly

Amanda

almost ran her over, the greeter

stopped. “Here you are! Every

bright, light color you could ever

want!”

“Thanks, I’ll look around and

see what’s new.” Amanda needed

to get rid of the salesgirl so she

could find Liam and be done with

Part One of the plan.

“Great!”

More

exclamation

points. “Just let me know if you

need any more help!”

The air smelled of spiced

potpourri and there were the usual

samples set out next to a sign

proclaiming, “Hot tea and glazed

pecans!” in artful script, but Liam

was nowhere in sight. She would

have thought he’d be easy to spot

in a Williams-Sonoma. How many

tall, black-haired Irishmen could

there be in a kitchen goods store?

But

all

she

saw

were

two

housewives earnestly discussing the

pros and cons of salad spinners, and

a balding, middle-aged salesman

wearing a deep green apron with

matching oven mitts, presumably in

case of an oven-related emergency.

As if sensing that she was

looking for something, the salesman

approached Amanda, adjusted his

round

eyeglasses,

and

in

an

unexpectedly gruff voice, asked,

“May I help you?”

“No, thank you. I’m waiting for

someone.”

“No

doubt

a

devilishly

handsome fellow.” He winked at

her.

His eyes were a gorgeous blue.

Of course. She should have

realized. It was Liam.

In a low voice designed to avoid

attention from the housewives,

Amanda said, “Damn it! Would you

be serious and stop changing into

other people every time we’re

supposed to meet?”

He blinked at her from behind

his owl-like spectacles.

“There’s no need to get so

uptight, darlin’.” His Irish lilt was

evident now. No wonder his voice

had been so gruff before. Liam could

look like other people, but he had

never been much good at imitating

voices.

She wanted to deck him.

Leading her over to a secluded

corner of the store full of bins

holding

everything

from

pizza

cutters to garlic presses, he looked

around and when he was sure they

were alone, he asked, “What have

you got for me? Will Irving come out

of his precious mansion soon?”

To avoid looking into his

ridiculous,

middle-aged

face,

Amanda glared at his ridiculous

oven mitts. “No, of course not, he’s

a very sick, very old man. What is

the Sculptor expecting? That Irving

will suddenly decide that it’s time

for a stroll through New York in

thirty-five-degree weather?”

“The Sculptor doesn’t give a

damn what Irving wants. He thinks

you, being Irving’s nurse and all, will

be able to sneak Irving out of the

house.” Liam’s lips formed into a

thin line. “Don’t you want Sophia

back?”

Amanda felt the color creeping

up her neck as the anger took over.

“Don’t you ever mention my sister

to me again, unless you’re bringing

her home to me. It’s your fault she’s

frozen.

It’s

your

fault

she’s

trapped!”

Liam’s blue eyes hardened.

Flinging off the green oven mitts

and dumping them unceremoniously

in a display of casserole dishes, he

grabbed the glasses from his face,

using them to punctuate each word.

“I. Didn’t. Betray. You.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at

night.” Amanda picked up a wire

whisk.

But how much damage could

she do to him with that?

Liam had been claiming his

innocence since the first time she

had met him to turn over her

information on the Chosen Ones. But

now she knew what he was. One of

the Others. An enemy, nothing more.

Certainly not someone worth all

the sleepless nights, full of yearning.

Not worth all the tears she had cried

for lost love.

Amanda decided now was the

time to plunge forward with the

plan. If he didn’t accept it, he’d

probably deliver her to the Sculptor.

Life as a sculpture or death at the

hands of the Others sucked rocks.

But she had to take the chance

for Sophia. “Look, I have a proposal

for you. Are you interested or not?”

“Darlin’, I am always interested

in a proposal from you.”

“Your charm is overrated. But

not your greed.” She dangled the

bait. “It involves a lot of money.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

LIAM DID skepticism very well. “You

don’t have any money. You and

Sophia were barely making it with

your nursing job.”

He knew Amanda too well, and

it gave her a great deal of

satisfaction to retort, “You’re right, I

don’t have money. But Irving Shea

has tons of it.”

His eyebrows went up. She had

surprised him. “I didn’t think you’d

get to the point of killing the old

man and stealing his money.”

“Be

serious,

would

you?”

Amanda

was

already

getting

exasperated. So much hung on Liam

agreeing to the plan.

And Liam Gallagher had always

had the ability to get her riled up.

“I’m completely serious. How

else are you going to get money to

pay me for” — he waved him hand

in a noncommittal manner —

“whatever it is I’m supposed to do?”

“You’ve been with the Others

for too long.” Amanda said bitterly.

“You’ve forgotten the idea of simple

human kindness and decency.”

“No, darlin’, I haven’t forgotten

about them. I just don’t see much

evidence of them in my daily life.”

Amanda momentarily lost her

patience. “Cut it out with the

endearments!”

“I can’t, darlin’. I’m Irish. ‘Tis in

our blood.” At Amanda’s warning

glance, Liam held up his hands in a

gesture of mock surrender. “Don’t

worry … you’re not the sort of

woman that invites endearments.”

Liam grabbed something at

random out of the bin and in his

badly faked voice, he said, “As you

can see, ma’am, this is what you

were looking for.”

Amanda glanced behind her

and caught the eye of the lady who

was waiting for his attention. “How

does it work?”

He glanced around, trying to get

an idea, and read the sign. “You

place the garlic in here and press

hard … er … hence the name garlic

press.”

Amanda bit down on a grin.

“Really? A garlic press? Wow, that’s

so cool! How long did it take you to

figure it out?”

The lady gave a brief guffaw

and backed away, looking for

someone in customer service who

wasn’t so observably ignorant.

Turning back to Amanda, Liam

dropped the horrible accent. “Now,

tell me, why is Irving Shea willing to

hand you money?”

“Because I asked for it. Because

I need it to get Sophia back.”

Liam stiffened. “Getting Sophia

back is the plan? Good luck with

that. The last time I stood against the

Sculptor, I got a sound beating by

two of my brethren. I’ll not

volunteer for that again.”

“When have you ever stood

against the Others?”

Piercing her with his deep blue

gaze, he replied, “When I came to

warn you. When I told you to get

out of town. Remember?”

“I remember. I remember you

waited until the last second.”

Liam

had led the Others to her. When the

Others broke into the apartment,

Eric had thanked

Liam

.

Liam

was

responsible for Sophia’s captivity,

for the Sculptor’s ability to blackmail

Amanda. Liam worked for the

Sculptor, for Osgood, and ultimately

for the devil. No matter how cute

Liam was, no matter how the dark

hair fell over his forehead, no matter

how his blue eyes gazed at her in

pleading and love like a man who

desperately wanted her to believe …

she had to remember the truth, to

hold it close, and never let Liam back

into her heart.

He must have seen her eyes

harden, for his shoulders sagged.

“Anyway, I can’t help you save

Sophia, not if it means going against

the Sculptor. He’s one of Osgood’s

favorites, and he has been given

great power.” He shuddered. “Just

get Irving to come out of the house,

let the Others have him, and you

might be able to wrest Sophia from

the Sculptor’s grasp.” He glanced

around at the colorful placemats

and bins of serving spoons. “Unless

you’re planning on offering me a

new identity and enough money to

blow this joint and get as far away

from Osgood as possible, I can’t help

you.”

Amanda had him. She could tell.

Maybe

his

employee

benefits

weren’t what they used to be.

Maybe somewhere in his evil mind,

there was enough goodness that he

wanted to leave the Others and

their devilish organization behind.

Maybe he merely needed to be

enticed.

She was the woman who knew

how to do it.

“Liam,” Amanda purred. “Irving

is a millionaire. A billionaire. He

worked as the CEO of the Gypsy

Travel Agency for years and years,

amassing stock options and savings.

With no family to spend it on, he is

an incredibly wealthy man.”

Liam was taken aback, she

could see. Her change from strict

nurse and wounded woman to sexy

lady-in-need-of-rescue

must

be

astounding to him.

He had no illusions that she had

forgiven him. But possibly … this

change he could get used to.

Cautiously he asked, “Amanda,

what are you saying?”

She could speak the language of

a mercenary. A man out for nothing

but his own gain. A man like Liam.

She stepped closer, her gray

eyes heavy with sultry thoughts.

Leaning in until he could smell her

perfume, a heady combination of

white

jasmine

and

mint,

she

whispered, “Oh, Liam. I’m not just

talking about money. I’m talking

about a mountain of money.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

LIAM HAD to clear his throat before

he could speak properly. He was

pretty

sure

Amanda,

sweet,

beautiful Amanda, was playing him

for a fool. But with all the blood

rushing from his head to other parts,

it was getting more and more

difficult to care.

He had to focus. He had to

make sure her plan was sound.

Agreeing to help was one thing …

but living through the ordeal was

another issue entirely. Another point

to consider — dead men couldn’t

spend a shitload of money.

If there was anything a poor

Irishman, abandoned by his parents

and left to be raised in an

orphanage, loved more than having

money, it was spending money.

So this part of the bargain was

damned important.

He had to force the smell of

jasmine from his mind and stop

imagining loosening the prim bun at

the nape of Amanda's neck and

running his hands through her

golden hair. Because that sure

wasn’t helping him to concentrate.

Finally Liam focused back on the

matter at hand and said, “I’m going

to need an amount.”

Amanda

hid

her

triumph.

Digging in the pocket of her peacoat,

she produced the paper Irving had

handed her earlier. She handed it to

Liam, hoping against all reason that

this would seal the deal.

Liam glanced at the paper.

“Wow, that’s a lot of zeroes.”

Amanda smiled, not unlike a

shark scenting prey. “Yes, it is.

Should be enough for you to buy

your own Italian villa.”

“There’s only one problem.”

Liam didn’t relish the notion of being

a shark’s prey.

Amanda’s face fell momentarily.

But she cleared her throat, adopting

her huskiest voice again. “And

what’s that?”

“I’m going to need proof that

Irving is willing to give you this kind

of cash.” Liam doubted it. This much

money could make his wildest

dreams come true. He really

could

buy his own villa. A place where he

could relax, learn to grow grapes,

maybe have a family … and be safe.

“Yes, I figured you would. That’s

why you have to come back to

Irving’s mansion with me.”

Liam laughed out loud, drawing

the attention of a husband clearly

searching wildly for a gift for his

wife.

“Whoa, whoa. This could very

well be a trap, you know? As sexy

as you are, darlin’, I don’t savor the

idea of walking into the Chosen

Ones headquarters.” He leaned

forward

and

whispered

conspiratorially, “They’re kind of the

enemy, you know.”

Amanda’s face took on what

Sophia always referred to as her

strict schoolmarm look. He had

thought it funny before … when it

wasn’t turned against him.

“Liam, I shouldn’t have to

explain the rules to you. You know

that agents of the devil, such as

yourself” — she waved her hand

toward him in disgust — “cannot be

held against their will by the Chosen

Ones when you have gone to them

of your own volition.”

“Rules are made to be broken.”

Amanda's gray eyes turned

stormy and her jaw set. “This is a

fight for good or evil. The Chosen

Ones are unlikely to break the rules

for my sake, or yours. It’s not as

though you’re the devil’s right-hand

man. You’re merely a lowly minion.”

Not that she wasn’t right, but …

damn. To be held with such

contempt galled him. “Thanks so

much for reminding me.”

“No problem. Now are you

coming or not? Irving usually lays

down for his nap after lunch, and I’d

rather not have you breaking his

routine. It’s very important for his

rehabilitation.” She was back to all

business, her cheeks no longer

flushed with a heady combination of

hatred and fear.

Liam

should

have

been

concentrating on his options here.

Should have been considering the

ramifications of putting himself into

the way of the Chosen Ones or

living through the day … saving her

sister or living through the day …

defying Osgood or living through

the day.

But Amanda distracted him. She

was working so hard to appear

calm and casual, trying to project

assurance. She wasn’t doing a very

good job of it — or perhaps he

simply read her too well.

Really, what difference did it

make whether he lived through the

day? Things were disintegrating fast,

and if Irving didn’t arrive at the

Sculptor's house pretty soon, the

Sculptor was going to have one of

his famous tantrums, and Liam

knew who was first in line for

calcification.

And … and … he’d always been

an “everything for

me

” sort of a

guy, but every week when he was

forced to visit the Sculptor and he

viewed that statue of Sophia, the

tears frozen on her face, an

unfamiliar emotion rose in his heart.

Horrible thought, and he wasn’t

sure, but he thought it was …

selflessness.

Or

gallantry.

Or

something that involved him getting

his ass captured, tortured and killed.

Worth remembering; he seen

the torment on the face of every

statue in there. Amanda had some

hare-brained idea; if it failed, the

Sculptor would take cruel, particular

pleasure in freezing Liam in stone.

He paced away. Paced back.

But look at Amanda's eyes…

She might hate him. She might

blame him. But underneath the fury

and reproach, the face of the

woman he loved was pleading, and

so, so sad.

He was such a schmuck. “All

right,” he said. “I’ll go with you to

Irving’s house.”

She beamed with pure joy.

“But

I’m

not

agreeing to

anything. First we’ll discuss the plan

and my involvement in it. For this

amount of money, it can’t be a

pleasant thing that I have to do.” He

bent all his charm on her. “But for

you, darlin’, I would do almost

anything.”

Amanda had a brief moment

where she forgot the danger she

was in and the horrible fate of her

sister if she didn’t succeed. All of the

anxiety, the sleepless nights of the

last months fell away in the face of

Liam’s smile, the one she used to

believe he saved for her.

In

that

moment,

she

remembered the months before

Sophia was taken, when Liam had

escorted the two of them around

New York – for a Broadway

showing

of

West Side Story

, an

idyllic picnic of cheeses, cold meat

and champagne in Central Park, a

slow Sunday stroll through the

Metropolitan Museum of Art.

She remembered the nights she

and Liam had stayed up after

Sophia had gone to bed. When they

had watched

When Harry Met Sally

and cuddled long after the movie

had ended. He had brought her

flowers – lilies, roses, once a fresh

cut bundle of hyacinth – at work so

many times, her coworkers had

taken to calling him Casanova.

Those months together had been

magical.

And every moment had been a

lie.

Amanda shook herself. It did not

do to dwell on the past. She was no

longer a girl in the first throes of

love. She was a bitter woman,

betrayed and alone, tired to her

very core.

Sighing with regret, she replied,

“You’d do anything for money,

Liam, not for me. Don’t try and

make yourself into a knight on a

white horse. I already know who

you are, who you work for. You’ll

do the job. Irving will give you

money. You can go do whatever it is

you want.

As long as you leave

Sophia and I alone

. After tomorrow,

whether we succeed or fail, I never

want to see you again.” Her voice

cracked slightly, the emotions taking

their toll. She cleared her throat and

squared her shoulders. “Never.”

Liam looked for a moment as

though he might argue. But the

expression on her face must have

changed his mind. He smoothed his

bottle green apron and adopted an

air of studied indifference. “If that’s

what you want.”

Amanda thought he looked

almost sad. But it was probably just

that he enjoyed seeing her every

week, remembering that he had

played her for a fool. Perhaps he

liked to watch the dark circles under

her eyes get worse and worse as

the nights passed in fitful dream-

filled sleep punctuated by hours of

wandering the corridors of Irving’s

mansion. She was sure that must be

it – Liam hoped to watch her

deteriorate, see her beauty fade and

her hopes of happiness wash away.

“Yes,” she said. “It is what I want.

Now perhaps you could take off

that apron so we can go visit Irving

and his millions.”

Liam adopted a truly annoying

tone of superiority. “Amanda, if you

think I’m the only one watching you

right now, you’re being na

ï

ve. There

are two Others outside of this store

right now. They follow you at all

times, in case you don’t have a

chance to report Irving’s movements

and he exits his home.”

“Really?”

She

had

never

considered that her every move was

under surveillance. “Are they in the

store, too?”

“They should be. But I chose this

place specifically because those guys

would never go into a kitchen store.

Being around a pink carrot juicer

might make their wee-wee shrivel.”

She couldn’t help it. She had to

say it. “Is that what happened to

you?”

“No, darlin’. The only shriveled

thing on me is my ego, and you

caused that.” Liam’s lips compressed

into a thin line. “I’ll have to change

into someone else if I’m to go to

Irving’s. So I’ll take these eyeglasses

back to the fellow I knocked out in

the break room and get hopping.”

Amanda felt her cheeks flush

again, this time in horror. “And your

plan is to knock another person out

and take their identity?”

A man who was clearly a

husband with a gift-buying deadline

glanced toward the corner where

Liam and Amanda had sequestered

themselves.

Hurrying

over,

he

grabbed a set of three silicone

pastry brushes tied with a bright

blue ribbon, and turned to Liam in

triumph.

Liam adopted his gruff voice

again. “Let me take you over to the

cashier, sir.” Leaning in toward

Amanda, he whispered, “I’ll meet

you at Irving’s. Tonight.”

As

Liam

and

his

next

unsuspecting target walked away,

Amanda heard the man say plainly,

“My wife is a utensil fanatic. She’ll

like these, right? What are they

anyway?”

When they reached the cashiers,

Liam patted the man on the

shoulder. He walked quickly to the

backroom. A few moments later, the

worried husband emerged.

But … the worried husband was

still standing at the cashier’s,

offering his credit card and pleading

for reassurance.

Amanda glanced between the

two of them.

Worried husband number two

winked at her, walked outside, and

blended instantly into the crowd.

Amanda sighed. No matter how

often Liam did that, he always

surprised her. She pulled her Fair Isle

gloves back on, placed her indigo

fleece hat over her tightly coiffed

blond bun, and went back into the

cold to hail a cab.

And saw Robbie. Robbie, the

guy who had broken into her

apartment with Eric the thug. The

guy who had been so surprised and

oddly dismayed when his cohort

had been killed by a ricocheting

bullet.

She glared at him.

He stared back at her as if

puzzled. As if her hostility puzzled

him. Or as if … he was struggling to

remember something, and couldn’t

quite put his finger on it.

She

couldn’t

maintain

her

indignation. He seemed so … dumb.

In over his head.

Well, aren’t we all

?

Still … she smiled rather bitterly.

Part one of the plan to save Sophia

had been a success.

Looking relieved, Robbie smiled

back.

On to part two.

CHAPTER NINE

AMANDA KNOCKED on the door of

Irving’s mansion, then backed up

when Caleb yanked it open. The

Chosen Ones were arrayed behind

him. Everyone looked anxious —

except

McKenna,

who

strode

majestically into the foyer in time to

scowl at Caleb for daring to perform

one of his favorite butler duties.

To placate McKenna, Amanda

made a show of wiping her boots

on the large bristly boot brush he

kept by the door and carefully

handing him her coat and hat. How

he

kept

track

of

everyone’s

outerwear was a mystery. But he

always appeared with the right

coats and scarves, all looking

suspiciously

pressed,

whenever

anyone mentioned that they’d be

going out.

Charisma was, not surprisingly,

the first to speak. “Well? Did he

agree? Will he help you get your

sister back?” She bounced on the

balls of her feet in anticipation.

Irving’s voice sounded from

behind the Chosen Ones, slicing

effortlessly through their murmurs

despite its halting quietness. “This

would be best discussed over

dinner.”

The Chosen Ones, all dedicated

to the importance of an excellent

meal, followed Irving as Martha

pushed him into the dining room.

Irving was wheeled to the head of

the table.

Amanda sat at his right hand as

she had since her arrival in the

house, in case he needed help

cutting his meat or dealing with

other

motor

skills

that

were

impeded by his shaky hands.

The Chosen and their mates

exclaimed appreciatively over the

tapas arranged on a giant Lazy

Susan in the middle of the table.

There were dates wrapped in bacon,

coriander-spiced

almonds,

spicy

citrus olives, and slices of Manchego

and blue cheese paired with Serrano

ham and sliced pears.

Amanda knew from experience

that this was only the first course.

Since the Chosen Ones had moved

into Irving’s home, Sunday had

become the day for tapas, and no

one prepared the Spanish delicacies

better than Martha.

Once all the Chosen Ones were

seated and had filled their plates,

Samuel spoke. “

Now

can we know

what happened with the Other?”

“Patience,

Samuel,

patience.

Can’t you tell Amanda needs a

moment to collect herself?” Irving

looked sternly but affectionately at

their most impatient and sarcastic

Chosen. True, Samuel was less

caustic since he and Isabelle had

fallen in love (again), but he would

always be the bluntest person in the

group.

Amanda caught a glimpse of

herself in one of the gilded mirrors

that lined the walls. No wonder

Irving thought she needed some

food. She looked pale, almost

ghostly, her porcelain skin stretched

too tight over her cheek bones.

She made a conscious effort to

relax. She hadn’t even realized how

wound up she still was. Making a

tiny sandwich with blue cheese and

red pear on a sesame cracker, she

took a bite, savoring the flavors and

forgetting for a moment about the

last two days.

She stiffened instantly when she

heard a heavy booming knock on

the front door.

McKenna glided from the room,

a talent which always amazed

Amanda considering what a stocky

man he was. About a minute later,

he appeared in the doorway,

looking cross, and announced “Mr.

Liam Gallagher.”

Amanda instantly figured out

what had McKenna in such a tizzy.

Liam had clearly refused to give up

his soft leather coat to the crotchety

Scotsman. The fact Liam was Irish

probably

wasn’t

helping

his

estimation in McKenna’s eyes, either

… McKenna was Scottish to his very

bones.

The group around the table

turned in unison, eager to see the

Other who had betrayed Amanda.

Charisma

murmured

appreciatively, and Amanda could

see why.

Liam looked like the handsome,

dashing son-of-a-bitch that he was.

His blue jeans hugged his long legs

and muscular thighs, his black t-shirt

fit tightly along his slim torso, and

his black leather jacket looked as

smooth as butter and broad across

his shoulders. His black hair fell

rakishly over one brilliant blue eye.

He looked incredibly handsome …

and incredibly uncomfortable.

Good.

Amanda let him sweat it a

moment longer before rising. “Liam,

won’t you come in and sit down?”

She pointed to the seat on Irving’s

left-hand side.

Liam collected himself, nodding

at the assembled group, and sat in

the proffered chair. Addressing the

curious faces around the table, Liam

said, “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to

change into three different people to

make sure that the Others assigned

to tail Amanda didn’t realize it was

me coming to the house.”

“What was your final shape?”

Jacqueline asked.

“A pizza delivery guy. Your

butler collected the empty pizza

boxes when I came in the door.”

McKenna harrumphed softly. He

didn’t approve of delivered foods.

Liam continued, “But it took me

a minute to change back into

myself.”

Rosamund looked up from her

plate curiously. “Yours is a different

power than I’ve researched. I

wasn’t aware that the change from

form to form took any amount of

time.”

Liam

seemed

to

consider

whether answering this line of

questioning was wise, given that he

was essentially having dinner with

his sworn enemies. “Well, it’s not

instantaneous,” he said thoughtfully.

“The farther from my own form it is,

the longer it takes for me to change

back. That’s why I rarely change

into a woman. It takes quite a while

to return to my usual shape. And the

in-between isn’t pleasant-looking.”

The Chosen laughed softly.

“You can change your entire

appearance merely by touching

someone?” Rosamund asked.

Liam turned to regard her. “No,

actually the only thing that doesn’t

change is my tattoo.”

The Chosen Ones and their

mates nodded.

Amanda sat up straighter.

Rosamund said matter-of-factly,

“That makes sense. All of the

Abandoned Ones have some sort of

marking. What is your tattoo?”

“A dragon,” Liam said. “I must

say it made my life in an Irish

orphanage a bit more difficult. The

Irish were all about dragons until

Christianity came along and Saint

Patrick rid Ireland of the snakes.

Now, dragons aren’t seen as a

particularly good omen.”

Samuel asked, “How big of a

dragon are we talking here? Loch

Ness-sized?”

Isabelle giggled.

Liam seemed to be tiring of the

subject.

But Amanda was on the edge of

her seat. She had never seen Liam

shirtless, and she had had no idea

that he was marked … probably

because that might have given

away his identity as one of the

Others.

Liam sighed. “Not quite that

large. But it does extend from my

left hip, across my chest to my right

shoulder.”

“Impressive,”

Rosamund

breathed.

“

Yes, ma’am

.” Charisma leaned

forward and as if she could actually

see the dragon, she ran her gaze up

and down Liam’s well-shaped torso.

The guys looked chagrinned.

“Down, girls,” Irving said.

Amanda wanted let her gaze

wander, too. In fact, for one

moment, she did — until Liam caught

her gaze, his mouth quirked, and she

pretended she was staring past him.

Nice save, Amanda. He was

totally fooled. Not

.

Irving offered a shaky hand to

Liam. “Mr. Gallagher, I am Irving

Shea. Or as my friends like to call

me, Old Moneybags.” As Liam shook

his hand, Irving chuckled at his own

joke. “Please, feel free to fill a plate.

Martha is an excellent cook.”

Liam looked at Martha, whose

expression showed no glow of pride

or really any emotion at all.

The two studied each other until

Martha said, drily, “Don’t worry. If

we wanted to poison you, we would

not have served everything on a

Lazy Susan.”

“Right.” As McKenna came

forward to grudgingly pour Liam a

glass of Pinot Grigio, Liam heaped

olives and almonds onto his plate.

Irving leaned back in his chair,

lacing his fingers together. “Mr.

Gallagher, I hear you are concerned

that Miss Reed’s offer of money will

not be fulfilled.”

Liam had obviously been taught

manners at some point in his life

because he had the courtesy to look

chagrined. “No, sir. Not that it won’t

be fulfilled. Simply that it does not

exist.” He cleared his throat. “I have

never heard that you were as

wealthy as the amount would lead

me to believe.”

Irving looked at Liam almost

slyly. “My dear boy, not all of us

have to use our funds to build

enormous skyscrapers to show off

for the devil. Some of us prefer to

spend our money on good food and

great wine.”

Acknowledging Irving’s dig at

Osgood and his monstrous building

that stretched toward the sky, Liam

agreed, “I’m sure that approach

brings better company.”

“Like us,” Samuel said.

“No, not you,” Jacqueline said.

“But the rest of us.”

The two grinned affably at each

other.

Obviously, the Chosen Ones

were listening every word that

passed back and forth at the head

of the table.

Amanda the tried to focus on

the plate of hot potato croquettes

Martha had added to the Lazy

Susan, but these two men who were

discussing, in many ways, her and

her sister’s future.

Irving

nodded

almost

imperceptibly to McKenna, who

came forward holding a slim leather

briefcase. He elegantly placed it on

the table in front of Irving.

Reaching towards the latches

with tremor-ridden hands, Irving

tried to open the case.

Liam glanced at Amanda, and

she could see that he had not

expected the famous Irving Shea to

be so weak.

Amanda brushed her hands on

her cream linen napkin, preparing to

push back her chair and help Irving

with this fine motor skill, one of the

types they had been working hard

on during his daily rehab.

But Liam beat her to it, leaning

forward and flipping the latches

open with one hand, covering

Irving’s cold, shaky hand with the

other.

“Thank you, my boy,” Irving

said approvingly.

Amanda

knew

Irving

well

enough to know he had just given

Liam a test, one the younger man

had passed.

Liam nodded and looked at

Amanda.

She realized she wore a slight,

fond smile, and hastily wiped it

away. No point in letting Liam think

she was fond of

him

.

Liam

turned

back

to

the

briefcase. He opened it. He stared at

the stacks of twenties and fifties and

hundreds.

Wow

. Although his lips

moved, no sound came out. He

stared some more.

Irving broke through his reverie.

“So, are you convinced I can provide

you with a payday that will make

your efforts worthwhile?”

Liam

picked

up

his

fork.

Carefully he cut a marinated

mushroom filled with whipped feta

and took a bite.

Amanda clasped her hands in

her lap so hard that her knuckles

turned white. The tension made her

feel ill, but she whispered enticingly,

“Can you smell the lavender in the

fields? Can you hear the wind in the

grapes? See the rolling hills of

Tuscany from the desk of your

villa?”

Liam glanced at her, then

concentrated on his plate.

Irving weighed in, but not with

enticement. With a truth that made

Amanda shrivel in despair. He said,

“Mr. Gallagher, we, of all people,

realize that the decision you’re

making is difficult. We have dealt

with your boss for years, and

Osgood has won many battles

against us. He has found abandoned

children before we could get to

them. He has turned the site of the

Gypsy

Travel

Agency’s

headquarters into a monstrosity, a

building filled with awful weapons

and innocent people who have no

idea they’re in danger. In this small

but vitally important battle, we ask

for your help. For your expertise.”

Liam

stopped

eating.

He

watched Irving intently, clearly

assessing his current situation and

the outcome of his decision. It was

like the choose-your-own-adventure

books, except now her life and

Sophia’s life — and his life — in

balance.

“I know what you have been

through, Mr. Gallagher.” Irving

folded his hands in front of his

Meissen plate. “I know how you

were treated at that orphanage and

how the Others offered you a way

out – a home and a job.”

Amanda stared at Irving in

confusion. Liam had never shared

this part of his personal history with

her. When they were dating, he had

merely said his parents had passed

away. How did Irving know?

Irving closed the briefcase,

pulling Liam’s gaze from its contents.

“Only with your help can Miss Reed

hope to infiltrate the Sculptor’s

studio. Only with your protection

will I send her there to retrieve her

sister. So it’s time to choose. Loyalty

or money.”

“Not loyalty or money. Almost

certain death … or money,” Liam

said.

“If it wasn’t dangerous, I

wouldn’t pay you.” Irving pulled

himself up in his chair and looked at

Liam

intently,

his

dark

eyes

snapping. “So, I ask again. Will you

change into my form and get her

inside the studio? Will you help

her?”

The Chosen gave up all pretense

of casual interest. The room was

silent, waiting for Liam’s reply.

Amanda watched, as though in

slow motion, Liam nodded and said,

“All right, what’s the plan?”

CHAPTER TEN

AMANDA

ALMOST

—

almost

—

jumped up and hugged Liam, and

kissed him, and hugged him again.

Instead she sat on her hands

and tried to calm the wild beating of

her heart.

This was what she had dreamed

of, hoped for. She was going to try

to rescue Sophia.

No. No! She knew her “Star

Wars.” She could quote Yoda.

There is no try. Do … or do not

.

So … she

would

going

to

rescue

Sophia. She

would

.

Martha brought out the second

course, lemony lentil soup and

mixed greens covered in goat

cheese and citrus vinaigrette.

“At all times there are no less

than three Others outside the house,

and Amanda is constantly trailed by

two when she leaves on Sundays.”

Liam ate as he filled in the Chosen

Ones on the location and number of

Others

currently

assigned

to

Amanda and to the mansion itself.

“We’ve seen them,” John said

laconically. “Should we be worried

about the constant surveillance?

What are their intentions?”

Amanda watched as Liam ladled

more soup into his bowl, sprinkling

toasted pepitas generously on top.

“I don’t believe they care about you

individually, per se. The idea, from

what I understand, is simply to keep

track of your movements outside

the house.” He glanced up with a

smirk. “They’ve had a hell of a time

figuring out what you all do when

you’re inside the mansion.”

“We drink,” Aaron said.

“We laugh,” Samuel said.

“We debauch,” Caleb said.

“We

do

research,

too!”

Rosamund looked indignant.

Everyone stared at her.

“Oh. I see. It’s a joke.” She

smiled feebly … Rosamund had

trouble comprehending humor.

“Velvet curtains have their

advantages.” Irving remarked drily.

“Grabbing you one at a time

lacks the glory most of the Others

are searching for,” Liam said.

Amanda stiffened in her seat,

fork poised over her salad. Grabbing

her and Sophia had seemed pretty

glorious for Eric and his Other

cohorts.

Liam continued, “If you were to

come out of the house in a big

group, I think you’d have a bigger

issue.”

“Which is why I won’t have any

of you helping me with this rescue

mission,” Amanda said.

John looked ready to jump in

and contradict her, but Irving held

up his hand. “Amanda is right. We

cannot let our affection for her and

our sympathy for her sister’s plight

get in the way of our higher calling.

We must choose our battles.”

When the muttering had died

down around the table before he

offered, Liam said, “Actually, I’ve

heard a few of the Others comment

that they’re not sure how you all

manage to show up at locations

across town without alerting the

spies.”

“I guess we’re doing something

right then,” Samuel mused, thinking

about the tunnels Martha had

shown them that they often used to

get around the city to escape

detection.

Martha

emerged

from

the

kitchen and loaded up the Lazy

Susan for the third course: paella. As

the smell of saffron and shellfish

filled the room, Charisma made

nummy noises.

McKenna switched everyone’s

wine glass to a fresh, open-bowled

Riedel filled with Sangiovese.

Amanda took a sip of the wine

and let it linger on her tongue,

savoring a relatively stress-free

moment. The room seemed filled

with camaraderie. She felt as if she

were part of the Chosen Ones, and

as if Liam was a part, also. But one

thought brought her back to reality.

“If there are so many Others

watching us, how will we get

around them and into the Sculptor’s

house?”

Liam paused with a scallop

halfway to his mouth. “The short

answer is — we don’t.”

Isabelle delicately wiped her

mouth on her napkin and cleared

her throat. “I hate to cast aspersions

on your plan here, but doesn’t this

portion of it contain a high

possibility of death?”

“Well put.” Genny turned to

Amanda. “Won’t the Others outside

just kill you and” — she made the

sign for air quotes — “Irving … when

you go outside?”

Amanda could feel her plan

falling to pieces and her composure

with it. If they couldn’t work out the

kinks in her admittedly bare bones

strategy, Sophia could be left at the

Sculptor’s house until she was killed

— or was forced to become like

Liam, a heartless, money-grubbing

Other.

Calm down, Amanda. Think.

How can you escape being instantly

killed when you walk out of the

door with Irving

?

The proverbial light bulb came

on. “You’re right, Liam, we don’t

avoid the Others outside. They

won’t kill Irving” — more air quotes

— “because they need him for

whatever their nefarious purposes

are…”

“…probably torture,” Liam said

dubiously.

Amanda ignored him. “And they

won’t kill me because I have

information on the Chosen Ones

that is vital and I will only give to

the Sculptor himself!”

Liam raised a black eyebrow.

“Really? What might this vital

knowledge be?”

The table fell silent as each tried

to think what Amanda could dangle

in front of the Sculptor to keep her

alive long enough to get into his

studio and rescue Sophia.

Rosamund piped up. “She could

tell them that we’ve fulfilled the

prophecy by finding our mates,

except for Charisma.”

Every head at the table turned

to look at her. Her violet eyes grew

wide

behind

her

tortoiseshell

glasses. “I shouldn’t have said that,

should I? Not in front of

him

.” She

nodded at Liam. Turning to her

husband, Aaron, she glared. “

This

is

why you should let me read during

meals!”

Isabelle

turned

to

give

Rosamund a big hug.

Liam tried his best to hold in his

chuckle. He had not expected the

Chosen Ones to be so kind and so…

chummy.

The

Others

certainly

weren’t like that. He’d never been

friends with any of them, and the

closest he’d ever been to any

physical affection from the Others

was when Johannes held him in

place while Eric beat the living crap

out of him after Sophia and

Amanda’s capture.

Amanda looked so alarmed

about Rosamund’s comment that

Liam jumped in to smooth things

over. “I have no idea what the

prophecy is. Osgood isn’t big on

letting us lower minions in on the

big plan.” Which was true enough.

“But I promise I won’t tell the

Others that you’re all coupled up.

Though it would answer some of

their queries about what all of you

do

in here all day.”

The Chosen Ones seemed to

relax, laughing softly.

“Amanda’s plan is not without

merit. Not that we should give

anyone that particular tidbit but it is

definitely information the Others

would

want.”

Turning

toward

Amanda, Irving placed one cold

hand atop the hand she had tightly

clasped around her fork, a piece of

sausage still speared on the end.

“Amanda, I agree with your idea of

pretending to have information. I

feel I should warn you that it is a

dangerous game you’ll have to play.

If they capture you, they’ll torture

you for any information about the

prophecy.”

Liam drew himself up in his

chair. “I won’t let that happen.”

Irving turned his dark eyes on

Liam, piercing him with a direct

stare. “Mr. Gallagher, you are a

brave man. But you are only one

man. Don’t pretend to be an army.

Understand your own limitations or

this plan could go terribly wrong.”

“Yes, sir.” Liam slumped like a

chastised child. “But I will try my

best to keep her safe.”

“I believe you, Mr. Gallagher.

That’s the most I can ask — and I

wish you both the best of luck.”

With that Irving pushed himself

slowly back from the table.

McKenna grabbed the handles

of his wheelchair.

Irving

turned

to

Martha.

“Martha, dear, would you be so kind

as to send whatever scrumptious

dessert you have planned this

evening up to my room?” He looked

tired.

“Of course.” Martha’s voice was

clipped, but Amanda could sense her

worry. Irving never left the table

before dessert.

Amanda started to rise from her

seat, ready to prepare Irving for

bed. He waved her off. “Stay down

here. Eat dessert. Work out any

kinks in the plan.” His smile was

kind. “Martha will show you to your

room, Mr. Gallagher. And I will see

you both off in the morning.”

Turning toward the rest of the

group, he said, “Good night all.”

A chorus of goodnights echoed

around the table.

When Irving was safely in the

elevator in the hallway, Martha

cleared away the paella to make

room for tres leches cake and dark

chocolate

mousse

cups,

accompanied by small snifters of

Grand Marnier.

Liam took small portions of the

cake and mousse, then startled

Amanda by passing the plate to her,

almost as if he’d noticed she’d

barely been able to eat at all this

evening.

It was sort of weird, because

Aaron was doing the same thing for

Rosamund, and John for Genny, and

Samuel for Isabelle, and Caleb for

Jacqueline. Liam was probably

giving them all the idea he and

Amanda

were

a

couple.

The

completely

wrong

idea.

“So the idea is for us to both get

into the Sculptor’s house,” he said,

“grab Sophia, and I’ll change back

into myself to help get us all out

again without being killed by the

Others or worse, changed by the

Sculptor?”

Amanda grimaced. “Yep, that’s

what I’ve got so far.”

“The plan has a few holes,” he

said.

“Yes. But the only other option

is letting Sophia be killed. That’s not

an option … for me.” Tears stung her

eyes, and Amanda deliberately shut

down, cut off her emotions, tried not

to feel anything for Liam and his

perfect blue eyes, his beautiful Irish

lilt … tried to remember that he was

here for the money.

Liam met her gaze and said

firmly, “Then we’ll get her back.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SCULPTOR could feel them

watching him. It was like an itch

under his skin, a prickling on the

back of his neck. As he walked

through his front hallway, he would

sometimes glance quickly over his

shoulder, arm lifted to prevent a

blow to the head.

But no one was ever there. The

hallway was always empty …

except for all those frozen statues,

plastered white to disguise the pinks

and browns and blacks of their

skins, the glisten of their eyes, the

open, screaming mouths.

Nothing could disguise their

frightened expressions. No one

smiled in his gallery of horror, and

he constantly felt them glaring at

him, hating him for what he did to

them.

This was what he got for

making a deal with the devil.

Yes. The devil. Because the

Sculptor was quite sure that was

who Osgood was.

None of the goons seemed to

realize exactly who they worked

for. None of the Others he had

known before or since had been

sure.

Idiots, every one of them.

There were whispers among the

ranks that Osgood was a fallen

angel.

Who did they think the devil

was, but the archangel Lucifer,

thrown from heaven for daring to

challenge God Himself?

And Osgood

was

the devil here

on Earth, for how else could he have

the power to pluck the Sculptor out

of his former life, if it could even be

called that, and guarantee him

health, wealth and longevity?

Years before, the Sculptor had

been forcibly retired from the

Others. For what use was he if he

couldn’t stop motion? He could

never do it for long – a few seconds,

even a minute or two in his heyday.

But those few moments really came

in handy for eluding the police,

exploding a bomb at just the right

second, or stealing a baby out of the

orphanage.

When he was in his forties, he

noticed his gift fading … he would

stop motion on someone, and the

person would shake it off. Soon he

became a joke, the Other no one

picked for their team.

So after a youth spent aiding in

Osgood’s drug rings and prostitution

schemes, they shoved him aside,

sent away from all he had ever

known, with no job prospects and

no talents. Soon he began to waste

away with a disease that science

had yet to cure, his brain failing, his

eyesight nearly gone, with no

money and no family to care for

him. Everyone had forgotten about

him.

During that time he often

thought that this long, torturous

death must be payback for the life

he had lived, for the people he had

maimed, for the innocent lives lost at

his hands.

All that time, Osgood had been

gathering his power. When the time

was right, he had come seeking the

Sculptor. He promised youth again,

with

power

. More power. Glorious,

intimidating power. The power to

vanquish Osgood's enemies by

turning them into stone-like statues.

Clearly, Osgood had been watching

him, waiting for the moment when

the Sculptor gave up hope … and so

the Sculptor accepted without a

second thought.

He only found out later how

many people he would have to

change to satisfy Osgood’s lust for

revenge on his enemies.

Osgood had so many enemies.

Mostly people who had not held up

their side of a bargain, who one by

one were brought to the Sculptor, so

he could use his “gift” on them.

Yet with power had come

restrictions.

Rules.

Fears

and

cautions and the Sculptor's own kind

of terror.

Power had become a bitter pill

to swallow.

Look at him. He had no females

fawning on him. He had no

freedoms, no pleasures.

He spent his life surrounded by

frozen

people

with

terrified

expressions.

Never was he allowed to leave

his home … he hadn’t been outside,

felt the sun on his face, had a drink,

talked to people for over ten years.

And

always,

he

worried

whether he could meet Osgood’s

quota on souls damned to an

eternity of stillness.

No wonder he felt it necessary

to apply plaster to each figure,

vainly hoping that he could trick

himself into thinking they were truly

statues instead of people who had

dared to cross Osgood … or fail him.

As inevitably, the Sculptor himself

must fail Osgood.

Because, of course, the more the

Sculptor worked at his craft, the

more

Osgood

demanded.

The

Sculptor was roused day and night

by the brutal goons Osgood hired.

They thrust the screaming, fearful

souls into the workshop and roughly

told him to do his thing. They

showed no respect for his craft. They

cared nothing for his fatigue. He

hardly had time to sleep. His

hallway was getting crowded. His

nightmares

were getting crowded….

The Sculptor still wasn’t sure if

the statues could feel anything, if

they knew what their lives had

become…

Some had been here so long, he

had watched them age. A few had

simply disappeared. One night they

were there, looking haggard and

wrinkled

beneath

their

white

coating. The next morning all that

would be left was a pile of dry

plaster.

Whether they could feel their

lives passing by or not, the Sculptor

would swear that they watched him,

those wretched, pained, vengeful

expressions on their faces.

The little girl in his workshop …

she was different.

She had been a true innocent.

When they had brought her in, she

had not known why she had been

taken, or by who. Even when the

Sculptor questioned her, she could

only guess that the Others sought

her for her power.

The Sculptor had tried to explain

his plan to Sophia. He had tried to

tell her that he was only freezing

her until Osgood decided what he

wanted to do with her. He told her,

several times, how Osgood planned

to break her of the bonds of her old

life and convince her to fight for evil.

Even when Sophia had at last

realized that her fate was the same

as the statues surrounding her, the

girl had only wanted to know her

sister was all right. She had tried to

bargain, to extract promises from

the Others not to harm her sister. In

the end, after all those tears and

messy emotions, he had been glad

to change Sophia into a statue.

The Sculptor didn’t understand

Sophia’s kind of flagrant loyalty. He

had been abandoned by his teenage

mother. The Others were the only

family he had ever known. He

would use any one of them as a

human shield when the bullets

started flying. And that child, that

Sophia, had been abandoned by her

parents, too, or she wouldn’t have a

gift. Why did she make such a big

deal about … love?

So he simply hadn’t understood

why

the

girl

wouldn’t

stop

screaming “Mandy!” and fighting

against her bonds, trying to rescue

her unconscious, bleeding sister.

Eventually, the Sculptor had

given up, and he had changed

Sophia. Now she was a lump of

stone like all the rest, the tears

frozen on her cheeks, her arms

outstretched to her sister … and he

suspected Sophia of watching him,

too.

At least in the matter of the two

sisters, the Sculptor proved his value

to Osgood. It was he who realized

that part of Sophia’s value lay in

utilizing her sister’s willingness to do

anything that would free the girl

from her statue state and her

eventual turn to evil.

The Sculptor ordered Amanda to

work her way into the Chosen

Ones’ confidences, report on their

inner workings … and eventually, to

bring him Irving Shea.

If she did not, Sophia would die.

Actually, Osgood would never

kill Sophia, or at least not unless he

had tried to turn her and failed, so

they were bluffing. But Amanda

didn’t realize that, or if she did, she

was too terrified to challenge

Osgood's anger or his power.

Smart girl.

However, weeks turned into

months, more than two months

now, and still Irving was not well

enough to leave the mansion.

Amanda was of value; she handed

over crucial information about the

Chosen Ones — their movements

and how they spent their time. She

kept the Sculptor informed of

Irving’s movements and his strides

in rehabilitation.

But not too long ago, the

Sculptor had been old. He knew

what it was like to feel his body

giving out, to feel himself dying little

by little. There was a good chance

Irving would not recover enough to

ever go outside. And Osgood

wanted access to Irving

now

. He

wanted the information Irving held

now

. He wanted to use Irving to

make the Chosen Ones suffer …

now. Now.

Now

. Before it was too

late, and Irving was dead.

So when the Sculptor received

an ultimatum from Osgood, he

threw a tantrum composed of rage,

desperation, and terror. He had

lifted his hammer and threatened

Sophia’s

statue,

and

for

one

moment

he

had

considered

smashing her into bits and ending all

their agonies.

Then

…

then

something

happened.

He would have sworn Sophia’s

green eyes moved, and looked at

him. Really looked at him.

He dropped the hammer. He

backed up to the wall. He told

himself he had seen nothing but a

shadow; it was his imagination, his

weirdly active conscience.

Sophia couldn’t move her eyes.

She couldn’t project fear and

loathing.

Yet his heart pounded and he

broke a cold sweat, and for the first

time, he wondered what would

happen if all the statues came to life.

What would happen to him

then?

For a moment, he shivered in

terror.

Then he realized he had better

make sure that never happened. He

needed Amanda to deliver Irving,

and he needed it now. Now.

Now

.

So he pondered how best to

send a message to Sophia’s sister.

She needed to know that she was

out of time.

First he sent for Liam. Then he

changed his mind.

Liam wasn’t the man for this

job. He had displayed a lamentable

fondness for Amanda. In fact, Eric

and the boys had beaten the crap

out of Liam for trying to help her.

At the time, the Sculptor hadn’t

paid much attention. The boys were

always jostling for position, lying

and blackmailing, trying to get

ahead on a stepladder formed of

fallen comrades. As far as the

Sculptor was concerned, Liam’s

talent and ambition more than

made up for any softness of

character.

But this was important. He

couldn’t take a chance that Eric was

right about Liam.

And he didn’t trust Eric. Eric was

the go-between for Osgood and the

Sculptor, and he smirked and

swaggered every time he handed

over Osgood's orders. He had no

respect for the Sculptor's talents, and

no fear of his reprisal. No, it would

be like Eric to “forget” to tell

Amanda that she had only three

days to bring Irving to the mansion.

So the Sculptor called in Robbie.

As an evil henchman, Robbie

made a pretty good plumber. He

wasn’t smart. He didn’t think on his

feet. He could not remember the

details of any plan. But he always

did as he was told, no matter

whether how difficult or how

violent.

So the Sculptor called him in and

handed him a note to give to

Amanda, a note that spelled out her

deadline and the dire consequences

that would occur if she failed.

Robbie had taken the note, put

it in his pocket, nodded solemnly,

and went off to watch over Liam’s

Sunday meeting with Amanda.

It wouldn’t be long now, and

the Sculptor waited for Irving to

emerge and for the Others stationed

around the Chosen Ones’ mansion

to bring the old man to him.

If the Sculptor could pull this off,

Osgood would reward him.

If the Sculptor failed … if he

failed, he shuddered to think of the

consequences.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SOPHIA … HER green eyes are

glassy like peridots, her tears frozen

in trails along her cheeks. She holds

her arm toward Amanda, calling,

“Mandy

!

Mandy

!

Help me

!”

With a gasp, Amanda sat

straight up in bed, her forehead slick

with sweat, her body trembling. She

pressed her hands to her eyes,

holding back her own tears, then

she wrapped her arms around her

waist and rocked back and forth,

back and forth, trying to find

comfort where there was none. She

knew there was none; the dream

came to her every night, and every

night she was once again desolate

and broken.

In her tissue-thin t-shirt and

worn old boxers, she slipped from

her bed. Going to the window, she

looked out.

Spring was supposed to be

coming, but the cold, hard winter

refused to give up. New York

sidewalks glittered with frost, and

the tall, old, homeless woman who

trudged down the street waved her

arms as if trying to fend off the cold.

Or … or as if she were giving a tour

of the nineteenth century mansions

that lined the street.

With a shiver, Amanda grabbed

her blue cotton bathrobe from

behind her closet door, pulled on her

fuzzy green socks, and grabbed her

blanket. But when she went back to

the window, the old woman was

gone, pushed by the north wind

onto a different block.

Amanda

supposed

the

old

woman was crazy. So many of the

street people were. But if she didn’t

free Sophia soon, Amanda could see

herself walking the streets, giving

tours to invisible crowds of people.

Sometimes it seemed as if the stress

was too much. Already, at night

when she couldn’t sleep, she paced

the lonely corridors of Irving's

mansion, making plans to rescue

Sophia, or imagining vengeance on

Liam, or futilely seeking tranquility.

She placed her blanket back on

her bed, opened her door, and down

the dimly-lit hallway she went,

trying to remember what it was like

before Sophia was taken. She had

slept like a baby then, always tired

from a long day of getting Sophia to

school, working at the hospital all

day, and making dinner for Sophia

in the evenings, while her little sister

did

her

homework.

On

the

weekends,

they

watched

Harry

Potter

films and played Scrabble.

Amanda didn’t have her own

life. She had no time of her own, and

while she knew what she was

missing, she also knew what she

had; a sister and a family. When

Liam came along, he had had to ask

and beg and grovel before she

would date him, and even then she

was always home early. Sophia had

no parents. She had little enough of

the normal existence. Amanda was

determined to always be there for

her.

She had failed miserably, and all

because one wicked Irishman had

convinced her she could have both

— her sister, and a lover.

Now Amanda wandered the

wide and elegant halls, wishing for

her old cramped apartment back if it

meant she could be with Sophia and

not know that Liam was one of the

Others.

Padding

down

the

main

stairway in her stocking feet, she

started to glide along the front

hallway’s marble floors, pretending

to ice skate in Central Park. She

twirled and smiled, a pretend flirt on

pretend ice. It reminded her of the

way she and Liam had been a few

weeks before Christmas, silly in love

… or at least she had been.

Who could have blamed her? He

had looked amazing, the color in his

cheekbones heightened from the

cold, his black hair hidden by a

ridiculous fleece hat with earflaps.

She’d never learned to ice skate,

so Liam had led her around, skating

backwards and holding her hands

so she could easily follow.

As she glided past the stairway

that led down to the kitchen, the

sound of clattering plates awoke

Amanda

from

her

memories.

Probably a good thing, since that

bastard Liam had crushed the hope

that someone would finally take

care of her, as she had taken care of

Sophia. Even now, his perfidy left an

empty, aching place in her heart.

Her growling stomach reminded

her she hadn’t managed to swallow

much of Martha’s dinner. She would

join whichever of the Chosen Ones

was pilfering from the fridge.

Jogging down the stairs to the

basement, Amanda stopped short.

Apparently the other person

who had had the leftovers idea was

Liam.

He stood in the massive kitchen,

heaping goat cheese and roasted

garlic onto a piece of toasted bread,

a glass of deep red wine standing at

the ready next to his plate of olives

and cold shrimp. Amanda had to

admire a man with that much of an

appetite, especially one wearing

snug blue jeans and not a thing on

his chiseled chest except for a

dusting of black hair and the famed

dragon tattoo. “Aren’t you cold?”

she blurted.

He looked up, looked her over,

and smiled. Smiled as if the sight of

her with her bedhead hair, crummy

blue bathroom and fuzzy green

socks gave him pleasure. “Well,

what have we here?” he asked.

“Another lover of the midnight

snack?”

Amanda cleared her throat and

tried to focus on anything other

than that dragon, sprawling across

his chest in glorious Technicolor,

clawing at his gorgeously muscled

bare torso. And his tousled black

hair that she wanted to run her

fingers through. And that smile that

cajoled and reassured.

The man was lethal — in more

ways than one.

“Or perhaps another insomniac.

Are you worried, darlin’, about

tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a good plan you came up

with. As good a plan as is possible

considering who — or what — we’re

dealing with. So don’t worry.” Liam

projected reassurance. “And have a

little snack.”

“Yes.

Thank

you.”

She

appreciated his reassurance even

more than his offer of food. “I would

like that. The snack, I mean. I didn’t

eat much at dinner.”

“Neither did I, darlin’. Planning

and eating don’t seem to go hand-

in-hand.” Liam grabbed another

crimson plate from the stack in the

tall, glass-front cupboards and set it

on the granite tabletop to fill with

food.

“Although I should get back to

bed.” She really should. She should

run away and try to ignore her

growling stomach. Because sharing

a quiet meal with Liam was

foolhardy. She knew it.

And yet she lingered.

Ignoring

her,

Liam

pulled

Tupperware containers out of the

fridge, opening them and placing a

little of each delicious food on

Amanda’s plate. Soon, she had an

array of tidbits that made her mouth

water. Liam moved like a man

comfortable in a kitchen, pulling a

sparkling wine glass out of the

hanging racks and filling it with

wine from the open bottle.

Amanda watched mesmerized

until Liam silently offered her a

bench seat at the enormous granite-

topped table. Shaking her head, she

moved to the other side of the table.

He pushed the plate over to her

and sat down opposite.

She wrapped ham around a

caper berry and dipped both in

whole-grain mustard.

Heaven. The dates, almonds,

sliced Serrano ham, caper berries,

and pesto-smeared bread were

precisely what her tired mind

needed, and she thoroughly enjoyed

herself — until she realized Liam

watched her intently.

“Can I help you?” she asked, an

annoyed edge to her voice.

Liam smiled slowly, seductively.

“Only if you can tell me how you

can look so sexy while eating.”

He was mocking her, and she

did

not

appreciate it.

So what if she enjoyed eating?

That was no reason to make her

self-conscious about it.

But Liam didn’t seem to be

following her train of thought.

Instead he picked one of the dates

off her plate, sliced it halfway

through with a sharp knife, slid a

spiced almond inside, and held it out

for her.

“Liam,” Amanda said firmly, “I

don’t need to be fed.”

“You’ll like it, I promise. The

cumin on the almond plays upon the

sweetness of the date.”

“You’ve been watching too

many cooking shows.”

“Come on, darlin’. You said you

were hungry.”

Amanda considered how she

hard she could bite down on his

hand while taking the date from

him. But almond-stuffed dates did

sound pretty darn decadent. And if

she bit him, he might retaliate, and

he was stronger and taller and more

muscular….

She was staring at his chest

again.

So she leaned forward with her

eyes closed, ready to savor the

delight.

But instead of a date, she was

met with Liam’s lips. His firm, warm

lips.

Opening her eyes, she pulled

back with a gasp and did the first

thing that popped into her head.

She slapped him across the face.

The sound reverberated through

the high ceiling, echoing off the tile

floors.

Liam was clearly shocked that

she would slap him.

Amanda was just as shocked.

She had never slapped

anyone

.

She’d seen it in the romantic

comedies she loved to watch, but

she didn’t think women ever

actually slapped a man for being

brazen.

But other than the violent sting

of her palm and the tiniest bit of

guilt she felt about the red hand

print on Liam’s left cheek, she was

pretty proud of herself.

Take that,

you cocky Irishman

!

Liam sat down on his side of the

table and stared. “I cannot believe

you slapped me. You actually

slapped me. Who does that?”

“Probably the same type of

over-dramatic people who think

switching proffered food for an

unwanted kiss is the thing to do!”

He deserved it. He really did.

Was she trying to convince

herself?

“You used to like kissing me.”

He had the nerve to sound

indignant. “You used to like it when

I fed you.”

Amanda could feel the heat

rising in her neck, flushing her

cheeks. Her anger filled every inch

of her until it rushed out, smashing

into Liam and his good memories.

She pointed her finger at him.

“You’re right, Liam. I used to like all

of those things. Then you betrayed

me.” Half-rising from the bench, she

poked his chest for emphasis. “You

ruined my life. You made me lose

my job. You made me lose my

home. You made me lose my sister.”

Liam leaned back, then stood

up, trying to escape her rage.

Amanda stood and stalked

toward him. “I am tired of keeping

all my emotions in check. I am tired

of seeing you every damn week

when all you do is make me think

about Sophia. I am tired of tricking

good people to help the bad ones.

And I am sick and tired of you, Liam

Gallagher.”

As he backed up toward the

refrigerator, his lips became tighter

and tighter.

Amanda had never really seen

Liam angry.

But he was now, and he came

back at her, eyes flashing a hot blue.

“You think my life has been a

picnic? Since that day, none of the

Others and none of their thugs have

trusted me. I’ve been mocked and

beaten. Then I have to see you

every week and have you use every

chance to tell me how I ruined your

life!”

Amanda stood stock-still, her

finger still raised in front of his chest.

His voice grew quiet, the heat of

his anger cooling as he leaned back

against the metal refrigerator door.

“I shouldn’t care what you think of

me. I shouldn’t be telling you why I

am what I am. But I do care, so look

— the Others saved me from a

miserable existence in Ireland. They

fed me and clothed me. No one had

ever bothered to do that. I was

asked to do questionable things to

people who possibly didn’t deserve

it. But that’s a small price to pay for

not starving every winter.”

Deflated, Amanda lowered her

finger.

She hadn’t known that. Why

hadn’t he told her?

Maybe because she hadn’t

asked about his past. He had

seemed the perfect man, interesting

and interested in her, kind to her

sister, looking toward a future

together.

That should have made her

suspicious if nothing else did.

But he hadn’t been perfect. If

what he had said was true, he had

been abused as a child, raised in

austerity, cold and hunger. None of

that was an excuse for his behavior

… but now she wondered … “Why

did the Others send you to work on

us? Surely seduction isn’t your

talent.” A horrible thought occurred

to her, and she waved her hand up

and down at him. “Is

this

your real

form?”

“Yes!” He rubbed the scar on his

forehead, the one Robbie had put

there with the butt of his gun. “Man,

you’re suspicious. And yes, yes, I

know why. I betrayed you and your

sister, and it’s my fault she’s a

statue. If it helps, I feel like shit.”

“It doesn’t.” But actually, it did.

If he meant it. Which he probably

didn’t, and his story about his youth

was probably a lie, too. But if it was

the truth, well, that would explain a

few things.

“They sent me because they like

to keep their talents busy — Osgood

gets his pound of flesh — and at that

moment, he had no other job for a

shapeshifter.”

“And you’re good at romance,”

she snapped.

“You don’t have to make it

sound like a sin.” But his gaze slid

away from hers.

“It’s only a sin when you’re

lying about your feelings.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

He glanced at her, then away. “But

conscience is a slippery thing, and

from an early age mine learned to

accommodate anything to remain

alive.”

Why did she so badly want to

believe him

?

He looked back at her. “Then

there was you. The Others sent me

to spy on you, to draw you in, to

find out if Sophia really had a power

and exactly what it was. But as I

spent more time with the two of

you, I realized what a real family

was like. You were like nothing I’d

ever seen: close, warm, thoughtful,

loving.”

She remembered what it was

like to feel her sister’s love, her

sister’s warm hugs before bedtime.

She clamped down on her emotions,

and in a soft voice, she said, “We

were a good family, weren't we?”

“I shouldn’t have cared what

happened to you. It took me forever

to realize I couldn’t hand Sophia

over to them. That child deserved all

the chances I never had.” He shook

his head, and his blue eyes grew

brighter, almost as if he looked at

her through a sheen of tears. “And I

couldn’t break your heart like that.”

Amanda's upsurge of emotion

caught her by surprise. “You already

did, Liam.” Her tears matched his,

and they spilled over, running down

her face unchecked.

Embarrassed, she turned and

walked out of the kitchen, her sock

feet making barely a sound.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AMANDA HURRIED toward the main

stairs, torn between a desire for

Liam to follow her and a fear of

what would happen if he did.

Tonight she needed comfort, and

each moment she spent alone with

him brought the bright thrum of

affection and joy rushing back at

her. She had loved him so much….

No matter how much she tried,

she couldn’t convince herself that

she truly hated him. Even with all

the evidence stacked against him,

she didn’t know if she believed that

he had meant to give Sophia up to

the Others. Her mind was whirling;

a thousand thoughts trying to

solidify into one conviction. Maybe

he really had had second thoughts.

She hoped so. She hoped—

She gasped when he grabbed

her shoulders. He turned her around,

spinning her effortlessly on the

marble floor of the entryway.

She caught a glimpse of rugged,

scowling face, his blazing blue eyes,

the scar on his forehead and the

mouth about which she had never

stopped dreaming. Then she was

enveloped in his arms, her face

turned up to his, his lips on hers, his

tongue claiming and taunting.

Their kisses had always been

tender before, when he was wooing

her. But this was different. This was

emotion, strong as a hurricane,

buffeting

her

with

passion,

impatience, demand.

His embrace was strong, holding

her

possessively,

trapping

her

against his warm, muscled chest,

enfolding her in his smell of cloves

and

orange

spice

and

that

indefinable erotic smell of aroused

male. He brushed aside her surprise

just as he brushed the blonde hair

away from her neck. He dealt

impatiently with her feeble attempts

to escape, teaching her to kiss more

deeply.

He tasted of cherries and cedar

from the wine.

She loved those cherries. She

loved that wine.

When

he

had

thoroughly

subdued her, he pulled back. “What

do you mean, I already did? I

already handed over Sophia or I

already broke your heart?”

He was asking if she loved him,

now or then.

He didn’t deserve to know that

she had loved him once.

She didn’t know, didn’t want to

know, if she loved him still.

She was tired of this Pandora’s

box of confused feelings. She no

longer wanted to think; her heart

couldn’t take any more.

She wanted to forget.

Maybe Liam was a liar. Maybe

he had betrayed Sophia. Maybe

tomorrow he was going to betray

her to the Sculptor. Or maybe he

was going to fulfill their mission,

take Irving's money, and run.

She just didn’t care anymore.

Because one thing she knew

Liam was good for; for tonight, he

could make her forget her pain, her

loneliness, her fears.

Grabbing his neck, she pulled

his face to hers and kissed him.

She stopped trying to think,

stopped attempting to decide where

she stood with Liam and where he

stood with her.

She would savor this moment,

this passion. She would use him to

forget her heartache and her

loneliness.

And

tomorrow

she

would

rescue Sophia and live. Or she

would fail, and die.

Even if Liam truly meant to help

her, even if he did help her — the

odds were irrevocably stacked

against them.

For a boy who had been raised

as he had, without kindness or pity,

and

with

the

odds

already

irrevocably stacked against him, the

fact he agreed to help her meant …

meant she did mean something to

him. And whether she liked it or not,

he meant the world to her.

Liam drew back, supporting her

as she wobbled, woozy from their

fiery kiss. He stood panting for a

moment,

capturing

her

gaze,

demanding the truth, looking at her

as though he wished to decipher her

thoughts, read the desires of her

heart.

Then he nodded, as if he

understood, and without a word, he

reached down and picked her up,

hugging her to his chest as he

walked up the stairs.

She clung to his neck. She rested

her head against his shoulder. She

felt his arm muscles clench around

her, holding her effortlessly. He

ascended the stairs as though she

were nothing, as though she

weighed little more than a feather, a

flake of snow. His tightening jaw

was the only indication that his

emotions were in a state of

upheaval, that he felt as much

conflict as she did.

When he reached the top of the

stairs, he turned right, walking

briskly past the oil paintings that

lined the hallway until he reached

the door of her room. He paused,

and Amanda realized it would be

next to impossible for him to hold

her and open the door. In the split

second where he made a move to

put her down, she decided she

wanted to stay in his arms,

protected from her thoughts and

from the world.

“I’ve got it,” she whispered in

his ear, reveling in the shiver that

ran through him at her breath on his

neck.

She extended her hand to the

dark bronze handle and pushed the

door inward.

Turning sideways, Liam walked

through the doorway, nudging the

door closed with his foot. With a

glance at the simple, sturdy wooden

desk, he carried Amanda over and

placed her on its cool surface.

Gently, he reached up and moved

her chin until she was forced to look

into his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes.

Eyes that had laughed with her so

many times in the past … were

completely serious.

“Now, what’s this about me

breaking your heart?” Liam’s voice

was so quiet, so forceful. He would

keep pushing her for answers,

answers she couldn’t give to him.

She could feel the tears pushing

at her eyes again, threatening to

burst through her reserve, her

control. “Liam, it no longer matters.”

He leaned down, placing his

arms on either side of her, his palms

flat against the dark sheen of the

desk. “It matters to me.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LIAM’S BREATH fanned Amanda's

cheek, his lips so close, so tantalizing.

She couldn’t tell him. She

couldn’t let her guard down enough

to tell him that she had adored him,

had wanted to be with him forever.

What good would it do now? Their

love was an impossible concept; the

odds were stacked against them.

And she simply could not let her

emotions get in the way of

protecting Sophia. She had done so

once before, and now they were all

paying the price.

Sophia was paying the price.

So instead Amanda trailed light

airy kisses along Liam’s neck,

building up to the moment when she

slowly, warmly sucked on his ear

lobe. “I would love … a wee dram …

of whiskey.” Taking his head in her

hands, she directed his gaze to the

small side table with a crystal

decanter.

“Now?”

He

couldn’t

have

looked more horrified.

She leaned back, put her hands

against the desk, and smiled. “Liquid

courage.”

“Yours or mine?”

Her smile faltered. “Mine.”

He swallowed. “First time?”

“Yes. When would I have had

the chance?”

“I dunno. High school?”

“Pimply-faced boys.”

“Nursing school?”

“Married doctors and linen

closets. It never appealed. And I had

to get home. It was no big deal. I

was never tempted.” She swung a

nervous foot. “Until now. Scared?”

“God, yes.” He swallowed

again, and as if he couldn’t believe

it, he repeated, “Your first time. I’m

your first…”

“Lover. Yes.”

His complexion was pale. His

voice was gravelly. “Thank you, Irish

whiskey sounds

great

.”

That was reassuring.

Not

.

He let her go. He stepped away.

Turning to the decanter, he filled the

glass next to it with a healthy

splash.

When he returned to her, the

color had returned to his face and

had been replaced by a different

reaction

than

she

had

ever

imagined.

He

now

looked

possessive. Proud. Like a man who

had been given the gift of trust.

He held the glass to her mouth

and watched her sip.

She could feel the fire burning

her throat, warming her stomach.

“I love to watch you drink Irish

whiskey,” he breathed, “the way

your lips curl around the amber

liquid, the way you lick the rim of

the glass.”

It was not the alcohol that make

her relax; it was the hungry look on

his face and the tone of his voice.

He turned the glass and placed

his lips exactly where her lips had

been, and took a sip. Then he put the

glass down and pushed it aside, and

she pulled Liam in, rubbing his neck

with her right hand. Gently, she

turned his face toward her, kissing

her way leisurely toward his lips,

smelling the faint aroma of his spicy

aftershave. When she reached his

mouth, she tenderly kissed the

corners of his lips.

That was when his control

broke, as she had known it would.

Cupping her cheek with one

large, warm palm, he reached

behind her to lose the ponytail that

held her hair in check. The honey

strands fell around her shoulders, as

he ran his fingers through them,

savoring the softness, smelling the

lingering perfume of her lavender

shampoo.

“I have dreams about your hair.

You used to wear it down so much

more. Now, it’s always up.” Liam’s

voice sounded gruff. “Every time

I’ve seen you, Miss Prim and

Resentful Nurse Amanda, this is

what I’ve wanted to do.” Grasping

her hair at the nape of her neck, he

tilted her head back.

He claimed her, sucking gently

on her lower lip.

In answer she nibbled his upper

lip, running her tongue inside his

mouth. He tasted like Liam, familiar,

warm, generous, kind … the way

she remembered him tasting, with a

tantalizing edge of red wine and

almonds.

He continued to ply her with

kisses, driving into her mouth over

and over with his tongue. Leaving

one hand tangled in her hair, he

moved the other to the sash of her

ratty old robe. With a skilled flick of

his wrist, he loosened the knot,

opening it, then released her, and

stared.

“I’ve never had any pretty

nightgowns,” she explained. “I

mean, what’s the point if no one

ever sees you?”

Then she realized … Liam was

transfixed by her body beneath the

tissue-thin material of her shirt.

Transfixed and fascinated.

Slowly she leaned back and put

her hands against the cool wood of

the desk.

His gaze followed her every

movement.

“Oh,

darlin’,

what

you’re wearing will do fine.”

He pushed her robe from her

shoulders, letting it pool at her

wrists where they rested behind her.

She shivered.

He grasped her thighs and

moved them apart enough to

accommodate his hips. Leaning

forward with exquisite slowness, he

pulled her shirt from first one

shoulder then the other, planting

kisses as he went.

He stared at her lips, tender

from so much kissing, at her tousled

hair, falling down her shoulder,

covering one breast. His hands

smoothed along the side of her shirt,

chafing her straining nipples.

She whimpered with need.

He pulled her upper body

forward, releasing the robe from her

wrists, then sliding her shirt over her

head.

He paused again, viewing her

breasts as if every new revelation

left him breathless. “You are the

most gorgeous woman I have ever

seen.”

Amanda smiled, basking in his

praise. Feeling bold, she moved his

hands down to the waistband of her

boxers,

while

simultaneously

thrusting her hips up off the desk.

He whisked the shorts and her

robe from beneath her bottom.

She was naked. Fully naked.

And his eyes looked wide and

star-struck.

As she lowered herself, and her

warmth contacted the coolness of

the desk, she gasped and clenched

her thighs.

He sighed as if she had fulfilled

his every fantasy. “Now, now, don’t

be making me finish right here and

now.” He enveloped her in a warm

hug that quickly became a trail of

kisses.

Amanda sighed as his mouth

closed around her nipple, hungrily

suckling on it. He cupped her other

breast with a warm hand, lightly

flicking the tip of her nipple before

moving over to suckle it as well.

His other hand dipped into the

glass of whiskey, and Amanda

gasped with pleasure as he wet her

nipples and proceeded to thoroughly

lick the whiskey off. When he had

sucked the warm liquid off of both

her breasts, he placed her hands

around his neck. His hands travelled

behind her to rub down her spine.

They cupped her buttocks.

Amanda pushed him away and

crossed her legs. “You know, Mr.

Gallagher, it’s not really fair that I’m

naked and you’ve still got your

pants on.” Her voice was husky. Not

quite steady. “Get comfortable. Stay

awhile.”

Liam stared at her. At her full

lips, her pert and creamy breasts,

the blond hair between her legs

barely visible. Then like a man with

his pants on fire, he shed his jeans.

He wore no underwear.

And while she had seen her

share of naked men — she was,

after all, a nurse — she’d never seen

one with quite that physique in quite

that state of readiness.

Picking up the glass, she drank

the whiskey.

It burned.

She burned.

“I sleep naked,” Liam said. “I

pulled my pants on to go get a

midnight snack. Didn’t know there

would be a boxer competition

later.”

She smiled. She nodded. She put

the glass on the desk. With her eyes

fixed firmly on his face, she

uncrossed her legs — just uncrossed

them, didn’t spread them — and

motioned him forward.

Liam gently pressed his warm

palms against her inner thighs and

opened her wider.

“Liam, I’m cold.” Amanda’s

nervousness was getting the best of

her. Her voice had a bit of tremble in

it.

“You need someone to keep

you warm.” Liam pressed his palm

against the light thatch of hair

between her legs.

Amanda

jumped

with

the

electricity of his touch, clasping her

thighs tightly around his hips.

This time when Liam pressed her

legs apart, he knelt in front of her.

He was going to keep her warm

with his tongue.

He planted slow, hot kisses

along

her

thighs.

Murmuring

appreciatively, he licked her outer

lips. When he sucked on her,

Amanda writhed. When he pushed

his tongue inside of her, she

shivered. When he breathed warm

puffs of air onto her clitoris, she

leaned her head back and moaned,

long and low and pleasured.

She wasn’t done yet — although

she was close — when he leaned

back on his heels.

“Hmmm…” he said.

“What?” She was breathing

hard. “What’s the matter?”

“Not a thing, darlin’, I was just

wondering how I could get better

access to your pussy. Do you know

how many ways there are for a

man and woman to have sex?”

She shook her head.

“Leave it to me. I’ll show you.”

“Tonight?” Her voice squeaked.

He laughed warmly. “No rush,

my darlin’. We’ve got our whole

lives.”

“We do?” He sounded so

confident.

Nodding his head, he said,

“Indeed, we do.”

“So you think” — she pulled in a

long, tremulous breath — “that

tomorrow we’ll save Sophia and

vanquish the Sculptor?”

“For the chance to make love to

you every night, I could win a battle

against all the Others and take

down Osgood's building with my

own bare hands.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

Gently he reached up to touch

her cheek. “I can see Sophia,

running

barefoot

through

a

vineyard in Italy, the sun on her

cheeks, her dark hair streaming out

behind her, while you watch her and

laugh for joy. Yes, we’re going to

save Sophia. Never doubt that for a

minute. We will succeed.”

He sounded so sure of himself

that she believed him. Her last

doubts fell away. And when he

seated

himself

on

the

sturdy

wooden desk chair and patted the

arms, she put first one foot, then the

other, up as he instructed. “Lean

back,” he whispered.

Slowly she lowered herself until

her spine pressed against the cool

wood.

She was so vulnerable.

And yet she trusted him. She

believed in him.

He took his time, tasting her

deeply

and

more

deeply.

He

lingered, sucked, kissed.

She put her hands over her

head, clutched the edge of the desk,

stretched and moaned. She kneaded

the wooden arms of the chair with

her toes. She was ready. So ready.

She moved her hips in rhythm,

pressing her lips against his mouth

and tongue.

“Liam, please. Please.” Amanda

wasn’t above pleading for release.

Stars began to explode behind her

eyes.

Liam slid a finger into her

slickness, pressing upward to find

her g-spot, lightly grazing her clit

with his thumb.

Amanda climaxed once. Twice.

She cried out as he slid his finger in

and out, using his thumb all the

while, extending her pleasure.

Now Liam kissed his way slowly

up her body, stopping to gently

graze her hip with his teeth.

She jumped slightly, her need

igniting again.

“Liam, I want you inside of me.”

Immediately,

Amanda

was

embarrassed.

Where did that come

from

? But it was true. She wanted to

feel him filling her, she wanted to

bring him pleasure.

Liam grinned wolfishly against

her skin. “As you wish, darlin’.”

Leaning down, he fished a

condom out of his jeans pocket. He

tore the foil and rolled the condom

onto his cock. Supporting her head

and back, he helped her sit up on

the edge of the desk, and readjusted

her shaky legs farther toward the

ends of the chair handles.

She started too withdraw. She

felt too … exposed.

But he knew. Somehow he

knew, for he wrapped one of his

strong arms around Amanda’s

shoulders, pressed his palm against

her shoulder blades, and brought

her breasts forward and up into his

mouth.

“That’s

…

so

good,”

she

whispered. Stupid thing to say. But

she meant it.

He massaged her back, suckled

warmly, pressed inside her.

She grew damper, more slick.

Her slickness seemed to increase

as he pressed inward, her knees

compulsively grasped his hips, and

the pressure inside grew intense,

almost painful.

He lifted his head. “A little

more.” He moved in such a leisurely

manner, as if he didn’t care. Yet his

skin flushed with heat and his eyes

burned. “Let me in a little farther.”

She couldn’t stop him. She

didn’t want to stop him.

Months ago she had dreamed

about this and longed for him.

Weeks ago she had dreamed about

this and hated herself. Now the

dream was reality … and it was

better than any fantasy her mind

could have concocted.

He reached his furthest point,

his cock completely sheathed by her

wet, warm pussy.

She gasped.

He paused, his chest heaving as

if he’d run a great distance. “I’ve

dreamed of this. It feels even better

than I ever imagined.”

Amanda smiled. So she wasn’t

the only one with a fantasy.

Wrapping her arms around his

neck, she lifted her hips from the

desk, rotating herself away from

and toward him, circling around his

penis. She was rewarded by a hiss

from Liam as he tried to maintain

control.

“How does that feel?” she

asked.

Liam hardly recognized this

brazen woman, her golden hair

cascading

around

her

flushed

breasts. She was a goddess, sent to

torture him with pleasure.

Sliding his hands down her

back, he cupped her buttocks in his

palms and lifted her off the desk

completely.

Amanda wrapped her legs

around him, holding on as he carried

her to the wall. He leaned her

against the old-fashioned flowered

wallpaper. Burying his face in her

hair, he thrust into her.

Her inner muscles tightened

around his dick.

His breathing became ragged,

almost painful in its intensity.

They moved together as if they

knew this dance, yet for him,

everything was new, different, fierce

and devastating in its power. With

Amanda in his arms, he was strong,

confident … with Amanda in his

arms, he was fearless, courageous,

noble. With Amanda in his arms, he

was the man he was born to be.

Climax drove him faster and

faster.

He couldn’t hold out much

longer.

But he would not leave her

unsatisfied.

Reaching down between their

bodies, he lightly flicked her clit.

She spasmed, cried out, gave

him her all.

He braced his feet. His thigh

muscles clenched. Every nerve came

alive, and he came inside of her,

shuddering as her muscles gripped

him, extending his orgasm, feeding

hers

until

they

both

forgot

everything but here and now, until

they were each irrevocably and

forever part of each other.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AMANDA AWOKE, turning to Liam’s

side of the bed only to find an

empty, cool space. She hadn’t heard

him leave, hadn’t felt the movement

of the mattress.

Last night, they had moved from

the wall back to the desk and then

to the bed. Finally they ended in the

shower where he rubbed lemon

verbena soap all … over … her.

After he helped her towel dry, he

had tenderly dressed her once again

in her boxers and t-shirt, covered

her with a fleece blanket, and held

her while she slept.

For the first time in two months,

she had slept, without dreams,

without

nightmares.

She

felt

refreshed. A few nights of that kind

of sleep could really put her back on

the right track.

But

today

was

all

about

business: the business of rescuing

Sophia.

Slowly, Amanda got out of bed.

Sure, she was a little sore, but other

than that, she felt great, renewed.

Now … where had Liam got to?

Although, truth to tell, she was

secretly relieved to not have to

discuss last night’s amazing tryst.

What did you say to a man when

you’d been that … unrestrained …

with him?

Gee, thanks, that was

great, we’ll have to do it again

sometime

?

No. This was just easier.

She donned her private nursing

uniform: khaki pants, a crisp, blue,

button-down shirt, and her sensible,

soft leather loafers. She tied her hair

up into her usual prim bun and

smoothed lotion onto her hands and

face, then checked her reflection in

the bathroom mirror. She wouldn’t

be winning any beauty awards

today, but her under-eye circles had

faded a bit and her shoulders had

relaxed since last night’s dinner.

“Okay, Amanda, you’re going

to get your sister back today. Be

strong. Focus!” In recent months,

Amanda

had

acquired

the

embarrassing habit of giving herself

pep talks aloud. It seemed to help

her more than simply saying it in

her head, and she figured today of

all days, she could use the extra

encouragement … even if it was

only from herself.

She was not like the homeless

lady on the street.

Or perhaps she was, and the

homeless lady was wiser than

Amanda realized.

Gathering her nurse’s bag of

prescriptions and basic medical

supplies, Amanda headed out into

the corridor and down the stairs. It

was early yet, only seven-thirty

according

to

the

mahogany

grandfather clock in the entryway,

but she could hear voices coming

from the library. She entered, barely

making a noise on the Aubusson

rugs.

Liam and Irving sat close to the

fire, deep in their velvety blue

armchairs, having tea and coffee

with ginger scones. The two men in

front of the enormous, Medieval-

style

fireplace

were

deep

in

conversation and didn’t notice her

entrance.

McKenna stood in the corner

(did the man ever sleep?) and

nodded slightly at Amanda.

Only when Amanda placed her

nursing bag on the floor did Irving

and Liam look up.

“Good morning, my dear,”

Irving said congenially.

“Morning, darlin’,” Liam added

with a warm and wicked grin.

Amanda could feel a blush

creeping up her neck, but she

remembered her pep talk.

Focus

!

“Good morning, all,” she said,

using her most professional nursing

voice. “Irving, I trust you slept well.”

If Irving noted his prim nurse’s

heightened color, he gave no

indication except to say, “You don’t

seem nearly as sad this morning. But

of course, today you’re going to free

your sister.”

“Yes. Today Sophia will be

freed.” Saying the words made

Amanda believe they could do it,

and that made her feel lighter, more

confident.

“Good. Mr. Gallagher and I

were discussing the details of your

final plan. I’ve had McKenna gather

up my extra wheelchair, as well as

one of my finest convalescent

outfits.” Irving gestured at the

sideboard where dark sweatpants

and a dark green sweater were

stacked, with a folded wheelchair

leaning against it. “So, if you’re

ready, my dear, we’ll begin.”

“Begin?” Amanda asked.

Liam looked very serious. “It

will take me a while to change into

Irving’s form. His body is very

different from mine.”

“Old.

Feeble,”

Irving

said.

“Crippled.”

“I have to change my bones,”

Liam said gently. “It’s … tricky.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I guess there’s

no time to lose.” Amanda moved to

unfold the extra wheelchair.

Liam stood up and approached

Irving. “Thank you for doing this, sir.

I promise you won’t feel a thing.”

Irving was alert and bright-

eyed. “Anything for Miss Reed.”

Amanda's eyes filled. She had

been betraying Irving every step of

the way, and yet he forgave her,

encouraged her. He was so good to

her.

Liam held his strong hands out,

and Irving placed his deeply veined,

shaking ones into them.

McKenna stepped forward.

He and Amanda watched with

fascination as Liam began to

transform.

Liam’s shoulders slumped. His

stature shrank until he had reached

Irving’s height. His skin became

paper-thin, darkening to Irving’s

skin tone, stretching over brittle

bones. Amanda noted that Liam’s

eye color changed quickly, but the

change from his natural, thick, black

hair to Irving’s wispy, white hair

took longer. Amanda didn’t know

how long it took — a minute, maybe

more — but now Liam looked

precisely like the older man.

Irving looked Liam over. “I can

see why I no longer enjoy looking in

a mirror,” he said, drily.

Amanda was amazed. If she

didn’t know it was Liam, she would

have no idea.

Then

he

spoke

and

she

recognized the gruff and gravelly

voice he used to hide his Irish lilt. He

always

used that same fake voice.

She shuddered to think what voice

he would use to imitate a woman.

“Amanda, I’m going to need a

bit of help here. I’m not the man I

used to be.” Liam and Irving

laughed softly at his little joke.

Amanda jumped. She’d been so

enthralled with the transformation,

she hadn’t thought that Liam would

now be as helpless as Irving.

McKenna wheeled the chair

over with the clothing stacked on

the seat.

Amanda helped Liam change

from his now baggy jeans to the

comfortable, fleecy pants, pulling the

elastic waistband over his over-sized

four-leaf clover print boxers.

“A bit o’ luck,” Liam joked.

Smiling faintly, Amanda assisted

him as he raised his emaciated arms.

The green sweater went over his

head, and she tugged it snugly

around his black t-shirt.

“I wish,” Irving said crankily,

and for the hundredth time, “you

would carry a weapon.”

“It would do no good. They’ll

search us,” Liam answered.

McKenna stepped forward. “I

had a thought about that.”

Everyone

looked

at

the

phlegmatic butler.

“When Mr. Shea came home

from the hospital, he had been so

injured by his fall down the stairs, he

wore a brace on his right leg to

keep the knee in place.” McKenna

picked up the nylon and stainless

steel contraption off the table. “In a

pinch, it would work as a weapon.”

“And no one would ever think

anything of it.” Irving smiled.

“McKenna, you’re a genius!”

Amanda said.

“For a Scotsman,” Liam said.

McKenna scowled and slapped

the brace into Liam’s outstretched

palm.

Liam

winced.

He

handed

Amanda the brace and painfully

worked his hand.

“Serves you right,” Amanda

told him, and knelt to loosely buckle

his leg into the brace.

A pair of black orthopedic shoes

rounded out his transformation.

“How do I look?” Liam slowly

shuffled in a circle, wincing and

tilting as if every joint and every

bone ached.

“Dreadful!” Irving seemed to

really be enjoying himself.

Amanda even caught McKenna

suppressing a grin.

Amanda helped Liam into the

wheelchair, arranging his feet on the

pedals and wrapping a rough

woolen blanket around his legs.

Slowly, painfully, he reached out to

grab her hand. “Are you sure you’re

ready?” His dark eyes were kind,

and it was hard to remember that

she spoke to Liam, not Irving.

“Yes, I have to be ready. It has

to be now.” Amanda grabbed her

nursing bag from the floor, checked

its zipper to make sure it was

secured, and flung it over her

shoulder.

She moved over to Irving’s

chair by the fire and leaned down.

Brushing a soft kiss across his cheek,

she said, “Thank you, Irving. I will

never forget your help. No matter

what happens.”

Irving’s eyes were moist. Before

he could answer and break her

resolve

with

his

kind

words,

Amanda turned on her heel, grasped

the handles of Liam’s wheelchair,

and pushed him from the room.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IN THE entryway, McKenna hurried

into the coatroom and emerged with

Amanda’s peacoat and fleece hat.

She pulled her coat on, covered her

shaking hands with her Fair Isle

gloves. Too hot from all the

adrenaline running through her

veins, she stuffed the indigo hat into

her pocket.

“Are you sure you want to do

this?” Liam asked as McKenna

helped him into one of Irving’s

Polartec jackets and covered his

wiry white hair with a plaid

pageboy cap.

Amanda nodded. “There’s no

time to waste. The Sculptor is not a

patient man.”

Liam snorted. “The Others isn’t

exactly an organization that prizes

patience.”

McKenna opened the front door.

Amanda wheeled Liam onto the

front steps. Irving had refused the

wheelchair ramp the Chosen had

wanted to install when he first came

home from the hospital, so McKenna

and

Amanda

picked

up

the

wheelchair by its handles and axle

and carried it carefully and slowly

down the front steps.

Liam whispered, “They’ll have

already seen us. We need to get

away from the house for them to

pick us up.”

By the time they placed the

wheelchair

on

the

sidewalk,

McKenna was red-faced from the

effort of hefting the wheelchair, but

he said, “Good luck to you both. I

look forward to seeing you this

evening for dinner.”

He looked so earnest, so grim,

that Amanda could feel tears

threatening behind her eyes.

So McKenna turned smoothly

and said more loudly, “Have a good

walk through the park, sir. I trust

you’ll call if you need another

blanket.”

Unable to answer in a voice that

wouldn’t give him away, Liam

nodded and hunched down in his

coat like a cold, old man being

forced to take a walk by his strict

private nurse. With that, McKenna

bowed slightly and headed back up

the stairs, to a long day of worry

and watching the Chosen Ones stare

out the windows.

Amanda squared her shoulders

and pushed Liam toward a small

park three blocks from the mansion.

Few people walked the streets this

early, and the few that did faced

another day of work, and seemed to

be drowning themselves in coffee.

The winter day was cold and a

little windy, but the sunshine peeked

out from the clouds, warming

Amanda’s face. She almost had a

moment of enjoyment, a moment of

relaxation, pulling the fresh air in

through her nose and sighing

grandly out through her mouth, as

she had learned in yoga.

But then, as she and Liam had

expected, a long black sedan with

dark-tinted windows glided up to

the curb beside them and Robbie

and another man, even bigger than

Robbie, stepped from the backseat

of the car.

Amanda came to a halt, and

Liam did his best impression of

surprise.

His alarmed expression seemed

to amuse Robbie’s friend.

Robbie looked at Amanda and

frowned, and scratched his head as

if something was puzzling him.

Sidling up to Amanda, Robbie’s

friend said in an exaggerated

whisper, “You need to come with us.

And

don’t

even

think

about

screaming. You’re too far from your

precious Chosen Ones for them to

hear you.”

“Why would I scream?” she said

coolly. “Isn’t this what you wanted?

Irving Shea delivered to you on a

platter?”

Liam dug his cell phone from his

pocket, frantically pushing at the

screen.

Robbie’s friend grabbed it from

his arthritic fingers and pulled the

back off, throwing the battery on

the ground and smashing it beneath

his dark leather boot. “I wouldn’t

bother with that, old man. No one

can save you in time. Besides, your

pretty little private nurse is on our

side. Did you know that?”

Liam made a show of sputtering

and gruffly saying, “I … I don’t

believe it.”

Amanda didn’t like the way the

big guy had handled Liam, so she

said, “I want my cooperation noted.

I have brought you Mr. Shea

undrugged and unharmed. It’s up to

the Sculptor to harm him — so you

two had better be careful with him.”

Robbie shoved at the other guy.

“Yeah, Howard. Watch yourself.”

Howard scowled.

Liam cowered. “Where are we

going?”

But the two thugs weren’t

interested in his acting skills. They

had a schedule to follow.

Howard wheeled Liam to the

car door. “We’re taking you to see a

friend of your nurse’s. The Sculptor

wants to meet you.”

Robbie grabbed Amanda by the

arm and roughly pulled her toward

the waiting car.

“Knock it off.” She jerked

herself free. “I’ve been waiting for

this moment ever since you shoved

your big fat self into my apartment

and stole my sister. I’m not going to

run away now.”

Robbie had the guts to look

wounded.

Howard’s

enormous

arms

bulged as he lifted Liam into the car,

as Liam made a show of struggling

against

him.

When

Howard

disentangled himself from Liam’s

flailing arms, he slammed the door,

then tried to fold up the wheelchair.

If the situation hadn’t been so

dire, Amanda would have giggled at

his sweaty-faced efforts. Instead she

stepped forward. “Move! You’re

going to screw it up.”

Howard glared as she made

quick work of collapsing the chair so

the burly, but mechanism-challenged

goon could shove it into the truck

with a curse.

Robbie grasped Amanda’s arm

again and led her toward the other

side of the car, opening the door and

giving a sweeping, faux-chivalrous

gesture for her to get in.

Amanda slid into the leather

interior of the car.

Robbie and Howard climbed

onto a bench seat facing her and

Liam.

How did bad guys get those

cars with the backward seats? She

half-expected one of them to whip

out a gun and start into a mobster-

type speech about sleeping with the

fishes.

But that was unnecessary.

Amanda had no doubt that if

she and Liam tried to escape, these

two, along with the silent driver,

could easily tear her and Liam limb-

from-limb.

Amanda glanced over at Liam,

who was slumped into his seat.

Liam tried to sit up straight, but

Amanda knew the lack of core

muscle strength Irving had been

dealing with since the accident.

“Here, Irving, let me help you.”

Leaning over, she helped to prop

him against the locked door and

carefully tuck him into his seatbelt,

tightening it enough to not cut his

neck but to give him some support.

Liam momentarily forgot his

role, and said softly, “Thanks,

darlin’.” He realized his mistake a

second too late.

Amanda tried to play it cool as

she slid back to her own seat and

fastened her seatbelt.

They both waited for the

backlash from their bodyguards.

Howard didn’t move a muscle

or appear to notice that anything

was amiss.

Robbie stared at her and

scratched his head in puzzlement, as

if a thought struggled to escape his

brain, and he didn’t know how to

deal with such a novel event.

As the car glided its way

through traffic, Amanda finally

realized that these Others had never

heard Irving speak, so hiding Liam’s

accent wasn’t a big concern.

Glancing over at Liam, he

mouthed,

Sorry

.

She nodded.

Once they were in the Sculptor’s

mansion, they had to keep their wits

about them. One mistake and in an

instant, their entire plan could come

crashing down — and they would

die, slowly and painfully.

So would Sophia.

Amanda and Liam had one

chance. One chance for freedom.

One chance to ruin the Sculptor. One

chance to save her sister.

They could not fail.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AMANDA WHEELED Liam through

the front hallway of the Sculptor’s

mansion. His home was cold,

covered in marble and granite with

no rugs or tapestries to muffle the

sounds. Each creak of Liam’s

wheelchair sounded like anguish,

low and sorrowful, and Amanda

worked to remain calm as she

marched once more past the pale

frozen figures of people who had

failed to please the Sculptor … and

Osgood.

Between two statues was an

empty space marked by a crumble

of white plaster.

Amanda didn’t dare imagine

what that meant … and then she did

imagine, and felt ill and faint.

Robbie and Howard had been

replaced by Eric, the bastard who

had been so instrumental in bringing

Sophia

and

Amanda

to

the

Sculptor’s home. If it were even

possible, he looked bigger than last

time. Bulkier.

Amanda wondered if the Others

took steroids in their free time.

Yeah, probably.

Eric led her and Liam through

the familiar double doors of the

Sculptor’s studio.

It

was

exactly

as

she

remembered it. The white walls. The

steel worktable with his sculpting

tools laid out just so. The sterile

emptiness, save for her sister’s

statue-like form, placed on a dark

stone pedestal.

Looking at Sophia, so lifelike

and yet so still, Amanda realized

that the Sculptor had never covered

her over with thick, white plaster.

Perhaps he enjoyed gazing at

Sophia’s still out-stretched hand and

the tears frozen in trails down her

cheeks.

Certainly he looked delighted at

Amanda's grief-stricken expression.

For there he stood, next to his

worktable.

Amanda hurried to Sophia. She

slid her nursing bag off her shoulder,

dropped it to the floor. She stripped

away

her

gloves,

then

with

trembling

fingers,

she

touched

Sophia’s cold cheek. “Oh, my darling

baby sister,” she whispered.

Resolve hardened in her heart.

Turning, she stared at the

Sculptor as he glided forward.

He would pay.

Taking Amanda’s hand, he

kissed it. “Welcome back, Miss Reed.

I trust you’ve been well.”

Inwardly shuddering, Amanda

removed her fingers from his grasp.

“Fine, thank you.”

Moving to the side of Liam’s

wheelchair, she said, “As you can

see, I’ve held up my end of the

bargain.”

The Sculptor surveyed Liam. He

circled him, peered into his face, then

circled him again.

Amanda broke out in a cold

sweat. Was it possible for the

Sculptor to detect the switch?

Then he turned back toward his

table of tools. “It took you long

enough.”

Amanda took a breath; she’d

been holding it. In an even voice, she

said, “One doesn’t simply waltz into

the midst of the Chosen Ones and

remove their revered leader. I had

to build up their trust. And Irving

had to build up his strength.”

“He still looks awful to me,” the

Sculptor said.

Eric chuckled deep in his chest,

sounding like Jabba the Hut when

Leia tried to free Han.

Liam grunted, his shoulders

hunched, his head down, plucking at

the blanket over his knees as

though his brain wasn’t processing

all that was happening in front of

him.

“How did you manage to keep

him alive?” the Sculptor asked.

“I am a nurse, after all,” she

said icily. “Isn’t that why you sent

me into Irving’s home?”

The Sculptor’s mouth curved.

“No, my dear, I sent you there

because handing over both your

sister and Irving will be a feather in

my cap. Osgood will reward me

handsomely.”

A new horror washed over

Amanda. “I’m here to trade Irving

for my sister. You said if I brought

you Irving, you would give me my

sister.” She stepped forward, cold

with fear, and hot with indignation.

“That was our deal.”

“That’s the funny thing about

deals. They can be easily changed.

Especially when one of us is so

expendable.” The Sculptor turned to

Eric, and with an indifferent flick of

his wrist, he said, “Kill the spare.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE SPARE. That was

her

.

As

Eric

advanced

toward

Amanda, she had only a moment to

assess the situation. She had known

the chances of the original plan

going off without a hitch were slim-

to-none, but she and Liam had only

had time to go though a few “what

if’s” at dinner last night.

They had agreed that if the plan

went awry, Liam would begin to

change into himself to help her in a

fight.

As she backed across the room,

stalked by a menacing Eric, she saw

Liam begin the transformation.

But would he be quick enough?

Eric closed in, and with one twist

of his hands, he could break her

neck — and enjoy it, too. He herded

her toward a corner.

She was gasping in fear,

keeping her gaze on the hulking,

grinning brute.

But out of the corner of her eye,

she saw Liam kick off the blanket

covering his knees and toss his cap

onto the floor. His eyes had returned

to their brilliant blue color. Pushing

himself up out of the wheelchair, he

attempted to straighten up enough

to remove Irving's jacket.

The

Sculptor

watched

uncomprehendingly. As he realized

he had been duped, heat flushed his

cold face. “Get him. Eric — get

him

!”

He pointed a shaking finger at Liam,

then started toward him.

Steroids had not been kind to

Eric. His brain worked sluggishly. His

head turned slowly. He fixed his

reptilian gaze on Liam.

And that delay gave Amanda

time to run from the corner she had

been backed into and grab a bucket

of loose, dry plaster from the

Sculptor’s worktable. Running into

the Sculptor’s path, she hurled the

fine powder into his face.

He

shrieked,

momentarily

blinded, and scraped frantically at

his eyes.

She leaped at Eric, swinging the

bucket by the handle. She smacked

him in the back.

Enraged, he turned on her.

Liam struggled, still caught in

the throes of the transformation.

He had to

hurry

.

The Sculptor lunged, grabbing

her from behind.

The Chosen Ones had taught her

a few tricks, and she used one now,

letting the Sculptor hold her up as

she jumped and kicked Eric in the

stomach.

He doubled over. But he didn’t

go down.

“Fool!” the Sculptor shrieked.

“Get Liam. Get

him

!”

Eric straightened. He gazed at

Amanda; his reptilian eyes promised

retribution. He lumbered around to

face Liam.

Liam had grown, stretching

Irving’s pants. His white hair had

darkened to black. His shoulders

had filled out, his skin had lost the

thin, mottled look of old age.

But he was still bent, still feeble.

“Liam Gallagher.” Eric flexed his

massive hands. “I never thought

much of you, but I didn’t think you’d

be dumb enough to betray us.

Osgood will have your head for

this.” Pausing, he added, “Or

perhaps he’ll have the Sculptor add

you

to

his

office’s

current

decorations.” Eric gave another one

of those Jabba the Hut laughs, and

punched Liam in the jaw.

Amanda

struggled

as

the

Sculptor pulled her close, her back

against his front.

Liam held up his weak arms,

trying to fend off Eric’s blows.

But each hit landed with a thud,

crushing his ribs, sending him

sprawling on the ground in pain. Eric

advanced on him, stomping his

boots against the floor.

The Sculptor's grasp around

Amanda's

middle

kept

getting

tighter.

She was out of breath. Her ribs

were cracking. She had to do

something. Now! Picking up her feet,

she threw all her weight onto the

Sculptor's encircling arms.

He staggered forward, toward

the worktable.

She grabbed the first tool she

could find, a small, pointed awl, and

rammed it behind her, over her

head.

He jerked away. “You bitch!”

She turned.

He clawed at his face, pulled the

awl free.

Her aim was better than she

could have ever hoped.

Blood ran down his face.

She’d pierced his right eye.

Good. For. Me

.

She looked back at Eric … and

at Liam.

Liam’s

transformation

was

finally complete. But too late.

Eric continued beating him,

slamming him over and over with

kicks so vicious Amanda didn’t

know how Liam managed to crawl

away. Blood seeped through his t-

shirt. His chest heaved with the

effort of breathing through the pain

of cracked ribs and bruised kidneys.

Eric taunted, “Gallagher, you

came to be part of a rescue mission,

and look at you. You’ll die here, and

so will your girlfriend.” He went in

for another kick.

Liam rallied enough to pull his

body up onto his hands and knees.

Eric watched, relishing each

grunt of pain that escaped Liam’s

lips.

Liam took a slow, painful breath

and yelled, “Amanda, get Sophia.

And get out of here!”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

LEAVE HIM?

Liam meant for Amanda to

leave him? Here? In this museum

dedicated to blood, death and

eternal stillness? For Liam, the

Sculptor's mansion would be his

tomb.

And yet … what choice did she

have?

She loved Liam.

But Amanda and Liam were

adults. They had lived, not long, but

they had lived. Sophia was a child.

She deserved more than this sterile

existence. She deserved the chance

to grow up, to become a young

woman and have a life.

For a split second, Amanda

looked into Liam’s swollen, broken

face and met his anguished blue

gaze.

He nodded imperceptibly. “Go,”

he whispered.

She nodded back. “I love you,”

she said.

Eric observed the Sculptor as he

staggered, half-blind, toward his

workbench. Eric’s lips curled back

from his teeth. “Girl, you’re in

trouble now. The Sculptor will want

you killed for ruining his Osgood-

given physique.” He stalked toward

Amanda.

Behind him, Liam groaned as he

half-rose. With a wild Irish war cry,

he tackled Eric at the back of the

knees.

The two men went flying. They

hit the floor with a resounding thud.

Liam

snapped

Eric’s

foot

sideways.

Eric tried to twist away.

With an audible crack, the ankle

broke.

Eric roared in agony.

Pale and gruesome, the Sculptor

clutched his worktable, bent over it.

Blood splashed onto the pristine

surface, staining it with red.

Amanda ran to Sophia, to the

stone-like figure that was her sister.

How to move her?

Last night at dinner, Liam had

confessed he had no idea how to

unfreeze Sophia. He wasn’t even

sure if there was a way.

Jacqueline had assured them

that if they could bring the statue to

the mansion, all the Chosen and

especially

Rosamund,

with

her

research skills, would figure it out.

Yet the plans had involved the

two of them, her and Liam, moving

Sophia together. Amanda couldn’t

deadlift her sister. She couldn’t drag

her by her outstretched arm. It

might break off. Sophia might

shatter into a thousand pieces.

How to…?

The wheelchair!

Amanda turned to grab it, only

to find Liam and Eric struggling on

the floor in front of it.

The two men panted, wrestling.

Eric punched at Liam.

Liam kicked at Eric’s broken

ankle, and all the while he kept

twisting and turning, rolling away

and grabbing at his own leg.

Amanda looked around the

bare room, sought a way to help

him.

But Liam had finally achieved

his goal. With a grunt, he pulled the

stainless steel brace from beneath

Irving's sweat pants. He came up

underneath Eric’s chin, and fueled by

adrenaline, he stabbed the blunt end

into Eric’s throat.

It pierced the skin, broke into

the windpipe. Eric gasped. Turned

white. With a final gush of blood,

Eric flopped back, and lay still.

Liam threw the brace onto the

ground, leaving streaks of Eric’s

blood on the marble floor. He

worked to disentangle himself from

Eric’s limp body.

But with all the swelling and

bruising and bloody gashes, he

moved like the old man he had been

a few minutes before.

The Sculptor lifted his head, and

in his one eye shone as much power

and malevolence as if he was the

devil himself. “Liam Gallagher, it

doesn’t matter how many you kill. I

hold the power here! And before I

hand the girls over to Osgood, I will

destroy you.”

Amanda grabbed her bag.

Never taking her gaze from the

Sculptor, she scrabbled among the

pill bottles. And she found what she

wanted: a narcotic-filled syringe.

“I can’t let you do that. They are

mine to protect.” Liam used the

wheelchair to stand. He straightened

to his full height. Looking over at

Amanda, he smiled. “Mine to love.”

The Sculptor oozed malice …

and a wicked satisfaction. “The only

thing you ever were, was one of the

Others. Now you’re worthless. Look!

You’re nothing but another statue

for Osgood’s office.” Pressing his

palm forward, the Sculptor released

a bolt of cold blue lightning.

The blaze writhed toward Liam,

wrapped him in its frozen light,

freezing him as he struggled.

Amanda stood like a statue

herself, too shocked to move or

scream.

Liam had just said he loved her.

And now she was going to lose

him and Sophia?

The Sculptor turned to her in

triumph, his eye socket a bloody,

gaping wound in his face. “You see,

Amanda. Evil always wins.” With a

hideous smile, the Sculptor walked

to his worktable. He chose his

largest hammer. Turning, he strode

purposefully toward Liam.

“No!” Amanda rushed at the

Sculptor from the side.

He flung up one arm as if to

brush her off.

She lunged with the syringe,

slamming it into his neck and

pushing the stopper.

For a moment, he wore an

expression of disbelief. He turned his

head, breaking off the syringe in

place. While Amanda watched,

breathless, he swayed, fighting the

drug’s effect, then fell to the floor,

one hand still grasping the hammer.

He hadn’t got the full dose. But

it would knock him out for a while,

hopefully long enough for her to get

Liam and Sophia out.

But how? The Sculptor wouldn’t

sleep forever. And she had two

statues and a way to get only one

of them out of the Sculptor’s

mansion.

She had a choice: the sister she

had raised, or the man she would

love forever.

She wanted to cry in frustration

and longing … but some emotions

were too deep for tears. She walked

forward to Liam’s still form.

Although he had fought the

deadly lightning, his face was frozen

in a expression, as though he had

expected to die today. Perhaps he

had suspected that this would

happen, that she would have to

decide who to leave behind.

“Liam. If only I had known.” It

was time to admit to herself that he

hadn’t betrayed her. That she had

needed someone to blame other

than herself, for her own lack of

vigilance. She had known there was

a chance the Others would come

eventually,

seeking

Sophia’s

blossoming power.

But she

hadn’t

protected Sophia.

And this was her chance to make

that right … at the expense of

Liam’s life, and her own heart.

Tears fell now, tears of sorrow

and inevitable goodbye. As she

leaned forward to give Liam one last

kiss, she closed her eyes and pressed

her cheek to his.

Rather than the warm, living

flesh she had caressed the night

before, he was cold, hard stone.

Her tears fell faster, and she

whispered,

“I

love

you,

Liam

Gallagher. I will love you forever.”

And when someone clutched

her arms, she jumped and screamed.

CHAPTER TWENTY

AMANDA OPENED her eyes, and

stared into Liam’s face.

His blue eyes twinkled. And he

blinked

.

She was going mad. She was

hallucinating.

Yet his hands gripped her upper

arms.

And he

was

changing. He was

no longer rigid, petrified, blank. His

skin regained its flesh tones. His

head slowly tilted to the side, and he

studied her as if he’d never seen a

woman before.

She couldn’t have pinpointed

the moment, but somehow, Liam

became human again, bruised and

beaten, but no longer a statue.

His lips moved. He spoke. “I

love you too, Amanda.”

Amanda gasped. She put her

hand to her mouth to stifle the

sound, and gasped again.

He smiled with such pleasure

she basked in the glow. He took her

wrist, pulled her hand away from

her face, and leaned forward for a

salty kiss. His lips moved against

hers. His words whispered across

her skin. “Your tears are magic,

darlin’.”

As his meaning penetrated her

mind, she drew back. “M…my tears?

Do you really think…?”

“I

know

. I felt the drops on my

cheek, warming me, returning me to

life.” He kissed her again, hard and

deep and thankful. “Let’s try those

tears on Sophia. ‘Twould be easier

than trying to carry her statue out

of

here

and

attempting

a

transformation. For I fear we

haven’t got much time.” He glanced

with satisfaction at the inert figure

of the Sculptor, and nervously

looked around for sign of more

Others.

“You’re right.” Amanda tore her

gaze away from Liam. She looked at

Sophia, still caught in a magic spell

that trapped her body and her spirit.

“I pray to God your tears are all

she needs,” he said seriously.

For a boy who had been raised

in poverty and hunger, without love

or any proof of goodness, his

declaration meant the events of the

day had changed him on a bone-

deep level. And Amanda was glad.

“I pray that, too.”

Taking her hand, Liam led her

over to Sophia’s statue. Pressing her

tear-stained

cheek

against

her

sister’s, Amanda waited for a long,

anxious minute. Waited and, as Liam

had said, she prayed.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

She leaned back, rubbed her

eyes and pressed the damp to

Sophia’s face. “Come on, Sophia,”

she whispered. “Come back to me.”

But her sister was still stone.

At the realization that she was

helpless to bring Sophia back to life,

Amanda

leaned

her

forehead

against Sophia’s forehead. Tears

gathered under her lids, tears

compounded

of

loneliness,

heartbreak and love. They splashed

on to Sophia’s face.

She

heard

Liam’s

indrawn

breath.

And beneath her skin, her sister

grew warm.

Amanda

straightened.

She

hardly dared to look. She couldn’t

wait to look. She gazed into her

sister’s face — and into Sophia’s

warm, green eyes.

Sophia blinked. As if testing out

the miracle, she slowly turned her

head from one side to the other. She

viewed the workshop with loathing,

the bodies on the floor with fear,

then Amanda and Liam with

gathering excitement. In an outburst

of youthful exuberance, she flung

her arms around Amanda. “You

came back for me!”

“We would have never left you

here,” Liam said.

And Amanda believed him. How

could she not? He had been willing

to die so Sophia could live. “You

look taller!” Amanda said.

“You

look

tired.”

Sophia

sounded older, more mature. “What

have they been doing to you,

Mandy?”

“Nothing.” Compared to the

torture

Sophia

had

endured,

Amanda’s trials were insignificant.

“Really nothing. Everything is fine

now!”

Crying and hugging, the sisters

held each other.

Liam gently separated them.

“Girls! There’s time enough for a

reunion later, when we’re safe.” He

herded them into the entry.

Sophia shivered and looked

around. “So many people.”

Amanda slowed.

Liam kept a firm grip on her

arm,

and

kept

walking.

“Be

reasonable, darlin’. Even if your

tears would work on them, you

haven’t got enough fluid in you.”

“Why wouldn’t they work?”

Amanda asked.

“Your tears freed us because of

that one special ingredient they hold

— love. You love us. Don’t you?”

Liam’s blue eyes pleaded for her

agreement.

She nodded. “I do. You know I

do!”

“That’s why you could free us.”

Liam appealed to Sophia. “Isn’t that

right?”

Sophia nodded. “He’s right,

Manda. I know he is. And so do

you.”

Amanda reluctantly nodded. She

cast another look at the statues of

so many people held prisoner by

hate. “I only pray that sometime

soon, justice will be done.”

“It will,” Sophia said with a

young woman’s fervent belief in

fairness. “I know it will.”

“I think so, too.” Liam started

them toward the door again. “Now

let’s get back to Irving’s house

before the Others realize what

happened here.”

“Are you saying you’re not up

for another fight?” Amanda looked

at him in concern.

As he took each step, Liam

winced, and every moment, the

bruises on his face were darkening

to purple. “Darlin’, I’ll fight for you

every day of our lives together …

and

beyond.”

He

moved

to

Amanda’s side. Wrapping his arm

around her waist, he gingerly pulled

her close against him. “Just say

you’ll marry me.”

“Of course she will!” Sophia

trilled.

Amanda looked into his blue,

blue eyes, and knew at last she had

found her love. “Yes, Liam, of course

I will.”

He kissed her. “Once for luck,”

he said, and opened the front door.

The winter sunshine streamed in

… and yet, in the air, there was a

hint of warmth, and they heard the

single, bright call of a bird.

Spring was here. They had

survived. And Liam and Amanda

would be together forever … and

beyond.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE SCULPTOR awoke to the cold of

the marble floor against his spine,

and a remarkable tiredness. He still

held his hammer … he had been

about to break Liam Gallagher to

bits when … when that nurse-bitch

had done something … to him…

What had happened

?

In a flash, the horror of his

mutilation came flooding back.

That

nurse-bitch had blinded him

. She’d

shoved an awl into his eye! He

reached up.

But his eye was there. He

explored with his free hand. His eye

was fine. Whole. Had he dreamed

the whole scene?

No. It had happened, for dried

blood crusted his cheek, and like icy

fingers, the first warning of cold fear

slithered up his spine.

Inch by inch, he rolled over. He

sat up with a groan. He hadn’t felt

so tired in a long time, since Osgood

saved him from that wasting

disease, from his old age.

That horrible fight, and the loss

of blood … that had caused this

fatigue.

He used the hammer like a cane

to help himself stand. His joints

ached.

He

must

have

been

unconscious on the marble floor for

hours.

He looked around his workshop,

usually so tidy.

Crimson spattered his white

walls, his pristine worktable. His

tools, always so carefully placed,

were scattered everywhere. The

wheelchair was overturned, the lap

robe torn.

No, he hadn't been dreaming. It

really had all happened.

Yet his eye was healed, and that

must mean … that must mean

Osgood knew what had occurred

here.

How? Did Osgood have spies

here?

Was someone watching the

Sculptor

?

He glanced around, but saw no

one. He hobbled over to the

hypodermic needle discarded on the

floor. Taking his time — he was so

stiff, he had no choice — he leaned

over and picked it up. Hand on his

back, he straightened, and sniffed

the narcotic. No wonder he’d gone

out like a light. This was a powerful

sedative and pain reliever.

Amanda, the nurse-bitch, was

gone, of course. But somehow she

taken the Liam statue and the

Sophia statue and fled with them. To

move those two heavy statues, she

must have had help…

A horrible thought occurred to

him.

If she hadn’t had help, she must

have somehow transformed them

back into their human forms.

Impossible

. Liam and Sophia

were stone. Only the Sculptor had

the power to change them back to

flesh and bone.

The

Sculptor's

power

was

mighty.

Yet the fact remained, they

were

gone.

Now fear slid its bitter tentacles

into his mind.

Eric’s corpse was sprawled, face

up, blood drenching his neck and

chest, face contorted, eyes blind in

death. How had that happened? Eric

was the strongest, most brutal

fighter in the organization. Yet

somehow,

Liam

Gallagher

had

defeated him.

Osgood spoke.

You humans are

so fragile. I shall have to find other

tools to use.

But Osgood wasn’t here

. Not in

person. It was worse than that. He

was inside the Sculptor's head …

and that cold, clear voice built terror

to another level.

The Sculptor touched his eye.

Again.

It really was whole.

The Sculptor swallowed.

Mercy was not a component of

Osgood's character. Yet … why

would he have healed the Sculptor if

he was displeased? Aloud, in a

grateful tone, the Sculptor said,

“Thank you, Osgood. I’ve tried to be

a good servant to you, and I

appreciate you saving my eye.”

But as he spoke, the eye

clouded over.

He blinked. He rubbed it. Still

cloudy.

He shuffled into the entry, his

aching joints making it hard to

move. He wove around the statues

— there were so many, he would

have to rearrange them soon — and

over to the large, gild-framed mirror

that hung on the wall. He looked at

himself — and staggered back in

horror.

Who was that old man in the

mirror

?

One eye, the eye that had been

pierced, was cloudy with cataracts.

Paper-thin skin, covered with brown

age spots, covered the fragile-

looking bones of his face. Then end

of his nose drooped as if it was tired.

His neck sagged like a rooster’s, and

his lips had vanished in a cyclone of

wrinkles.

Behind him, out of the corner of

his good eye, he saw a hostile

movement.

Hammer in hand, he raised his

arm and turned, ready to deflect

and return a blow. He stared into

the entry, heart pounding, chest

heaving.

But only the statues stood there,

frozen and white.

His body had been withered

and broken. Was his mind failing

now, too?

No. No. It wasn’t fair. He

deserved better than this!

He clutched the hammer, ready

in his defeat and fury to beat the

stone, to pound the statues to dust.

But when he lifted his hand, the

sight of the bulging blue veins

beneath the skin caught him by

surprise. He flexed his fingers; the

knuckles bulged with arthritis, and

the nails were thick and yellow.

Old

. He was old … again.

How had this happened?

Osgood’s voice again.

Don’t you

know

?

Yes. The Sculptor knew. He had

been stripped of his power, returned

to the man he was before, and now

he faced a slow decline into senility,

pain, indignity and finally death. For

he had failed to keep his end of the

deal … with the devil. And this was

his punishment.

Osgood mocked him.

Is it

?

Is it

your punishment

?

For that was your

fate before we made our bargain. Is

this truly all the punishment you

deserve

?

Then the Sculptor heard a noise:

the tap of a foot on the marble floor.

In a panic, he glanced around.

Nothing. There was no one, only

a hundred motionless faces detailed

in anguish.

He walked — tottered, really —

into the middle of the entry. “Who’s

there?” he called.

A voice behind him muttered …

something.

He whirled.

More statues, staring at him

accusingly.

Were they closer than before?

He kept his hammer lifted as he

turned around and around, moving

slower and slower as he heard more

noises: a word, a groan, the whisper

of silk as it moved.

He saw change. Over there, the

prostitute was standing. Closer at

hand, the boy had turned his head.

Slower and slower the Sculptor

spun. His joints grew stiffer and

stiffer.

The

statues

around

him

shrugged and shifted and mumbled

words as if trying them out after a

long, winter freeze.

Slower … slower

.

The plaster turned to dust. The

statues regained their colors: black

skin and brown and tan, blonde hair

and brunette and red-head, pink lips

and coral and plum, blue jeans and

dress suits and plain t-shirts.

Yet as they came to life, the

Sculptor lost his ability to move. He

was locked in place, his hammer

upraised, his eyes stretched wide

with fear.

He tried to scream,

What have

you done

? But his mouth wouldn’t

move … no sound came out.

He was frozen, a statue in his

own home.

You didn’t think I’d forgive

failure, did you

? Osgood’s laughter

echoed in the Sculptor’s head.

All the statues stared at him, at

the Sculptor, and he realized — he

could still see them. He could still

hear them. See the contortions of

their faces as they hated him. Hear

the gradually rising babble of their

ire as they realized that at last they

were free.

All this time, he had never

known

if

they

were

sentient

beneath the stone.

They were. Oh, God, he knew

they were … because now he was

alive and aware, and unable to

move.

All through the moments, the

days, the years of their lives his

statues

had

seen

and

heard

everything, and they remembered …

and they lusted for vengeance.

His former statues stood at a

distance, and started to circle him,

around and around, staring at him

as if he were an exhibit for them to

view. Slowly at first, then faster and

faster,

they

appeared

and

disappeared from his field of vision

while he futilely strained to turn his

head, to move his eyes.

No, Osgood, please. I beg you

!

Osgood's dispassionate voice

answered,

They all beg. But we’ve

learned not to show mercy, haven’t

we

?

As if by a signal, the statues

stopped circling. In unison, they

moved closer.

The room was silent except for

their breathing.

Then the boy, the statue who

had grown up from an adolescent to

a man, the one the Sculptor had

plastered and re-plastered, stepped

up. He reached out. He took hold of

the Sculptor's hammer and slid it out

of his frozen grasp.

In

his

head,

the

Sculptor

screamed.

And the boy lifted the hammer

like a judge’s gavel, and when it fell,

over and over again, Amanda's

prayer was answered.

Justice was done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ROBBIE

WAS

hanging

around,

waiting for his next assignment,

when he saw Liam, Amanda and

that little girl, Sophia, walk out of

the Sculptor's mansion and down

the street.

Liam was limping. The two girls

were supporting him.

In the slow, deep recesses of his

mind, Robbie wondered when Liam

had arrived at the mansion. And

where was the old guy, Irving Shea?

Robbie hoped the Sculptor

hadn’t killed him. Irving had seemed

harmless enough.

Robbie never ever understood

why the Others did anything. It was

all part of some cosmic plan

concocted by Osgood, and a guy like

Robbie wasn’t smart enough to

comprehend the ins and outs of

cosmic plans.

But he liked the little kid,

Sophia; when she wasn’t a statue or

crying in fear, she had seemed nice.

Same thing about Irving Shea — for

an old man, he hadn’t been much

trouble. And Liam had been all

gooshy in love with that nurse

Amanda…

Robbie frowned.

What was it about Amanda that

he was supposed to remember?

His brow cleared.

Ohhh

. He was supposed to give

her a note from the Sculptor.

He pulled the envelope out of

his jacket and stared at it.

He hoped he wasn’t in trouble.

He didn’t like to be in trouble. He

hated when Eric yelled at him and

punched him, although he hadn’t

done much lately, not since Robbie

had accidentally punched back and

sent Eric through the wall.

Gosh, maybe Robbie should

open the note and read it. That way

he’d know if he should run after

Amanda and give it to her.

But the Sculptor had said it was

secret.

But he’d also said it was urgent.

So Robbie sort of

had

to open it.

So he did.

Amanda, my dear

, (See? The

Sculptor wasn’t such a bad guy. He

called Amanda “my dear.”)

You

have three days to bring Irving to

me. Three days, or the statue of your

sister will meet with an unfortunate,

fatal accident

.

Robbie exhaled a sigh of relief.

Amanda had brought Irving to

the Sculptor, and Sophia had not

met with an unfortunate, fatal

accident. So he could stop worrying.

Everything was okay.

Robbie shoved the note into a

garbage can and slammed the lid.

Crossing his arms over his chest,

he smiled at a little old lady, who

took one look at him, did a one-

eighty, and headed back the

direction she’d come.

Robbie went back to hanging

around and waiting for his next

assignment, glad that his dear old

granny’s favorite saying had been

proved right again.

She used to say,

All’s well that

ends well

.

And it had.

EPILOGUE

“HOW ARE the two lovebirds?”

Charisma asked.

The Chosen Ones sat around the

dinner table, nibbling on tiramisu

and drinking espressos.

Irving perused the letter he had

received with a postmark from a

tiny town in Tuscany. “Amanda says

Sophia is happily immersing herself

in learning Italian, and Liam is

studying viticulture so they can

make a profit with their little

winery.”

Isabelle chuckled. “Not like they

need the money after the amount

you handed to Liam before they

boarded their flight.”

Samuel chimed in from his place

next to Isabelle. “It’s true. They

could probably live off the interest.

But they took a whole lot less than

Liam was originally promised.”

“Liam didn’t want the money,”

Irving mused. “He wanted their new

identities so he could start his life

with my erstwhile private nurse.”

“Well, you got a replacement

nurse who will rehabilitate you …

whether you like it or not. Right,

Helga?” Caleb looked at the thick-

necked, linebacker of a German

nurse that had arrived the day

before.

Helga gave Caleb a grunt and

quick nod before returning to her

second dessert.

It had taken them weeks to find

someone

with

the

nursing

qualifications that could also pass

their strict background check, but

they were still completely taken

aback by the product of their search.

They were the Chosen Ones.

They had special powers.

And Helga scared the hell out of

all of them.

Jacqueline giggled and then

tried to play it off as a cough. “It

sounds like Sophia’s force field is

holding up.”

“Yes,” Irving said. “As long as

they don’t try to stray too far from

home, they’ll be protected.”

“If I lived on a vineyard in the

middle of Tuscany, straying from

home wouldn’t be a concern for

me,” Aaron replied. “But I think we

should keep an eye on Sophia.

We’re going to need a new set of

Chosen in a few years. I mean, we

will, assuming we don’t screw up

and get killed, and Osgood succeeds

in dragging the world into hell.”

“Well, aren’t you the cheeriest

Chosen One?” Charisma laughed at

his grimace.

Not that he wasn’t telling the

truth. The Chosen Ones weren’t

exactly losing this fight, but they

weren’t exactly winning, either.

Osgood and the Others seemed to

be getting stronger and craftier, and

they never knew what Osgood had

up his sleeve next.

Then she looked around the

table at her friends and sworn

companions, and her smile slowly

faded.

If

only

she

knew

where

Aleksandr was … and why her

stones had stopped singing.

THE END

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Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE