Mayah
The memory of Simona Westbane’s death disintegrated. Her bleeding body faded into the shadows, and the bloody hairpin in my hand was nothing but a cold spot on my palm.
Her ghost reappeared next to the dressing table. She scooped up the pendant and let it dangle for a moment. I could barely make out the carved angel with two infants cradled in its arms. Simona folded the chain and pressed it into my cold hand. “I was only fifteen when I first met my husband,” she said, a sad, fond smile playing across her face. “He was working for the Agency, and he was supposed to be watching me, but I kept giving him the slip. He thought if he pretended to court me, he could fool me into being compliant. But from the first touch, I knew he was the one. He gave me this amulet of protection.”
The
