Only the faint sound of ticking seemed to penetrate Emma's conscious the while she sat by the bay window watching the carriages in the street and the interminable procession of caps, hats, and bonnets passing below as the liveried servants, smart-looking merchants, and the general proletariat footslogged from one end of their businesses to the next.

Not the rambling of the carriage wheels amplifying the ruts in the road nor the steady clarion of hooves striking the cobbles beneath her prospect were effectual enough to distract her from the dissevered filament still cleaving to the iron clasp. It was only the familiar tick-tock of her pocket watch that anchored her to this physical plane as nothing else could.

She could deceive herself no longer: either a servant had opened her window in the night — which was extremely unlikely — or she was being haunted. Emma was a light sleeper and the hinges of her bedroom door produced not a little noise whenever it was opened, so she would have awoken had someone thought to enter by that way.

No, it was an almost certain conclusion that her bedchamber had been benighted by a visitant of an unnatural sort. It was as impossible as it was incontrovertible, but what other practicable deduction could she draw?

Without glancing from the view outside, she ran her hand from the watch chain hooked at her bodice down to the silver, enameled face of her pocket watch, stroking the glass with a trembling thumb as the minute hand kept its faithful pace.

When at last she did draw her eyes away from the window, she noted it was exactly eleven o' clock, and by the time she had wound the springs, with the watch key attached to her chatelaine, she heard the door bell announce Anna's arrival.

"My dear!" cried Anna, upon first seeing Emma as she met her in the drawing room, "you look so very pale!" The lady hurried over and pressed her cheek to Emma's briefly before steering her to the settle. "Are you ill?"

"No indeed, I beg you do not trouble yourself over my health, I am well," Emma assured her with a tremulous smile, quite unable to conceal her disquiet.

"But where is your aunt and sister?"

"They left directly after breakfast, I believe Milli was in want of some new ribands for her hair." Emma's attention had been halfhearted at best this morning, considering the thoughts that were brooding like a storm in her head. It had been no wonder she had spared few words in response to Milli's excited fussing.

"Yes, of course, for the ball tonight." Her eyes narrowed briefly before she went on. "And have you decided on what to wear?"

"Ay, and my choice shall likely not bear up to Milli's expectations." They both chuckled, Emma's only a little more strained than Anna's as she rang the bell for tea. "However, she must suffer me to do as I please; and wear whatever I like."

"I have no doubt your ensemble will be as delightful as you yourself are." Anna smiled kindly and then reached for the parcel beside her that Emma had failed to notice till then. "I have brought you something upon which you might feast your mind; in the unlikely event that Winterly Castle's library fails to meet your tastes or expectations," she said, laying the gift across Emma's lap.

It was quite obviously a very thick volume wrapped in layers of brown paper and tied with a plain piece of twine which Emma began unfastening almost directly. Upon removing the last of the paper, she was surprised to see not one but two books; it was the title of the large tome that instantly drew her eye, for only one word stood out in stark and ominous relief: Vampyris.

Emma transferred her gaze warily to note her friend's strangely calm demeanor. Anna watched her with keen eyes, as of an entomologist surveying a moth under her hand glass. The corner of her mouth, however, quirked the moment Emma hastily concealed the books under a cushion as Reid brought the tea tray and cakes into the drawing room.

Having completed his duty and, therewith been dismissed, Reid closed the door behind him so that they were once again alone.

"I see I have surprised you," said Anna.

"A little." There was no use in prevaricating, for her expression had doubtless given her away. "I wonder that you should think I would..." But of course she was interested in the supernatural. What could she possibly say that would indicate otherwise when she had very clearly been engrossed in that very subject, vampyrology specifically, and had cloistered herself in the curator's private collection only days before.

"I meant no affront, Emma," she said with equanimity, looking not in the least bit troubled by the prospect of having delivered any offense.

"You are to understand, Anna, I am by no means dissatisfied or ungrateful; but I was merely..."

"Taken aback? Yes, it is an unusual choice for a gift, I grant you, but I rather thought you might like that which you would find nowhere else."

"I do!" she replied, gratified that she should be the recipient of such a costly bestowal, for the large book was beautifully bound and clearly very old. "I like it exceedingly well." She patted Anna's hand affectionately, thinking to herself that this was without question the most bizarre present she had ever received. "Thank you," she went on, stroking the tooling on the aged, leather binding reverently, "but I have nothing to give you in return."

"Do you think I bring you gifts in expectation of earning one in return? No indeed, I only offer my friendship; and ask yours in return."

"Of course! I should like that very much."

"Well then, my dearest friend, I must now take occasion to disclose a secret, in the spirit of trust, and because I do not know when next we two shall meet, however, in so doing I hope that you will keep it for me as well as you might your own."

Emma assured her readily that she would, the smell of musty parchment — her new book breathing its ancient redolence into the room — somehow lending an air of gravity and portent.

"My name, you see, is Miss Anna Dragomir Leblanc." She paused to ascertain Emma's reaction, but seeing no appalling looks of shock on her countenance, only a mild surprise, she continued.

"My father was Monsieur Antoine Leblanc, an antiquarian, but since his death, shortly after my mother's, I have found it necessary to continue his legacy in the guise of a married woman. I'm afraid few men put much stock or faith in the importance of a mere woman; and a spinster at that. In any event, I had need to continue my father's legacy and have been successful, thus far, in accomplishing all I sought to achieve."

"I see," Emma whispered, rather impressed by this enterprising attitude in a woman who, from the first, had engendered high esteem merely by her presence alone. How exciting it would be to live so independently and howsoever it suited her, thought Emma, wishing the same for herself.

"I, as my forebears were before me, am a collector and disseminator of knowledge — a watcher, if you will, and a scribe like my father and grandfather."

"Good gracious! you are so..." 'Incredibly brave,' is what she meant to say, but somehow those words seemed far too banal.

When Emma continued to stumble over the right words that would convey her awe properly, notwithstanding the fact that she had always thought herself quite articulate, Anna mistook it for censure and said, "Please do not bear judgment too hastily."

"No! Not at all. Truly, I was going to say that I find you rather industrious; I admire your courage both in confessing this all to me, a relative stranger, and because you are continuing your father's legacy so assiduously despite the trammels you face. It's remarkable and heroic!"

It was during this revelation that Emma could not help but imagine all manner of daring pursuits, such as they were, that Anna might have undertaken in the name of family pride and duty. It was romantic to say the very least. Oh, good Lord! I sound just like Milli.

Nevertheless, the lady's predilection for adventure, since M. Leblanc's decease, had her reevaluating her first impression of Mlle. Leblanc. She analogized her suddenly to one of her favorite heroines, Emily St. Aubert from The Mysteries Of Udolpho, and could not forbear thoughts of the many thrilling exploits that Anna herself must have enjoyed thus far, if indeed the verity of her confession could be trusted.

Why anyone with a reputation to protect would risk divulging a matter of this sensitive nature by taking into her confidence a mere acquaintance — which, essentially, Emma was — might, in point of fact, be considered immensely questionable. With as delicate an approach as she was able, Emma tendered these misgivings.

Anna's smile bore the patient creases a grandmother might bestow a child, but that was ludicrous because the woman could not possibly be older than Emma herself. Yet curiously there was a sense of perennial wisdom and profundity in the woman's young eyes that seemed out of place; a deific quality there that intrigued Emma.

"I own that it is a peculiar admission, and made rather prematurely, in light of how little you know of me, but I think you will agree that there was an unmistakable sense of providence when first we met." She angled her head slightly as she awaited Emma's confirmation.

Emma considered her words thoroughly, weighed them against logic, and found that rationality had little place in what Anna expressed; yet it made perfect sense all the same. There had been that odd sensation of consanguinity between them — an impression of familiarity in the bones. If she were not the granddaughter of a clergyman and, therefore, well aware of what good Christian thoughts entailed, she might have wondered if they had peradventure met in a past life.

She inclined her head in the affirmative, the gesture forthwith echoed by Anna and then punctuated with another one of that lady's gnostic grins.

Why should not she give credence to the notion of past lives when, quite without meaning to, she now believed in ghouls and ... vampyres, for pity's sake! Had not the proof been provided her? She had felt the visitant's kiss long after she had 'awakened' and had worn the subtle bruises of its fingers on her thighs for days thereafter...

It was more than merely 'providence' between them, but Emma could not say exactly what. "I understand you," she said at length, knowing how very unsatisfying that answer was, yet still unable to impart her feelings any better.

Such was the nature of the supernatural — it was an age-old, metaphysical battle between faith and doubt; or, as in her case, the subsequent dismantlement of reason.

"You made mention of being a 'watcher'." Emma lifted the china teacup to her lips and drank of the tepid liquid. "What did you mean by that?"

"Exactly that," said Anna. "I observe and I record as the ancients, in their cuneiforms and hieroglyphics, did before me. There are hundreds of warehouses scattered throughout Europe and the Far East in which our legacy is stored. Our collection is unimaginably large and consists not only of that which we have contributed, but also the works of some of the greatest minds throughout history — some of whom remain anonymous even till today."

"But for what possible purpose do you tell me all this?"

"I am actuated by my belief that you are not only to be trusted, but that our friendship might prove to benefit us both."

"In what way?"

Instead of elaborating, however, she answered with a question. "Will you promise to read that book and keep an open mind?" Anna tapped a long finger over the leather binding of the thick volume.

"Yes, of course." Emma glanced from the old tome towards the smaller of the two books, the cover soft and the content subsisting of only a scant few pages, a poem she had heard about, but never read: The Bride Of Corinth by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. "Some light reading I suppose?"

"Very light." Anna's shoulders lifted slightly with amusement, but she became serious again as she took Emma's hands in her own. "Will you also promise not to go to Yorkshire with the Winterlys; convince your sister that you cannot go."

The Slavonic cadence of her speech had intensified suddenly and aroused Emma's curiosity about her heritage anew, for the accent was more noticeable now than it had been previously and she wondered at it being so. Clearly her friend's agitation was to blame for the change of lilt in her words.

"I shan't do that, Anna." She disengaged her cold hands from the warmth of the beautiful woman beside her.

"Please trust me, you mustn't go," she insisted, her eyes hardening.

"I have already accepted, as has my uncle, and I am quite certain that Milli should break her own heart of I begged off now for no apparent reason. I gave my word."

"Is your word worth your life?" Anna stood up directly and briskly moved to stand beside the mantle-shelf, the corners of her mouth dropping with displeasure.

"I beg your pardon?!" Had she heard the woman correctly?

If she had expected an iteration of that strange threat, or an explanation at that, she was to be disappointed, for Milli rushed into the drawing room the very next moment. "Sister! You will never guess who we saw today!" No sooner had the words left her mouth than she giggled and changed her mind. "Lud, perhaps you might very well suppose who I mean. Never mind, I shall tell you at once."

But she was not to speak of it 'at once', for she finally noticed Anna beside the cold fireplace and greeted her with a little more decorum and a pretty blush, their aunt Sophie soon joining the ladies in her younger niece's wake, exchanging pleasantries and inquiring after Anna's health and family.

Emma observed the polite conversation as one removed, in a dazed mixture of vexations and dread, but her anger was certainly the more potent of the two.

What had Anna meant by her words! The lady in question, meanwhile, merely smiled amiably and gave her answers as expected, only the faint compression of her lips giving any indication that she too was still affected by that incipient row that had been quickly snuffed out as soon as it had been kindled by non other than the hurricane that was her sister.

When Anna finally left them, it was with an apologetic nod to Emma that served only to confuse her the more.

"You shouldn't frown so, my dear," said aunt Sophie, taking a pinch of snuff and holding it to one nostril as she sniffed delicately. "it isn't good for the constitution, you know."

"I imagine not," said her eldest niece distractedly.

"Do you know, Emma," said her sister, "that aunt Sophie and I had the most delightful tiffin from a bakery nearby. He made the very best turtle soup I have ever tasted, and our aunt had the meat pie instead, which-"

"Do take a breath, Milli," said her aunt. "Cannot you see how ill your sister looks?" Then addressing Emma directly, she said, "Will you not go upstairs and rest a while before this evening, my dear? It would be such a pity if you were not able to join your sister tonight."

"Yes, aunt," said she, reaching for her books with every intention of leaving this room in favor of her own, "I believe I shall."

"Oh! but I have not yet told you my news!" Milli pulled out a piece of ribbon for her sister to admire as she seated herself beside Emma in such a manner as to thwart her escape.

"Well, do get on with it." For I have much to think on. Fortunately, she had managed to conceal her books in their brown wrappings, when her sister had first entered and been too excited to notice the titles, and thereby effectually hid her unseemly interests from both her sister and aunt.

"La, but it was such a spot of luck to see Victoria on York Street earlier! It was most unexpected. Our aunt was determined to see the ceramics in the Wedgewood showrooms, and fortunately too, for had we not gone there I should not have met with Victoria."

"Fascinating," Emma grumbled.

Ignoring her sister's less than enthusiastic response, she finally arrived at the apotheosis of her garrulous excitement and swiftly bestowed on Emma a teasing grin as she said, "And what do you think she told me, Emma?"

"I am sure I don't know."

"Faith! what as put you out of countenance today? Never mind, I know just the thing to cheer you up." She reached across her lap to squeeze her sister's hand as she gave a little squeal of delight. "She told me Lord Winterly will also be in attendance tonight!" And with that Milli stood and skipped away, laughing over her shoulder as she left the room.

Aunt Sophie pulled a piece of lint from her dress before she too sate beside Emma. "There now," she said, patting her niece's knee affectionately, "that's put some color in your cheeks at last, my girl."

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