I'm sorry for an exceedingly short chapter. I expected to get more writing done while I'm here housesitting for my parents tonight, as I ordered them a new pc and it's all quick and sleek, but honestly, their entire computer desk set up is so uncomfortable that I'm having trouble getting into a typing flow, so if anything, I'll post 27 (perhaps it should more properly be thought of as '26.5') by Tuesday afternoon. I just didn't want to leave you guys hanging for another few days. Love you all!


Chapter Twenty-Six

"Father? What . . . ? Whatever are you doing with my necklace?"

Salazar looked up from the scroll work before him, his green eyes falsely bright as he hid a sniffle. He indeed held his Sabina's beloved locket in his free hand, and now as he was faced directly with the tiny stature of his visibly angry daughter, he knew full well why she was upset and why he could not scold her for taking such a tone with him.

He was aware of precisely what the girl was thinking in this moment. He hadn't asked her if he could borrow it. He was the adult, he should—and did—know better.

"I was looking for it all morning!" The little witch stomped into her father's study without asking if she had permission to enter, but then perhaps that was because she had never been expressly forbidden from entering. Stopping at his elbow, she propped her hands on her hips and scowled.

With a gracious, appeasing smile, he set down his quill and the locket. Scooping her up and setting her on his knee, he let out a tired sigh. "I do apologize, my sweet little serpent. I need your necklace for just a little while for some research I am conducting. But you are right, I should have asked."

She only scowled harder. Sabina did not understand what information Father could possibly hope to glean from her locket. But then . . . a little ball of ice settled squarely in the pit of her stomach. It was designed with Father's particular sense of style in mind as though it might be something he—a man—would wear, but it was Mother who'd had the piece commissioned for their child.

Maybe Father's need of it was not about research—she well knew that parents were not always truthful with their children, but most often, any such dishonestly was in an attempt to protect them—but simply about that. Mother's funeral was still a fresh memory, perhaps he only wanted to hold something that she'd helped craft.

Yes, Sabina thought, nodding as she swallowed hard and forced a smile that was no more genuine than her father's, that made sense. But she knew she should play along. Father was always trying to put on a brave face for her sake, and she would not stop him. Helena was still on her mysterious secret trip, Mother had been taken from them; even with Auntie Helga constantly nearby and doting endlessly upon them and Uncle Godric seeming to work tirelessly at . . . something that kept him busy but that was evidently very important to Father, she was his only true family now. She understood it was important to him that she let him be strong for her.

"Well . . ." she began, the word slow and somewhat overly enunciated. "I might allow you to borrow it for a time."

Salazar chuckled. "Oh? Now, that is quite kind of—"

"If you tell me what this research is that requires it?"

Her father's jaw slackened as he held her gaze. After a moment of simply staring into her smug, determined little face, he narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you must believe you are so very clever, bargaining with adults that way."

"As you often tell me, I am so very clever."

The wizard didn't know if he should be proud or annoyed, though he could picture Rowena in the Hereafter beaming over the confidence in their daughter's voice. He imagined other fathers did not have discussions of quite this sort with their eight-year old children. "All right. I will tell you, but you must not breathe a word of this to anyone else."

Her little face scrunched. "Not even Thorfinn?"

His daughter's question made him think he and Dagfinn were making the correct decision about what to do. The children had grown closer—that her betrothed's name was the first to come to mind regarding not sharing a secret proved as much—no good could come from separating them now, so the only answer was to ensure they were kept together. She and Thorfinn would share their fate.

"Not even Thorfinn," he said with a solemn nod.

She fidgeted in place for a moment, appearing uncomfortable with the notion. However . . . after a few heartbeats worth of contemplation, her curiosity won out. "Very well. I promise I will tell no one." Her dark eyes—so like her mother's—narrowed sharply, her gaze steady on her father's. "But this secret had best be worth the effort."

"To be honest, I am hopeful it will be."

"You do not sound certain."

Salazar shrugged at her observation. Not that there was very much to observe, he wasn't certain. But, just as he'd said to her, he was hopeful.

Lifting the locket's charm in his fingers, he let the weight of it spin the fine, heavy work of silver and cloudy yellow-amber glass in the air. He directed her attention to it with a turn of his own head and they both watched the locket move in silence for a time.

After what seemed possibly too long—while he knew to her it would appear a pause intended for dramatic effect or suspense building, as he often did when telling her tales of fast=paced, climactic wand duels, in actuality he was listening to the corridor beyond the study's entrance, waiting to be certain no one was near enough to even accidentally overhear—he said to her in a whisper, "I am experimenting, my child. Attempting to conquer that which stole your mother."

Sabina's brow furrowed and she turned her head to look at his face. "Death? You . . . you wish to conquer death?"

Salazar's features pinched in pain for a flickering second, so fast his daughter missed it, and he met her gaze, another forced smile curving his mouth. "Exactly."

Her next words tumbled out, awed and smaller than even a child's voice should sound, "Is that even possible?"

"With luck, it will be," he replied, looking toward the silver and glass locket, once more. "After a fashion, at least."