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carved stone steps that spiraled downward, leading to a darkness that was cold and uninviting.
    A hidden cellar. So that explained how Cass must have escaped the witch-hunters all those years ago. Gabrielle wondered why the other Lascelles women could not have been saved as well, but Cass was loath to discuss the tragic loss of her family. As one who fiercely guarded her own wounds, Gabrielle understood and respected Cass’s reticence.
    “You allowed me to read your palm, now I am trusting you with the secret of my innermost sanctum. Welcome to my real home,” Cassandra said with a mocking flourish of her hand. When Cerberus attempted to brush past her and lead the way down, Cassandra collared him.
    “No!” She bent down and muttered some command that sounded to Gabrielle like, “Go. Guard.”
    Head erect, the dog trotted away, looking like a soldier ordered to do sentry duty. Cassandra inched forward carefully and started to descend the stairs, pausing to call back to Gabrielle. “Clutch your candle tightly and follow me closely.
    “The way down is always a very dark and treacherous one,” she added with one of her strange ironic smiles, leaving Gabrielle with the uneasy feeling that Cass was talking about much more than the stairs.
    Gabrielle swallowed hard, but she had already come too far to turn back now. Gripping her candle, she plunged after Cass into the darkness.

 
    Chapter Two
    G abrielle wished she could have conducted her visit with Cass where she usually did, in the small stillroom at the back of the house. But apparently, the conjuring of the dead required a more secretive and darker setting than the distilling of perfume.
    Gabrielle had never liked underground chambers, abhorring the cold, the damp, the prospect of rats or, even worse to her mind, spiders. They had had a dungeon like this room at her home, Belle Haven. The concealed workshop was replete with the potions, herbal brews, and ancient texts of forbidden knowledge the wise women of Faire Isle had kept prudently hidden for generations. Gabrielle had usually fetched whatever she needed from the storeroom and made haste to return to the sunlight.
    The underground room at the Maison d’Esprit appeared less of a workshop and more of living quarters. Someone, the serving girl, Finette, most likely, had taken great pains to make it as comfortable as possible for Cassandra.
    A cot with many feather pillows took up one side of the narrow room, the thick mattress heaped with wool blankets. A braided rug covered the rough stones of the floor. A bright red shawl and several other dresses of faded finery similar to the one Cassandra wore hung from pegs, lending a touch of color to the gray stone walls.
    The only other furnishings were a smaller version of the cupboard upstairs, a humble table, and two chairs arranged before a hearth that must have been connected to one of the chimneys above. It was obvious the fireplace was seldom used. Wisps of smoke wafting from the rooftops of the Maison d’Esprit could well give lie to the belief that only ghosts inhabited the manor.
    Cass gave Gabrielle permission to ignite a few of the torches mounted upon the walls and for that she was grateful. But despite the additional light, she found the small room with its low ceiling far too bleak and confining. The prospect of the séance was daunting enough without conducting it in a room that had all the cheer of a blasted tomb. Gabrielle was eager to conclude her business and get out of there.
    “Some refreshment?” Cass offered, picking her way over to the cupboard.
    “No, thank you,” Gabrielle replied and it was all she could do not to add, “And I wish you would refrain as well.”
    She had not been acquainted with Cass long before she realized that Cass suffered from a weakness for strong drink. But even hinting to Cass that she would be wiser to be more temperate was enough to rouse the woman’s ire.
    All Gabrielle could do was watch unhappily as Cass