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created her had never meant for such an emotional betrayal to cross that visage. The sculpted features, haughty and perfect, looked as if they would shatter, casting jagged white shards on the floor.
    Then the face regained its marble composure, no expression marring the milky smoot hn ess.
    “Is there something lacking in my performance, Countess?”
    “Yes,” answered the perfect face. “Bozek, show Horsemaster Szilvasi back to his quarters.”
    The manservant appeared out of the shadows, at Janos’s elbow.
    “There is one thing you lack, young horsemaster,” said the Countess, lowering her veil once more.
    “And what might that be?”
    “Humility,” she said. “But you shall learn it here at Č achtice Castle.”
    She snapped her fingers, the sound echoing through the great hall.
    Two guards seized Janos, their strong fingers biting into his arm. He was whisked back into the hall. The torch flames leapt, fed by the gust of wind as the massive door slammed shut behind him.

Chapter 9
    C ARBONDALE, C OLORADO
N OVEMBER 29, 2010
    B etsy heard footsteps outside on the porch. She opened the door.
    “Dr. Path?”
    Framed by the blue trim of the door was the most striking young woman Betsy had ever seen.
    She had long dark red hair—a natural auburn. Strands whipped about her face in the wind. Her skin was startlingly white, like a porcelain figurine. It was an outdated look, especially in contrast with the outdoorsy Colorado style to which Betsy was accustomed. Then she realized she was staring at the girl’s green, amber-flecked eyes.
    “You are Dr. Path, aren’t you?”
    “Yes—I’m sorry,” Betsy said, forcing herself to stop examining the girl’s eyes. “Do we know each other?”
    She looked so familiar. Betsy was sure she had seen those features before.
    “I am Daisy Hart’s sister, Morgan. May I come in?”
    “Of course, I’m sorry. I guess I should have seen the family resemblance.”
    Betsy knew she was staring at the young woman, but she couldn’t help it.
    “Underneath all that Goth makeup she wears, how could you?” said Morgan.
    She frowned, lowering her chin. Her long hair swung down in her face. Then she tossed her glorious mane back behind her ears. Her eyes glittered. Her lips formed a word, but no syllable was uttered.
    Betsy stepped aside and let the tall elegant creature enter her office.
    “Please sit down, Morgan. So. Daisy’s sister?”
    “I am sorry to drop in on you like this, but I’ve come to check up on Daisy. My…dad gave me your contact information.”
    “You are from New York, right?”
    “Yes, though we live most of the time in Florida now.”
    “We?”
    The young woman hesitated.
    “Dad and I. After the divorce, I chose to stay with my father and Daisy went with my mother.”
    “I see.”
    Morgan looked around the room. Betsy noticed she focused on the leather-bound books.
    “And…?” Betsy let the unspoken question hang. Morgan had come to see her, uninvited; Morgan was going to have to carry this conversation.
    “Yes,” she said, reluctant to stop inspecting the house and bookshelves. “Dad and I are really worried about Daisy. I heard she had another choking episode and went to the ER.”
    “That was a while ago.”
    “Did she say why it happened?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I mean, in therapy, did she say anything that might have triggered the choking? What did she say exactly?”
    Betsy sat back in the chair and her fingers sought the end of the armrest. She grasped hard as if she were on a carnival ride.
    “You know, I really can’t talk about your sister’s therapy with you. It is confidential.”
    The catlike eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “You are trying to help her, right? I mean, she must tell you everything, right? Has she told you the nightmare about the vampire?”
    Betsy opened her mouth to answer, but the reply was stillborn in her mouth. It was none of this girl’s business what Daisy said to her in a therapy session.
    “We