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billowing away, a lighter black now, now ash gray, lighter still, evaporating completely as I moaned and lifted heavy lids to gaze at my friend.
    Her hair was a rich golden brown, the color of dark honey, neatly brushed in long, sleek waves that fell to her shoulders. But Em ... Em had chestnut locks that tumbled in wild disarray. Her eyes had changed, too, no longer hazel, violet-blue now, beautiful eyes full of secrets. They had an unusual new shape, slightly slanted, almost oriental, thick black lashes long and curling. She had high, sculpted cheekbones and a patrician nose and soft pink lips that curved sadly at the corners. Her violet velvet gown was adorned with delicate silver flowers in applique, a rich, exotic garment with exquisite gray fur at bodice and hem. A heavy cloak of the same fur was draped over the chair behind her in lavish folds that gleamed silver-gray in the light. I stared at her, frowning.
    "Em?" I whispered.
    The girl put her book aside and smiled at me, a gentle, demure smile, but the lips were still sad, the eyes still full of secrets. She couldn't be more than seventeen years old, and she certainly wasn't English. Italian, perhaps?
    French? Those high cheekbones and vaguely slanted eyes brought to mind savage Mongol hordes and barbaric splendor.
    Hair shining in the firelight, eyes dark and secretive, she was astonishingly beautiful in her exotic gown, and I wasn't at all sure she wasn't an apparition. I blinked my eyes and tried to sit up. The girl rose, velvet rustling, the fur cloak spilling to the floor in a silver-gray heap.
    "You must stay still," she said gently.
    She spoke in French, and while her voice was soft and mellifluous, there was an accent I couldn't identify. She sprinkled cologne onto a thin white linen handkerchief and began to bathe my temples and brow. My eyelids grew heavy again, and my body was one solid ache. The girl murmured something I couldn't understand, tenderly brushing a damp coppery red lock from my temple. The room filled with a softly diffused golden haze that gradually turned to gray, and I was floating again, slowly sinking into layers of gray that grew darker, darker, soft and black now, enveloping me.
    "-better I think," the lovely voice said. "She's been sleeping."
    "Has she said anything?" .
    The second voice was deep, guttural. They spoke in French, and the voices seemed to come from a great distance, muted, blurred.
    "She keeps calling for someone named Jeremy."
    "We've been here five days already. We must move on to London."
    "The doctor said she must rest. There are no broken bones, but he isn't certain there are no internal injuries.
    We can't just aban-"
    I moaned, swimming in darkness, fighting to reach the surface, and after a long, long while I saw a dazzling silver sunburst shimmering high above me. I struggled to reach it, moving up, up, up, sinking again, moaning as swirling black waves claimed me.
    I opened my eyes. I sat up, wincing as I did. My head was clear. I was ravenously hungry. Cold silver rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, and I saw the whitewashed walls and the low, beamed ceiling and marble
    fireplace and realized I must be in an inn. Shabby but exquisite rugs were scattered over the polished hardwood floor, faded pink and blue flowers against a worn gray background, and a lovely bouquet of blue and purple flowers sat on the bedside table in a thick white bowl. The fire had gone out. The room was chilly. I was wearing a white silk nightgown inset with rows offragile lace, the garment damp, clinging to my body. I had never seen it before.
    The door opened. The girl I had dreamed about earlier came into the room, but she was no apparition now. She was quite real, as lovely and exotic as I had dreamed, now wearing a gown of golden brown brocade embroidered with flowers in shimmering gold thread. Bodice; hem and the wrists of the long, tight sleeves were trimmed with glossy golden brown fur. She was carrying a tray, and