Belladonna

should do. Then he looked down as the toe of one shoe tapped an object and made it rattle. A box of matches. And a candle stub lying next to the corner of the building. Wouldn't provide much light, but it would be enough to see if there was reason to shout for the constables.
    He crouched down, puffing a bit as his belly got squeezed but unwilling to get his trousers dirty by kneeling on the cobblestones. He used up three matches — and there were only five in the box to start with — before he got the candle lit. With his walking stick tucked under one arm and a hand shielding the flame, he walked into the alley.
    A filthy trick! A filthy, dirty, awful trick to play on people, leaving something like that for an innocent man to find. Why, he almost soiled himself from the fright of seeing such a ...
    "Pleeeease."
    He stood there, staring stupidly, while his mind accepted the horrible truth: Not a trick. Not a mannequin. Not red wine or red paint staining the alleyway. The severed leg, the bone stabbing out from the flesh looking too jagged to be the work of an ax or saw. And the torso. Cut up. Torn up. Wounds too desperate for any surgeon to heal. It was a wonder the woman was still alive.
    "There there, my dear," he said, going down on one knee in the blood and the dirt, tears running down his face unnoticed.
    "Everything will ... Be what? Not all right. Never all right. This was even worse than those killings that had occurred around the docks not long ago. But this wasn't a prostitute, just a young woman.
    "Dooooreeen." Her voice sounded thick, clotted. "Fooooggy Doooowns."
    "Doreen from Foggy Downs," he repeated. Yes, I'll tell your people. I'll send a letter out, express. You won't be left to strangers, my dear. I'll see that you get home. I promise."
    No more words. No more breath.
    As he stumbled out of the alleyway, calling for help, he heard the jagged sound of soft, inhuman laughter.

Chapter Twenty-seven
    "S top here," Michael said to Torry. Then he turned in the seat to look at Glorianna. "What do you think?"
    There was a look on her face. Pleasure? Pride? He couldn't tell.
    "It was a dark landscape," she said softly. "Fog obscures."
    "I remember," he said just as softly, ignoring the amused yet confused look Torry was giving both of them.
    "Left to itself, this place would have attracted dark hearts or dark natures — maybe even a demon race."
    "What?" Torry said.
    "Hush," Michael said, laying a hand on the younger man's arm.
    "They made a choice, those people who first settled in this place," Glorianna continued. "Maybe there was a Guide with them originally. The people might have stories about their ancestors that could provide a clue. Those original settlers chose to quiet the Dark and feed the Light. They brought love and laughter and anger and sorrow and all the messy tangles that make up a human life. And they kept this a daylight landscape that leans toward, but never surrenders to, the Dark. Every day, simply by living here as they do, they make the choice to hold on to the Light."
    He looked at the village of Foggy Downs spread out below them. Good people with heart. That's why he'd wanted her to see this place. He'd thought, hoped, she could help them. Do something with this landscape he couldn't do. But he understood now her pleasure and pride as she looked down at the village and considered the people who lived there. As she looked at him.
    "So the music does make a difference here," he said, not sure if he was making a statement or asking a question.
    "It makes a difference in all your landscapes, Magician," Glorianna replied. "Our connection to Ephemera is the reason our ancestors were shaped to walk in the world." She looked at the land spreading out before them. Then she smiled and sat back.
    "Let's go down and meet your people."
    "She called you a Magician," Torry said out of the side of his mouth after giving the horse the signal to move forward. "You feel easy about that?"
    "Yes, she did," Michael said, smiling. "And yes, I do," Because something about the way she said the word sang for him right down to the marrow in his bones, he focused all the luck-bringing skill he had into a single wish: Let her have a day of light and laughter, a day of simple pleasures. Let her have a day to be a woman instead of a warrior. Let her have a day when Glorianna can dance.
    Michael brushed his hair, then straightened the vest. Good shirt, embroidered vest, good trousers. Yes, he did clean up well