“Magnus seemed so sure—” “Well, I tried. I thought of this house, the study, tried to picture every piece of it. Nothing worked. I might as well have been trapped in quicksand.” He set the stele down. “Until I thought of you.” “Of me?” Cordelia said, a little blankly, as James rose to his feet. Now she was looking up at him, at his serious eyes, his thick lashes, the grim turn to the corners of his mouth. “I thought of you,” he said again, “and it was as if you were there, with me. I saw your face. Your hair…” He wound a finger through a dangling curl beside her face. She could feel the warmth
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