She tightened her fingers over the bowl, staring at Edward, unable to look away. She was truly caught, like a helpless fly covered over in sticky, irresistibly beautiful amber. Somehow, she was not even surprised to see him there. The whole hazy, unreal scene had the cold air of inevitability about it. The feeling that the two of them had played this through before and would again, on and on into eternity. ‘Where did you get this?’ she whispered, holding up the bowl. ‘I think a more pertinent question for the moment, my dear, is why do you have it?’ he answered. He moved slowly toward her, graceful and intent as a predatory tiger. He reached out and clasped her wrist in a lover-like caress, yet Clio found she could not move. His touch was like a velvet-lined iron manacle. He plucked the bowl from her numb fingers, holding it up to the lamplight. The flickering golden-red flames shimmered on the old silver. ‘Have you gone back to your old ways, perhaps?’ he said. He did not watch her, his veiled gaze never leaving the bowl, yet Clio could not turn her stare away from him.
