How had he done it? How had he managed to deliver it to her so quickly, before, she was certain, she herself had even stepped out of her cab?

Meena didn’t know.

And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. All she knew for certain was that it really had been his gaze she’d felt on her every night while she’d been doing the dishes in the rectory kitchen. Those really had been his eyes, watching her from the darkness.

Had he just never approached her before now because he’d suspected she wasn’t ready to see him again after what had happened, and had wanted her to have at least this one place to call her own, in which to feel safe?

Or had he just been waiting for her to be ready, finally, to stop being frightened and to come to him?

Of course. Of course that was what had happened.

Only instead of agreeing to become his wife when she’d finally come to him, the way he’d expected her to, she’d done the unthinkable:

She’d crossed sides and joined the enemy.

And now he wanted her to know that wherever she went, whatever she did for the rest of her life, she couldn’t escape. Not that easily.

He would always be there in the darkness. Watching. Waiting.

To protect her, was how he would probably think of it.

And Meena didn’t have the slightest doubt in her mind that he would protect her. He’d protect her to within an inch of her life.

She looked down at the graceful, slightly antiquated handwriting.

A truce, he was calling it.

She smiled.

Then she slid the note back beneath her pillow, called to her dog, and headed downstairs to join Abraham and the others.

She wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

All she could think was that Lucien had been wrong in his first note.

She hadn’t slain the dragon. Not at all.

She hoped no one ever would.

Author’s Note

All of the details about the life of Vlad the Impaler (Vlad Dracula) mentioned in this book-including the suicide by drowning in the Princess’s River of his first wife; the lack of knowledge of the whereabouts of his remains; and the fact that Bram Stoker borrowed his last name for the title of his classic novel-are historically accurate.

THE PALATINE GUARD WAS an actual military unit of the Vatican, formed in 1850 to defend Rome against attack from foreign invaders. Today the Palatine Guard is listed in most encyclopedias and search engines as defunct.

THE CHURCH LOCATED ON 154 Sullivan Street in New York City is called the Shrine Church of St. Anthony of Padua, not the Shrine of St. Clare. St. Anthony’s really is, however, staffed by Franciscan friars. St. Clare, one of the first followers of St. Francis of Assisi, founded the Order of Poor Ladies, better known today as the Poor Clares.

ST. CLARE WAS DESIGNATED as the patron saint of television in 1958 by Pope Pius XII.

ST. MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL, St. Joan of Arc, and St. George are the patron saints of the military.

TRAGICALLY, THERE IS NO longer a cathedral located on East Seventy-eighth Street.

THERE ARE SO MANY people to whom I owe a huge debt of thanks for their help and support while I was writing this book that if I listed all their names, the list would be longer than the book itself. So I’ll just settle for saying thank you all so much! Extra special thanks go to Beth Ader, Jennifer Brown, Barbara Cabot, Benjamin Egnatz, Carrie Feron, Michele Jaffe, Laura Langlie, and Abigail McAden.

AN EXTRA-SPECIAL THANKS, TOO, to all my readers.

MEG CABOT

About the Author

MEG CABOT was born in Bloomington, Indiana. In addition to writing adult contemporary fiction, she is the author of the bestselling young adult fiction series The Princess Diaries. She lives in Key West, Florida, with her husband.

www.megcabot.com