ession on his face that—well, it was probably the same
expression she’d been wearing a minute ago. He glanced at her and she
blushed.
“Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur,” she said, looking away quickly.
“Parlez-vous fran.ais, Madame?”
“Un peu,” Elena said humbly—an unusual condition for her. “I
can’t really keep up a serious conversation. But I loved going to
France.” She was about to say something else, when Saber barked once,
sharply, to attract attention and then sat bolt upright at the curb.
“They came or left in a carriage or litter,” Sage translated.
“But what did they do in the house? I need a trail going the other
way,” Damon said, looking up at Sage with something like raw
desperation.
“All right, all right. Saber! Contremarche!”
The black dog instantly turned around, put its nose to the ground as
if it afforded him the greatest delight, and began running back and forth
across the stairs and the lawn that formed the “Great Ballroom”—now
becoming pitted with holes as people took shovels, pickaxes, and even
large spoons to it.
“Kitsune are hard to catch,” Elena murmured into Damon’s ear.
He nodded, glancing at his watch. “I hope we are, too,” he
murmured back.
There was a sharp bark from Saber. Elena’s heart leaped in her
chest.
“What?” she cried. “What is it?” Damon passed her, grabbed her