The man stumbled again and then stopped, stooped, and picked up something from the floor. A few minutes later a tiny flame of light pierced the darkness as he lit the stub of a broken candle he had retrieved.

She shrank farther back into the shadows, her gaze raking the enemy to search out weakness.

Dark hair tied back in a queue, a long face, a glimmer of green eyes.

He lifted the candle high, his eyes searching the darkness until he found the gaping hole that had once been the Window to Heaven. His hand tightened on the candle; his face contorted in an expression of demonic fury. “Damnation!” His booted foot kicked out at the shards of glass on the marble floor. “Dammit to hell!”

He’d cursed in English. He must be English, like Papa, but she had never seen Papa in a fury like this.

Alex whimpered.

The man stiffened. “Who’s there?”

He was turning toward them! She tried to think quickly through the sick terror tightening her chest. If he saw them, they would be helpless prey. Their only weapon was surprise.

“Stay here,” she whispered. “Wait!” She pushed Alex still farther behind the column, darted forward, and charged the man.

“What the dev- Oof.” Her head connected with the stomach and knocked the breath out of him. She grabbed the broken iron candelabra from the floor and brought it up between his legs. He gasped and doubled over in agony.

“Alex! Come!” she called.

Alex was behind her in seconds, and she grabbed his hand and ran up the aisle. But before they reached the door, she was knocked down and hit the floor, hard. He had tackled her! He flipped her over and leaped astride her. Helpless. She was as helpless as Mama had been.