"I'm your aunt Rose," the woman told her. "Your grandmother's youngest sister."

When she could pull her head back enough to allow her to speak clearly, Kira said, "It's wonderful to meet you too. And thanks for the warm welcome."

"Oh, come with me, child. You, too, Ian! You know we can't get along without you."

Glancing back at her handsome driver, Kira lifted her brows, not quite sure how he fit in to the scheme of things here.

And there was no time to find out, as she was led through a massive entry hall and into some kind of great room that had been filled with modern furniture in the most classic Queen Anne style, everything feminine, delicate, even lacy. The sofas and chairs had curved clawed arms and legs and floral prints. There was a fainting couch, or at least she thought that's what it was. The decor seemed to Kira to be in direct contrast with the architecture, which was big and dark and masculine.

In one of the most elegant of the chairs, a woman sat. She was bone-thin, and her hair was jet black, except for the stark white at the very front. It hung long and straight. Again, unbound.

It seemed strange that women of their age would wear their hair long and loose, rather than cutting it or perming it or pinning it up. Maybe it was a cultural thing.

She rose, the thin one. She wasn't smiling as she extended a boney hand. "Hello Kira. I'm your great aunt Esmeralda."

Kira took her hand and gasped at how cool it was, how frail it seemed, despite the vibrance in the woman's dark blue eyes.

"You don't seem quite as glad to see me as Aunt Rose is," Kira said.

Esmeralda's finely arched brows rose. "You're as frank as your mother always was."

"I don't see much point in being any other way," Kira said. "Would you have preferred I not come?"