---
Sekhmet's gaze sharpened at once. "How? What will you tell him?"
Seraphiel's smile deepened. "That is my business."
Elena folded her arms. "That answer always means trouble. You always talked that way."
"Yes," Seraphiel said. "But it also means success with style and secrets."
Sekhmet was not in the mood for style.
"If you know a way, say it."
Seraphiel's eyes moved over him carefully. "I do. But if I solve this for you, I want something in return."
He stared at her. "What?"
Her expression became almost innocent.
"From now on, you will call me Aunty. Not by my name, Lady Seraphiel."
Silence…
Absolute silence.
Elena turned her head away.
That was the first warning sign.
She was either suppressing a laugh or suppressing the memory of something even worse.
Sekhmet simply stared at Lady Seraphiel. The woman who had once loved his father for a few hundred years. The woman who looked too young to carry that history without offending ordinary time.
