"Who is the old woman?" Donovan snapped, grabbing Violeta's sleeve before she hit the floor. "Grandmother!" Violeta gasped and went down on both knees, palms flat on the lacquered wood. The ring on Donovan's finger chimed. Not a pleasant bell—something dry, sardonic, and ancient. "Well, finally," said a voice from inside his ring. "Took you long enough to notice." Donovan's mouth opened. He had no idea his jewelry would answer questions. "Donovan." Violeta's voice broke. "You mustn't—" "Explain!" He shoved out a breath and kept it brief. "Who is she? Where did she come from?" "She came back," Violeta whispered. "Grandmother returned." "Returned from where?" Donovan demanded. "From wherever matriarchs return from." Violeta's head bowed lower. "She did not belong in the Wanflower vault. She..." Her voice cut off. "Speak clearly," Donovan ordered. He straightened. "Are you asking me to kneel because some matriarch walked in?" Violeta's eyes flicked to his ring. She looked terrified and relieved at the same time. "Providence Clock," said the voice, amused. "Please, call me Providence. I'm under no obligation to tell you I like being called names." "Providence?" Donovan managed. "You talk like you own the world." "I don't own it, I observe it, and occasionally I rearrange it for sport." Providence's tone softened when it needed to. "Right now, I rearranged the audio so you could hear me. You have no options left, Donovan. Two entities recognized you at once. That trumps