Preface.

Italy, 1919.

'Do you trust me?' The man asked Quinn and she felt compelled to say yes. She nodded. 'Because this is only going to work if you trust me.'
'I do trust you.' The need for words was greater than before.
'Completely?'
'Completely.'
The man smiled a toothy smile and touched the centre of Quinn's forehead. Just like he had a week previously, at that exact time, in that exact place. The place where Gautier had touched her grew pleasantly hot and a fuzzy feeling engulfed her brain, then the sensation became white hot and then turned ice cold. Quinn's eyes drooped closer and closer together as the figure of the man and the room around them grew steadily darker until her top lashes touched her cheek.
'Goodnight, my little Quinnie.' The man said, his voice was of controlled glee. 'You will need your rest for the years that come.'
And that's all Quinn could remember.