To die, to sleep.

To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come…

(Hamlet, 3.1)

Grace is dead. Not the fleeting, magical, mysterious death of resurrection, but truly, unequivocally, eternally dead.

She knows she's dead because Roman told her. And why would he lie when he is dying too?

Elizabeth Davies is a paranormal whose books have a romantic flavour with more than a hint of suspense.