I snatch the lamp’s cord. My heart pounds, and it’s all I hear in the darkness. The glass display cases of diadems in the hall. The black one was ripped from someone who’d had toushana. Abby twists in her covers, and for a second I don’t breathe. Her snores return and I snap to my senses, grabbing my shoes. No one can see me like this. A bright number two blares at me from the wall clock as I try to formulate some sort of plan. Think. Jordan crosses my mind. Think of something else.
The walls close in, and I rip through the moonlit room as quietly as I can to find something to cover my head. I pass my mirror and stop. Despite the dimness, my diadem glitters like a thousand stars. It’s as big as Shelby’s. Bigger maybe. The coils of black metal twist around one another like a nest of curls. Short narrow points rise around them like spires, and the whole thing gleams with dark pink gems. But, because of the black, the stones almost appear red.
I’ve emerged. I steady a hand on the dresser, gaping in the mirror.
My curiosity tries to morph into admiration, but I look away. I give the metal coming out of my scalp a gentle tug. My brain pulses with pain as if it’s being pulled apart at opposite ends, and I bite my cheek to stifle a scream.
Abby rolls in her covers, and an idea nudges me. I could try trusting her. But I don’t know how deep friendship loyalty goes. Shelby? No way. I hug around myself as Octos’s worn expression slinks through my memory. I shift on my feet, warring between impossible options. The gravity of what I’m actually considering tugs me down, and I sit on my bed. He said if I ever needed a favor . . .
I bite into my knuckle and glance again at Abby. I don’t believe Octos tried to kill me. I know the stench of desperation, and he reeked of it. I snatch up my jacket, Mom’s dagger, and a scarf of Abby’s before I talk myself out of what I know I have to do.
The halls of Chateau Soleil are so silent I fear the broom closet door’s creaks will awaken all three floors. The trick wall responds to my pushing easily enough, and I squeeze through and sprint down the corridor, holding my scarf in place. The door to the forest is latched shut, and I work my warm magic around it, just the way I saw Abby do. I shove down all the reasons this could go horribly wrong and step through. I’m out of options.
I don’t have the privilege of reason.
Outside, I manage to slip through the tangled branches concealing the door with only a few scrapes, and once I set foot on the ground and glance back at the estate, my pulse ticks a little slower. The cobblestone path that runs through the forest is swept with leaves, and I follow them all the way into the park. The stone memorials signal me where to stop. How did she do it? I kick my boot on the rock. Nothing happens. I try again, peering harder at the stones for some indication of which rock is the trick one. I run my fingers across them until they ache with a chill, and then I graze a raised one.
“Is this it?” The cold in my bones rears up, and I can feel my toushana nestled inside me like an ache I can’t shake, a cramp in my side. I rub the rock again, and my destructive magic flutters. The urge to wriggle at the sudden feeling of my magic heavy and present in my body, like a lead ball stuck to my insides, bites at me. But instead, I give the rock a kick, angle my magic toward it, and the ground opens. It actually worked. I start my descent, Mom’s dagger clutched tight in my fist.
The Tavern is a dead zone with only dregs of a crowd shuffling to low music on the dance floor. The game tables are empty and the lights are dimmed.
“Last call was ten minutes ago,” the bartender says, without looking up. Octos isn’t anywhere in sight.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, last—” He looks up. “Fresh meat, you’re out mighty late.”
I tighten my grip on my scarf under my chin. He slides a wet rag across the bar as his barback starts busing tables.
“I’m looking for the guy I was talking to the other night. Worn coat, long hair, in need of a shave.”
“You come in here this time of night looking for Octos?” He folds his arms across his barrel chest. “What kind of trouble are you trying to get into, girl?” He glances at the door.
“Is he here?”
“He’s slept on that couch there for the last few nights. But I haven’t seen him tonight yet.” He tosses a towel over his shoulder. “I have to close up. You should get home. Being out here alone like this isn’t smart.” He turns and disappointment sinks in my stomach like a stone in a river.
By the time I exit the Tavern, the dance floor has cleared. The bartender flips the lights, and when I climb the stairs, I hear the lock click behind me. The ground closes up with a slight rumble. Night buzzes with the crackling vibrato of bugs, and I gaze in every direction, hugging my arms around myself. Maybe this wasn’t my brightest idea. The distinct feeling that someone or something is watching me urges my feet faster.
“You looking for me?” a voice says when I make it back beneath the forest canopy.
Octos’s face is shadowed between branches. He steps out and I grab Mom’s dagger. He backs away. “If you’ve come here for revenge, I swear I didn’t know.”
I stand a little taller, careful to keep the weapon between us. “I came with a request.”
He moves into a patch of moonlight and I can fully see him. He’s as haggard as before. The worn lines that trace his face are deeper tonight, with dark pockets under his eyes and a sullen droop in his shoulders.
I lower the dagger. “I have an offer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have a hunch you know things. Things . . . you probably shouldn’t.”
He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “And?”
“And I need to know if there’s any sort of magic to transfigure a diadem.”
“I’m not getting anywhere near you and emerging.” He throws up his hands in surrender. “I tried selling you that elixir, and that went to shit. I still owe a debt to the merchant trash who traded me that rotten vial,” he spits.
I knew it.
“You said if I ever needed a favor to find you.”
He tilts his head. “Go on.”
I step closer, out of the shadows, willing him to listen. “I’ve emerged.”
He gazes up at the scarf wrapped around my head very obviously hiding something. “What exactly do you need? And what are you offering?”
There’s the Octos I hoped to find. I lay my mother’s dagger across my hands, making sure its jewels catch the moonlight. “This belongs to the Marionne family and would probably make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.”
He reaches for it but pulls his hand back. “Why would you offer something so valuable?”
“For someone who deals in illicit affairs, you sure have a lot of questions.”
“I make it my business to know the kinds of people I get into deals with. Especially lately.”
“I’m the granddaughter of Darragh Marionne.” The strength of my words flattens my posture. “A cornerstone of the Order, a purveyor of influence.” I circle him, mimicking Grandmom’s air, squaring my shoulders, holding up my chin. My body rebels at the discomfort. But I hold myself there, my best impression of who I am to him, hoping he buys it. “I’m a powerful ally.”
He eyes the dagger, pursing his lips.
“So we have a deal?”
“I don’t even know what the task is yet.”
“Do you need to?” I pull back his sleeve. His arm is a colorful collage of a tri-tipped sun and tally marks, way more than I’d even imagined. “Don’t these represent the twisted things you’re capable of, your discoveries while in House Ambrose?”
He snatches his arm back. His lips tighten. “I can do whatever you need,” he says, pride loosening his tongue. “But my price is the dagger plus something else.”
“Name it.”
“I want a Location Enhancer. It’s a pale blue stone. The Cultivator supply room should have some on hand.”
Stealing one seems a small price to pay for my life. If it’s a common enough stone to be kept on hand in a supply room, it can’t be terribly hazardous.
“Deal.”
“Well . . .” He gestures at my scarf. “Show me how bad it is.”
I begin to untie my scarf but hesitate. I hope this isn’t a mistake. I remove the covering, and he sucks in a breath.
“You can change it to some other metal, can’t you?”
“Curses,” he says under his breath. “Sola Sfenti has not looked upon you with favor, has he? He would punish us both. Bring me the stone before sunrise. I’ll need to use the moon’s kor.”
I’m back on the grounds in no time, slipping down the stairs to the lowest floor, underground. Dexler had mentioned lugging supplies up from the storage room in the basement of the estate. The stairs creak no matter how gently I ease down them. I can’t believe I’m stealing. But the trepidation kneading my nerves doesn’t stop my descent. It’s steal once or be killed.
The stairs deposit me in a spiral hallway of doors. The supply room should be at the center of the spiral. But the end of the maze is a dead end. This hall is half as long as it should be. I push the wall, letting warmth curl in my fingers in case there’s some trick to getting through. But the stone doesn’t budge.
I count the doors again, then push the same spot on the wall harder this time, and the stone shifts a little. Warmth blusters around in me, a dust storm settling, feisty and hungry. Then it shifts—the warmth of my magic washed away by an ice storm. I clench my fists.
“That’s where it should be.” A voice ripples down the hallway, and my heart hiccups. I’m trapped with nowhere to go but toward whoever is down here or through this stone wall.
“Where it should be and where it is could be two completely different things,” Jordan says, puncturing my resolve, his steps growing louder. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My toushana could get me through the wall. But it would make a colossal mess. And I’m already strengthening the wrong—
It will work, my magic whispers, and I hear it as gooseflesh spreading across my skin.
“What do you want from me?” the person with Jordan huffs, exasperated. “I’ve told you what I know.”
Their voices are just around the corner. Hastily, I smooth my icy fingertips along the wall, praying my instincts are right and it won’t make a crumpled mess right here on the floor. A heap of ash like my very own bloody fingerprint.
The stone shudders, then splits in half like a curtain. Beyond it is the rest of the corridor with the missing doors. I twist the handle of one labeled supply room. Inside, crates of serveware and rows of hung linens are crowded into what smells like a laundry room. But there’s no sign of a washer or dryer. A sea of tarps hang like sloping waves over furniture as far as I can see. I ease the door closed with the slightest click and listen.
“Just show me,” Jordan says. The door handle twists, and I scramble for a place to hide.
“Get this over with,” the other person says as the door opens. I wedge myself between two lumps of furniture beneath a tarp and clamp a hand over my mouth.
“If Headmistress catches me down here . . .”
“Hush,” Jordan urges.
I don’t breathe.
“Did you hear something?” he asks.
“No, did you?”
“No, but I sense—” Jordan’s shoes click on the stone in my direction. He stops. “Hmph. I guess not. Go on, then. Show me where it is.” Shoes shuffle. Fabric rips through the air like it’s being unfurled.
“There’s what you were looking for,” the other says. “Over there. See. Safe and tucked away.” Heavy wood groans as it’s dragged across the floor. “Right where I said it was.”
My pulse ticks faster.
“No word to anyone about this,” Jordan orders.
“What’s your aunt up to anyway?”
“That’s Headmistress Perl. And none of your business.”
“Right, my apologies.”
Footsteps are faint until the door clicks shut. I pull the drape of fabric off me and fall into an old velvet chair, trying to calm my racing heart. The room’s changed some, furniture uncovered, but there is no indication of what Jordan wanted to make sure was down here. His sneaking under Grandmom’s nose for his Headmistress doesn’t sit right with me, but I don’t need another reason for him to be on my case.
The stone. Octos.
Dining tables, chaises, armchairs with broken legs and ripped seats surround me. I remove cover after cover but find nothing that could house stones. I sift aisles of bureaus and storage furniture, but each is empty. Until I spot a cabinet on curved legs with rows upon rows of tiny drawers inconspicuously hanging out in a corner on its own.
I tug one open, and polished stone shines back at me. lumen enhancer is inscribed on the inside of the drawer. I close it and pull out another. This one is greenish yellow. decibel enhancer. I hastily open others, several at a time, peering for some glimpse of pale blue, and my thoughts drift to Jordan. I file away seeing him snooping for later use in case I need it and force myself to focus on the dilemma at hand—the blackened metal growing out of my head.
The enhancer chest’s rows are endless, but by about the fiftieth drawer I open, I finally find a powder blue stone. location enhancer. I grab it and hurry out of the room.
I take the stairs two at a time, the stone clutched in my fist. I push the door open to the floor above, and the ground trembles. What in the world—I steady myself on the wall as a chandelier above rattles, its crystal baubles slipping off and shattering against the polished floor. The stone slips from my grasp, rolling away, and my heart skips a beat. I cling to the wall for footing to gird myself against the shaking ground.
Then I dash for the stone when the quaking stops. Commotion spills into the hall as bleary-eyed students pour out of their beds with questions. With it tight in my fist I cinch my scarf tight and rush to the grand foyer and through the broom closet, ignoring the earthquake. I have bigger problems.
Please let Octos be true to his word.
I push open the door and step into the thick forest air.
