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Youwere the one that wanted to see them, Callie. Grow a backbone.

I force myself to step out from behind the Bargainer, scraping together the last of my courage.

What had Gaelia said? That strange though they may be, these were just kids.

Just kids.

I take a tentative step forward, and then another. They’re still screaming, their gazes transfixed on Des.

I begin to hum, hoping that in between kids’ love of music and my own abilities, they might stop shrieking long enough for me to actually interact with them.

All at once, the children’s eyes move to me, some of their screams hiccupping a bit as I begin to glow, the tune I hum beginning to have a magical pull to it.

And then I begin to sing. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star …”

So sue me for not being inventive.

One by one, the children stop crying and begin to watch me, mesmerized. I walk towards them, really hoping this is a good idea.

When I finish the song, the children blink, like they’re waking from a dream. I can’t glamour fae—my powers only work on beings of my world—but music doesn’t need to be controlling for it to captivate you.

Their eyes move to Des, and they tense up again.

“Be calm,” I say, my voice ethereal. “He means you no harm.Imean you no harm.”

It’s a tense few moments while I wait to see how they’ll react. When they don’t begin to scream again, I relax. At least, I relax is much as I can, considering I’m surrounded by a gaggle of creepy kids. A couple of them have dried blood caked around their lips.

I try not to shudder.

“My name is Callypso, but you can call me Callie. I wanted to ask you all a few questions. Will any of you speak to me?”

Their eyes move to me, and they stare unblinkingly at me. I’m seriously concerned that they’ve gone catatonic again when, as one, they nod, circling around me.

“Where are your mothers?” I ask.

“Sleeping below,” one little boy murmurs.

“Why are they sleeping?” I ask.

“Because he wants them to.” This time, it’s a girl with a lisp that responds. As she speaks, I catch sight of two sets of fangs.

I try not to recoil.

“Who is ‘he’?” I ask.

“Our father,” another girl says.

A single father to all these children?

I swear I feel a ghostly breath on the back of my neck. There is no earthly reason why they should know this—or anything else I’ve asked so far—yet they do. And I have a feeling in my gut that they have most of the answers Des is looking for. Whether they’ll share them is another matter altogether.

“Who is your father?” I ask.

They look at each other, and again I get the impression that they make decisions as a collective unit.

“The Thief of Souls,” a boy murmurs.

That name—Gaelia had mentioned it, and I’d seen it scrawled on Des’s notes.