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I cut her a sideways glance. “Who are they?”

“No one of import.”

“You relaxed when you saw them.”

“I never relax.”

Unbidden, I sneak another look at the two, frowning as they move even closer—because witches, werewolves, and mermaids aren’t the only ones who gather to watch us now. No. A dozen or more Éternels have crept from the shadows to join them. Their cold eyes gleam eerie and strange in the lamplight as Odessa strides past, her chin high and indifferent to their stares. One of the guards’ chests actually brushes my back, however, when the nearest Éternel bares his teeth at me. “Am I... safe here?” I ask him uncertainly. A ridiculous question.

When Odessa drags me forward, he and his companion follow without answering.

“Dawn approaches, so I fear we have little time for sightseeing.” Though she strides purposefully, confidently, Odessa still tracks the Éternels in her periphery. “Tragic, I know. Requiem is a beautiful city—one of the oldest in the entire world and filled with residents of every size, shape, and— Oh,dohurry up, won’t you?”

She pulls me away from the establishment to our left, where whorls of velvet fabric adorn each balustrade and haunting music spills from doors painted black and gold. From deep within, an audience laughs. The sound is so chilling—socaptivating—that I cannot help but pause to listen.

My body goes cold, however, as a woman’s scream entwines with the music.

A piercing,bloodcurdlingscream.

Odessa tightens her arm around mine when I move to rush toward the doors. “Ah, ah, ah,” she titters again, just as the woman’s scream ends in time with the music. The silence lifts the hair on my neck. “Curiosity will kill the cat in Requiem, and no amount of satisfaction will bring you back.”

“But she—”

“—is beyond your help,” Odessa finishes, tugging me onward. “Come.You may walk of your own volition, or one of my guards will carry you. Ivan in particular would take no greater pleasure.” She motions to the lean, dark-skinned male behind us. His gaze threatens violence. “The choice is yours, of course.”

What kind of magic?

Evangeline’s voice drifts back to me as Ivan and I stare at each other.The worst kind of magic, darlings. The absoluteworstkind. The kind that requires blood. Requiresdeath.

His lip curls slowly, revealing fangs.

Right.

I swallow hard and force myself to move, ignoring the odd swooping sensation in my stomach. Because I need to focus. Because I am notfascinatedby this grim and ghastly place, and this breathlessness in my chest—it means I’m probably about to faint. Yes. I am about to faint, and if Evangeline reallywerehere, she’d tell me to twist my head on straight before I lose it.

When I take my next step, however, I fear it might be too late.

Dark liquid oozes around my boot from the moss between cobblestones—dark liquid that looks disturbingly like blood.

With a small shriek, I leap away from it, colliding with Ivan’s chest and nearly dislocating my elbow in the process. He shunts me forward none too gently, and when I look down again, blood seeps around his boots too. A trail of our scarlet footsteps follows us along the street. “Is that—is the groundbleeding?” I ask in alarm. “How is that possible?”

“It isn’t,” he says brusquely. “Look again.”

Sure enough, the moss no longer bleeds, and the trail of footsteps has disappeared.

Like it never existed at all.

When I gasp, incredulous, he pushes me forward once more, and I have no choice but to stumble after Odessa, shaking my head and spluttering. Because I saw them—they werethere—yet I must’ve imagined the whole thing. It’s the only explanation. This isle might be different, but even here, the ground cannot have veins or vessels. It cannot be alive, and I—

I swallow hard.

I cannot allow it to unsettle me. The screams, the blood, the cold stares of Les Éternels—they cannot distract me from my purpose, and that purpose is to protect Coco from Michal by any means necessary.

Odessa leads us up a street paved with cobblestone next, where odd little shops line each side. Enormous toads croak from gilded birdcages, live beetles glitter within silver sugar bowls, and incense stands in cut-glass vases, each bundle tied with black ribbon. Another shop sells vials of thick, dark liquid.Loup garou, one label reads in spiked handwriting. It joins others markedhuman,melusine, andDame Blanche.

My fingers linger on a bottle markeddragon, and that tingle ofanticipation returns. Or is it dread?

Thesearebottles of blood, after all, and in all my life, only Evangeline has ever spoken of the Eternal Ones. I’ve since read every book in Chasseur Tower—every book in the entire cathedral—and not a single one mentions them either. Dames Blanches and loup garou, yes, as well as melusines and the occasional lutin, but never Les Éternels.