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And rips out his tongue.

The movement is so efficient, so cursory, that the blood spilling from Christo’s mouth seems too bright somehow—too shocking, toored—to be real. Shaking my head in wild disbelief, I stumble into Ivan again. Only moments ago, Odessa and I were discussingcats, and now—now she holds the limp, gruesome organ of a living creature in her hand.

“Next time”—she hands the tongue to Pasha, who releases Christo in disgust—“I shall make you eat it, darling. Consider the delivery a kindness, and never threaten my family again.” To me, she says pleasantly, “Come along, Célie.”

This time, she doesn’t feign her indifference as she glides up the street without a backward glance.

And I—I stand rooted to the spot.

Suddenly, a silly nursery rhyme doesn’t seem an adequate weapon against these creatures. What could Evangeline have possibly known about suchviolence? With the Eternal Ones’ speed, strength, and—frankly—beauty, how could any one person hope to triumph against them? How could I? Unbidden, my gaze darts over my shoulder, where Christo’s companions abandon him to rot in the street.

Next time I shall make you eat it.

“She... she tore out his t-tongue,” I whisper, stricken.

Pasha slips the tongue into his pocket. “He’ll lose more than that. Nowmove.”

With little other choice, I follow Odessa toward the center of the isle, where a castle towers above the rest. Thick storm clouds obscure its spires. When lightning flashes, however, the bolt illuminates two wickedly sharp towers through the gloom, and I inhale sharply. Thunder rumbles overhead.

“Welcome to my home.” Odessa gazes up at the black fortress with more affection than I’ve yet seen on her face. “It could be yours too if you’re clever. Guests tend to enjoy their stay more than prisoners.”

My chest tightens further at the implication. From Odessa’s own lips, she admitted few outside the isle’s populace know its location. She admitted Michal chooses who lives with that knowledge... and who dies with it. “And how long do your guests stay?”

“As long as we wish it.”

And there it is—her true meaning, reverberating unspoken between us. As ominous as the thunder overhead.The longer we need you, the longer you live.I nearly wring my hands in frustration. Because they don’t needmeat all; they need Coco, and the sooner she arrives, the sooner she dies. The soonerwedie. I am only the bait, the minnow, theworm, meant for bigger and better fish. As we ascend the castle steps—as Odessa finally relaxes, as she floats through the entrance hall and up the grand staircase, as Pasha and Ivan leave us without a word—one thought resolves as slick and sharp as the hook in my back.

Coco must never arrive.

Chapter Thirteen

Promenade

My room resides in the east wing of the castle.

Though someone has lit a candelabra in the deserted corridor, shadows gather as thick as the cobwebs on the tapestries. A single door looms ahead. Statues of angels carved from black marble adorn either side of it, except—

I draw to a halt behind Odessa.

With broad, membranous wings like a bat, the angels aren’t angels at all.

I lift a hand to one of their faces, tracing the harsh contour of his cheek, the palpable anguish in his eyes. The sculptor has captured him mid-transformation, torn between man and demon, and the golden veins and white inlay of the marble do little to soften him. His tortured expression seems to personify the castle itself.

Whereas Requiem is beautiful and strange andalive, its castle is stark, dark, with none of the city’s whimsical touches. Here, there are no horned toads or three-eyed crows, no stolen kisses between witch and sailor or heartfelt reunions between father and son. There are no strange cats or haunted music or even terrified screams.

Here, there are only shadows and silence. A bitter draft through empty corridors.

The castle reflects the hollow shell of its master.

Any creature who touches her will be subject to his wrath—and the wrath of the entire royal family.

I repress a shudder, dropping my hand from the statue’s face. The castle reflects the hollow shell of itsking.

“Here we are.” Odessa opens the door with a screech of hinges. When I make no move to enter, however—peering tentatively into the dark room, lit only by a single wall sconce—she sighs and speaks to the ceiling. “If I’m not sequestered in my room, blissfully alone, within the next three minutes, I will cheerily kill someone. With any luck, it won’t be you.”

She steps back farther.

I still don’t move.