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Two hours later, however, I am ready to tear out Michal’s throat myself.

I shoveAn Illustrated Dictionary of Mushrooms and Other Fungiback onto the shelf, near delirious with hunger now. My eyes sting and weep, and the candles have melted to stubs. They cast faint, flickering light over the minuscule text of the next book, which depicts the four-step life cycle of... mold.

I let out a strangled curse.

“Mademoiselle?” Dimitri’s voice drifts down from the stairs, and I startle, lifting the candelabra. He holds a gilt breakfast tray in his hands, laden with what looks to befood. I scramble to my feet. Cocking his head with a roguish smile, he asks, “Are you... talking to someone?”

“Herself, I think.” Odessa steps around him and drags a finger through the thick dust on the banister. Her nose wrinkles. “This is disgusting.”

“Yes, it is.” I meet her brother halfway up the stairs. “It looked like this yesterday when you tossed me in here torot.”

Even to my ears, I sound petulant, but my stomach also threatens to eat itself. When I seize the tray from Dimitri—thrusting the candelabra at him—he runs a hand over his mouth to hide his smirk, glancing sidelong at his sister. “Odessa, that was terribly wicked.”

Clearly, he’s trying to tidy up anymisunderstandingsfrom earlier, but after watching his cousin feast on Arielle’s throat, I’ve little doubt who produced those blood-soaked rags in the corridor.

As if reading my mind, he inclines his head with a too-bright smile. “Please believe, mademoiselle, thatIwould have never done such a thing. Look—I have prepared you a delicious, human breakfast.”

As one, we all look down at the breakfast in question: honey and cabbage, five hard-boiled eggs, and a vat of butter. “So delicious,” Odessa repeats, deadpan, before rolling her eyes and wiping her dusty finger on his coat. Though Dimitri scowls, I leave them bickering on the stairs, stuffing an egg into my mouth and settling into a squashy armchair.

After inhaling the first whole, I force myself to chew the second, to swallow, before skewering Odessa with a glare of my own. “You were supposed to return at dusk.”

“I saidsomeonewould return at dusk, darling, not that it would be me.” The train of her gown sweeps over Dimitri’s shoes as she descends into the room. She wears crimson silk tonight. The fitted bodice and full skirt gleam slightly in the light of the candle, as does the black paint on her lips, the onyx jewels on her throat. This is the first time I’ve seen her with her brother, and together—side by side—the two quite literally make the breath catch in my throat.

Tearing my gaze away, I make a mental note thatVampires are beautifulright next toVampires eat peopleandYou are a person, Célie.

“Dusk wasfourhours ago,” I say instead.

“Yes, well, my dear brother insists we all spend the night together, so—lest we ruin a perfectly pleasant trip to Monsieur Marc—shall we let bygones be bygones?”

I frown between them, slowing on the third egg. “Monsieur Marc?”

Trailing after his sister, Dimitri says, “Yes, he—” But Odessa speaks over him.

“—is a dressmaker, of course.Thedressmaker.” She bends to examine the stack of books beside me, tilting her head in idle curiosity before flicking her gaze to my nail beds. “Do you possess a secret passion for horticulture? I myself dabbled with flora for—what was it?” She turns to her brother without waiting for my answer. “Twenty-seven years?”

“Yes,” he says tersely. “You abandoned the pursuit after I commissioned a hothouse for you.”

She lifts an elegant shoulder, already rising on tiptoe to inspect the tea set. “Why should I visit a dressmaker?” I ask them, suspicious.

Dimitri flashes another devilish grin. “We wanted to—”

Again, however, Odessa interrupts, waving a hand down my body in distaste. “Surely we need not answer such a ludicrous question. Look at the state of yourgown. It positively reeks, which reminds me”—she flicks her wrist at Dimitri, whose eyes narrow—“you should fetch a servant to run a bath. We cannot introduce her to Monsieur Marc while she smells like a grubby mop.”

I try and fail not to huff.

He steps around her hand with thinly veiled patience. “Alas, that stench is your perfume, dear sister. May I speak?” When she casts him a withering look, he grins and continues. “Rumor has it that tonight is your nineteenth birthday, mademoiselle, and my sister and I would like to treat you to a new wardrobe—with Michal’s gold, of course.” He plucks a piece of cabbage from the tray, lifting it to the candlelight to examine its veins. “He certainlyowes yousomethingfor the state of this room. What does cabbage taste like?” he asks abruptly.

Cabbage.Such a mundane thing to contemplate—and not at all what I thought I’d be eating on my birthday. If not for my abduction, my friends might’ve prepared a chocolate cake to celebrate the occasion. They might’ve decorated Pan’s Patisserie with pink garlands and everlasting bubbles, and my candles might’ve sparkled and popped with real fairy dust—they did the same for Beau’s birthday in August, except with rum cake and fireworks.

Of course, if not for my abduction, my friends would also still be keeping secrets.

“It tastes a bit peppery.” Grudgingly, Odessa flips throughA Book of Old World Gardens. “Surely you remember cabbage, Dima. Wewereonce human, after all.”

The admission pulls me from my reverie, and I stare at her incredulously. “You were... human?”

“A thousand years ago, give or take.” Dimitri flicks the cabbage back to the tray as my eyes bulge. Athousandyears old? Surely I misheard him. He winks at my reaction, adding, “Quite spectacular for our age, aren’t we?”

“Foranyage,” Odessa sniffs.