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The velvet swags hang limp from the balustrades—soaked from the rain—and no music pours from the black-and-gold doors. No screams either. Clearly, there is no show scheduled for tonight.

Michal pushes through the entrance anyway, thoroughly unconcerned, just as lightning streaks overhead. It illuminates shadowy shapes in the otherwise empty foyer, and suddenly, I have evenlessinterest in this unfinished business of ours. Hesitating on the steps, I ask, “Why are we here? What do you want with me?”

“You know the answer to at least one of those questions.” Standing in the threshold, he peels off his jacket and tosses it aside. His shirt beneath is white and—andsoaked. Mouth abruptly dry, I tear my eyes from the sculpted shape of his chest to find him smirking at me. My cheeks flame. “Feel free to come inside,” he sayswryly, his eyes a shade darker than before. I glare at him through the downpour, water streaming down my nose. The portrait of aristocratic grace.

“Not until you tell me why we’re here.”

He chuckles again, rolling each sleeve with slow, deft fingers. “But you’re getting all wet.”

“Yes,thankyou for that clever observation. Ineverwould’ve realized if you hadn’t—”

“Come inside,” he says again.

I push the sopping hair out of my face, resisting the urge to stamp my foot like a child. “Tell me why we’re here.”

“You’re rather obstinate, aren’t you?”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Crossing his arms, he leans a shoulder against the open door to consider me. “Shall we have another game, then? If I explain why we’re at L’ange de la Mort, will you promise to come inside?”

L’ange de la Mort.

The Angel of Death.

I cross my own arms, slowly drowning in my boots, and try not to shiver in the cold. He thinks himself perfectly reasonable—I can see it in the condescending curve of his lips, the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. To him, Iamjust a child in need of managing. Under different circumstances, I might’ve sought to change his opinion, to prove myself capable and competent and strong, but now...

I shrug, adopting his devil-may-care attitude, and peer around him into the theater. “I make no promises. A little rain never killed anyone, and I have no interest in helping you do... whatever it is you’ve brought me here to do.”

“You shouldn’t tempt Death in this place, Célie. He just might answer.”

“By all means, do tell me more. You have no idea how willing I am tonotcome inside.”

He stares at me for a long moment—his expression inscrutable, calculating—before his lips curve in another cruel smile. For just an instant, I worry I’ve overplayed my hand—he couldcompelme to come inside, after all, could compel me to do anything he wants—but then he inclines his head.

“Very well,” he says. “I am undead, and as such, I exist with one foot in both the realm of the living and the dead. Each calls to me. Each serves the other. When I revel in the warmth of the living—when I feast on its blood—I hold cold death in my hands. Do you understand?”

Any answer I might’ve given sticks in my throat. This is—not what I expected, certainly, and far beyond anything I’m equipped to handle.Each calls to me. Each serves the other.“No, I don’t,” I say warily, staring up at him. “I don’t understand at all.”

“I think you do.” He pushes from the door, approaching me with his hands in his pockets. “There are always places, however—rips in the fabric between realms—where Death has slipped through and lingered, and L’ange de la Mort is one of them. Many have died here. It should make this process... easier.”

“What process?”

“The process of summoning a ghost.”

Chapter Eighteen

The Knife in the Veil

I retreat a step, my eyes wide and my hands cold. “Itoldyou that I can’t—”

“I have spent the last twenty-four hours scouring this island for any other explanation, and everything—everything, down to the last slime-covered toadstool—remains the same as it did two days ago.” He shadows my steps with a hard, determined gleam in his eyes. “Everything except foryou. The veil thinned when you arrived. I felt it then, and I felt it again this evening. Care to explain?”

The veil thinned when you arrived.

I don’t like how that sounds. I don’t like it at all.

Demanding answers is one thing, but this—this sort ofpractical applicationis quite another.