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His black eyes fall back to mine. “It is relevant because nyctophobia seems to be your impetus. I realized as soon as I entered your room. Both shifts I felt occurred immediately after you’d been left here in the dark, and the third occurred in the theater—again, in the dark.”

I fluff my pillow with a viciousthwack. “Many people fear the dark.”

“Not like you do. Never before have I witnessed such an intense psychological reaction.” His eyes grow brighter, hungrier, as they search my face, and—seemingly unbidden—he drifts closer to the bed. To me. “I believe your fear allowed you to slip through the veil. It allowed you to see the ghosts. To speak to them.”

A beat of silence.

What do you expect when you repress your emotions? They have to go somewhere eventually, you know.

Though I open my mouth to refute his claim, it isn’t...entirelyridiculous, and it seems to fit with Mila’s explanation too. Each time the ghosts have appeared, with the most recent exception,I’ve been in the throes of a panic attack. Indeed—safe in the golden light of the candles—I might even admit that I never feel closer to death than I do in darkness.

“Is that your plan?” Lifting my chin and straightening my spine, I feign bravado. “Will you plunge me in darkness until you get what you want? Or is that what youreallywant—to watch me cower and hear me scream?” His expression cools instantly in response, but I press forward anyway, determined to—torilehim somehow. Toshakehim the way he has shaken me. “Does our fear make you feel powerful? Is that what you did to Babette before you killed her?”

All interest in his eyes flickers out. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Why light these candles at all?” I fling my arms outward, reckless, perhaps foolish, and gesture to the candlelight all around us. “Aren’t you just prolonging the inevitable?”

“Perhaps,” he says coldly, inclining his head. “Nevertheless, I appreciated your efforts at the theater, and as such, I’ve decided to open my home to you. From this night onward, you may move through the castle freely. Consider it a token of my good faith. Do not, however”—he steps closer, his voice softening in that horrid and lethal way—“trespass on my hospitality, pet. Do not attempt to flee. You will regret it if you do.”

“Stopthreateningme—”

“It isn’t a threat. The isle is dangerous, and I have business elsewhere tonight. I will not be able to intervene should you wander too far.”

It takes several seconds for the words to penetrate the thick haze of my anger.

“What sort of business?” I ask suspiciously, envisioning Babette’sbloodless body, the charcoal sketches of his other victims: human, Dame Blanche, loup garou, and melusine. Five species in total. No vampires.

All of their bodies drained of blood.

A hard edge of urgency hones my anger. If Michal plans to leave this isle, there can be no doubt that a sixth body will soon turn up in Belterra. I need to—stop him somehow, to incapacitate him, but short of finding a deadly and magical weapon—

I tense in realization. If Michal reallydoesplan to leave, I can take this opportunity to search for my cross. He has hidden it somewhere, and though Mila didn’t confirm my suspicion about silver, I have little else to go on. I cannot save this victim—my stomach twists with regret—but perhaps I can save the next. Perhaps I cankillMichal the moment he returns to Requiem. Fierce purpose resolves at the thought. If silver is the key, I will find it, and I will stop him. “What sort of business?” I ask again, my voice harder this time.

“None of yours.”

With another imperious look, he stalks past me to the armoire behind the second silk screen. I hesitate only a second before charging after him. “What are you doing back there?”

“For you.” He flings a bundle of emerald lace and silk at me before I’ve taken two steps, and the fabric spills from my hands, revealing the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. Delicate black diamonds sparkle along the sweetheart neckline, down the fitted bodice, so small they look like flecks of stardust. “Monsieur Marc sends his regards and bids you return tonight with Odessa to collect the rest of your trousseau—for which you are also welcome.”

His voice drips with disdain. I clench the exquisite train in myfists. Despite hisgallingarrogance, I shouldn’t continue to goad him. He is a vampire, amurderer, who relishes control above everything else. He won’t leave until he reestablishes dominance over this situation,and I need him to leave in order to search for my cross. If I must express my gratitude to quicken his departure, I should do it—I should smile, I should apologize, and I should submit. I should lose this battle to win the war.

It would be the sensible thing to do. The logical thing.

Scoffing, I spin on my heel. “No gift can absolve the things you’ve done, monsieur. Your heart is as black as these diamonds.”

He snakes a hand through the silk, catching it—catchingme—with fingers like ice. “Forgive me. I thought we had started over. Shall I return the gown for you?”

“No.” I tug on the dress, mindful of the delicate fabric, but he doesn’t release it. Instead, he draws it toward him slowly, forcing me to face him once more. I scowl and dig in my heels. He continues to pull, reeling me closer, closer, until I must crane my neck to see his beautiful face. “You most certainly willnotreturn the gown,” I hurl at him. “It belongs to me now, and I hope you spent afortuneon it.”

With his free hand, he slides long, luxurious evening gloves from his pocket, dangling them in front of my nose. I cannot decide if the glint in his eyes is amused or angry. Perhaps both. “I did,” he says softly.

Just angry, then.

“Good,” I snarl because I am angry too—I amfurious—and he—he—

He slides the gown from my hands with laughable ease. Before I can stop him—before I can so much as utter a startled curse—hetears it neatly in two, dropping the beautiful lace and silk anddiamondto the floor at my feet. His eyes never leave mine. “My heart is blacker. Enjoy your freedom, Célie Tremblay.”

He leaves without another word.