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Swallowing hard, I glance to the back room. “Oh?”

“Oh.” Priscille bristles beneath Monsieur Dupont’s hand. “Vampires from all over the world should already be arriving in Requiem, yet this year, Michal has closed our borders. Without his blessing, no one comes in, and no one goes out.”

“Except you, of course,” the blonde says coldly. “Will your brethren try to follow you here?”

“I—I am hardly a Chasseur, mademoiselle.”

“Would you still taste like one, I wonder?”

“Juliet,” Monsieur Dupont warns. “Not here.”

Not here.My mouth dries. He didn’t saynot ever.

But surely Odessa and Monsieur Marc can still hear us; surely they’ll intervene if I’m in true danger. My gaze darts again to their door. Though a shop full of angry vampires isn’t ideal, perhaps their hatred of Michal can work in my favor. An enemy of my enemy is a friend, after all. “Why has he closed the borders?”

Monsieur Dupont shakes his head slowly. “We do not discuss such things with humans.”

“Why shouldn’t we?” Priscille pushes his hand from her shoulder. “Michal flouts his own rule despite the danger to his people, yet he expects us to follow blindly? I think not.” She lifts her nose, nostrils flaring. “If you ask me, he is not himself. His servants have started to whisper, Pierre. They speak of strange happenings in the castle, of his reclusiveness and restlessness. They speak ofghosts.”

“Youshould not speak of them, Priscille.”

“My cousin even overheard that he invited La Dame des Sorcières and La Princesse Rouge to the masquerade on All Hallows’Eve. Can you imagine? Witches walking the streets of Requiem, thinking themselves our equals? Whatever happened to our sanctuary, oursecret?” She glares at me with withering disdain. “I did not want to believe it, yet now I fear it must be true—Michal is truly unhinged, and I no longer feel safe here.”

Juliet shakes her head in disgust. “The Chasseurs will follow their huntress. Mark my words. When the enchantment lifts on All Hallows’ Eve, they will come with their swords of—”

Monsieur Dupont speaks sharper now. “Juliet—”

“And how can Michal protect us?” Priscille’s beautiful face twists in scorn. “He couldn’t even protect his own sister—”

The door to the back bursts open with a mightybang, and Odessa stands in the threshold, still and slight and utterly terrifying. She no longer smiles. Monsieur Marc appears grave and silent behind her. “Oh, darlings, don’t mind me,” she says, her voice light and deceptively pleasant. It lifts the hair on my neck. “Please continue. I am ever so interested to hear more of thisfascinatingconversation.”

Monsieur Dupont bows his head, baring his teeth at Priscille and Juliet when they don’t immediately follow. Juliet grimaces as if pained before dropping into a curtsy. Odessa’s attention flicks to Priscille, who still stands on the platform with her back ramrod straight, her shoulders proud. Boris and Romi retreat from her slowly, their gazes fixed upon the floor.

“Do you challenge him, Priscille?” Odessa asks. “Shall I summon our king?”

Wide-eyed, I watch as Priscille’s jaw clenches, as she refuses to break eye contact with Odessa. It all feels terribly important—terriblyfoolish—like I am watching the last moments of thisimmortal creature’s life. If Michal were here instead of Odessa, Priscille would already be dead. Echoing my thoughts, still bowing, Monsieur Dupont murmurs, “Do not be rash, mon amie. Yield now.”

Priscille’s throat works furiously. “Michal is not fit to lead us.”

“And you are?” he asks.

“Perhaps.”

Odessa’s smile hardens. “Take care how you speak, celestials. Hundreds have challenged Michal in his thousand-year reign, yet Michal alone remains—for the sun, moon, and stars do not exist in Requiem. Here there is only darkness, and darkness is eternal.”

An inexplicably eager chill sweeps my body at that. Perhaps Iamimmoral. Because I cannot tear my gaze away from Priscille, from Odessa, from the palpable threat of violence between them. If the situation escalates much further, Odessa might not wait for Michal. She might dispose of Priscille with her bare hands, and I—well, I simply cannot muster proper horror at the prospect.

Leaning forward, I wait with bated breath for Priscille to respond.

When a small hand clasps my elbow instead, I tense, my heart leaping to my throat. Monsieur Marc coughs pointedly. “Go, papillon,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Some conversations are better left unheard, and I have assembled your trousseau in the back. Please wait for me to join you there.”

He doesn’t allow any argument, pushing me forward with strength that belies his white hair. Not a single vampire in the room acknowledges me as we pass. Odessa and Priscille remain locked in silent challenge, even as Monsieur Marc closes the door behind me.

Resisting the urge to press my ear to the door, I glance around the tiny room.His office, I realize. Dozens of garment boxes spill over his desk, beneath his chair, across his rug in organized chaos, and emerald ribbon adorns each one with a pretty bow. An unexpected surge of affection fills me as I blink at them. They match the ribbon on my wrist exactly.

“My brother suffers from that one malediction which cannot be cured,” D’Artagnan muses from a basket half-hidden behind the door. Startling, I whirl just as he yawns wide, stretches in a leisurely fashion—thoroughly unconcerned—and sits up to lick his paw. The tip of his tail flicks. “Sentiment.”

Though my eyes narrow, I resist the urge to tug my sleeve down over my own ribbon. Because I have nothing of which to be ashamed, and besides—I don’t much like this disdainful little creature and his opinions. I’ve always known cats to be rather standoffish, of course—with the exception of those on this isle—but this one wins the crown. “It isn’t the worst of sins, you know. To care for someone.”