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“Whatishappening?” Bewildered, Odessa straightens the mannequin while—against my better judgment—I force my way between Michal and Dimitri, determined to prevent any bloodshed. Though Dimitri has proven himself to be a snake, Michal might someday regret killing him.I think.

Neither one of them acknowledges me, however. Neither one of them steps back.

“Go ahead, cousin.” Michal arches a coolly mocking brow, his chest tensing against my palm. “Tell your dear sister all about your deal with Death. He told Célie a little, but I’d like to hear more.”

“Michal,” I warn.

Because Odessa has gone completely still at his words—all except her eyes. They narrow, darting between the two of them as she clutches the mannequin. “What is he talking about, Dima? What deal with Death?”

Dimitri’s expression hardens.

“I wanted to tell you,” he says fervently. “I wasgoingto tell you—” But he breaks off as Odessa’s face twists, as she recoils from the confession like it’s a slap. He seems to realize his mistake in the same instant. Lip curling, he takes another step toward Michal, his body bracing, pressing flush against my side. “You shouldn’t have come here like this. It was badly done.”

“As opposed to whatyou’vedone?” Michal asks.

“Oh, this is ridiculous—” Though I lift another hand to push them apart, Odessa beats me to it, seizing Dimitri’s arm and wrenching him around with a truly terrifying snarl. Her dark eyes blaze like twin pillars of fire.

“Unless someone provides an explanation in the nexttwoseconds, I will single-handedly disembowel each one of—”

“We found the source of his mystery cure,” Michal says flatly. “I assume you noticed the subtle change in his scent?” When Odessa nods, he finally yields a step, and I let my hand fall from his chest before withdrawing to the settee on heavy feet. None of this feels like a victory. “I noticed it too, but I convinced myself the scent was mine—or rather,hers.”

He tips his head to me, and I nudge Panteleimon aside to sit beside him, pretending the others aren’t watching my every move. Pretending my presence—myscent—hasn’t allowed Dimitri to mask his subterfuge. I still feel dirty, however. Tainted.

“And so I resolved to let Dima keep his privacy,” Michal continues. “Whatever his method, it couldn’t be worse than butchering the masses and collecting their trophies—”

“They were never trophies,” Dimitri says through clenched teeth.

“—but I was wrong. Itisworse, and it endangers more than the inhabitants of this island.” Directly to Odessa now, Michal says, “Dimitri has been drinking Death’s blood.”

A beat of silence follows the ominous pronouncement, broken only by a splinteringcrackof wood.

Odessa has snapped the mannequin in two.

Instinctively, I rise again to help, but I stop short as Dimitri forces a bitter smile, rolling his eyes and stalking to the nearest chess piece. “Suchdramatics.” He leans against the enormous rook without looking at any of us, and I want toshakehim for feigning indifference—for refusing to accept responsibility, for pushing us deeper into an already precarious situation. “Thank you for yourconcern, Michal, but I assure you, I have the situation well in hand. No one needs to treat me any differently, or scold me, orfearme—”

“No one fears you, Dimitri,” I say quietly. “We fearforyou.”

“Funnily enough, I can’t recall asking for that either.”

“This isn’t a game,” Michal snaps. “You have placed yourself in Death’s debt, and sooner or later, hewillcome to collect. Are you prepared to pay that price? Are you prepared forusto pay it? Already, he has threatened Célie—”

“He has?” Dimitri’s eyes narrow, and his face snaps toward mine for an explanation. He almost looks concerned. “What happened? What did he say?”

“Does it matter?” I ask him.

“Ofcourseit matters.” Scoffing, he shakes his head in disbelief before meeting each of our gazes. “You’re all acting like I’ve committed some unforgivable sin by obtaining this cure when in reality, the true sins came before it—and I’d still be committing them if not for Death. The grimoire proved useless. His bloodsavedme. You said it yourself, Michal: I am finally Dima again—finallyme—and in return, Death asked for nothing except the occasional interview. And onthatnote, I’ve divulged no secrets, telling him only what he could’ve discovered on his own.”

Odessa and Michal don’t seem to believe him, however. At her skeptical expression, at his disgusted one, Dimitri heaves a harsh laugh, and his shoulders slump against the chess piece. “But it doesn’t matter what I say, does it? It never will. Neither of you have ever understood my condition. After all these years, youstilldon’t understand—Mila is the only one who even tried.”

He glares between them, but the heat in his gaze feels more like despair than true anger. Like hopelessness.

“And why would you?” he snarls. “Odessa Petrov has never met a question she cannot answer. Michal Vasiliev has never once lost control.” When he cranes his neck to look at me, I brace myself for the worst, yet it doesn’t come. “Do you know what it is to be the bane of your loved ones’ existence? The black mark? The stain? Do you know how it feels to consistently and irrevocably disappoint everyone around you?”

My heart gives a peculiar twist at that. Perhaps because the answer isyes, of course I do; of courseeveryonedoes, or perhaps because the truth of his words goes much deeper than that. Though none of us have suffered Dimitri’s sickness, wehaveshared his desperation, and we’ve all turned to Death for a solution—me, Filippa, even Michal. Of course Dimitri would turn to him too. And ofcourseDeath would take advantage by using Dimitri to sow discord.

This is what he wants, I realize, staring back into Dimitri’s catlike eyes. They look so much like his sister’s—like Mila’s too. A leaden sensation descends in my chest at the thought that this might be it; after all these years, this might be the moment their family fractures irreparably.

“Do not bring Célie into this,” Michal says darkly. “You will not take advantage of her as you’ve done us.”