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I’M ON MY feet in an instant—and Zoe and Nick both yank me back down.

My ears are ringing. A high-pitched whine, blood rushing through my head. My brain, in all of its diminishing function, idly recognizes that Mikael’s eyes have found us in the back of the room as he continues to speak—and that I’m calling far too much attention to myself.

“Bree!” Zoe hisses, looking past me to the rest of the security warlocks at the end of our pews, who are looking at us with curious eyes.

The rest of the room—and the pews in front of us—never even noticed me standing. They murmur to one another, gasping, as Mikael continues speaking, and I realize that he never really stopped.

“This is the vivid power of so-called magical Rootcrafters.” The Collectors lean forward in their pews as he speaks, trying to get a better look. “Mind you, there are special treatments applied to these crystal vases that make this kind of power source visible to the average human eye. In addition, of course, this root must be captured from a living human ’Crafter, which these are. Magic like this must also be captured from a powerful ’Crafter mid-casting, while they are actually in active contact with their ancestral guides. A truly fascinating phenomenon to behold.”

Beside me, Mariah lowers her hand. She fingers the cord of the Heart of the Dame around her neck as we exchange glances.

Four Rootcrafter girls are still alive—and Mikael or someone working through him—has held them captive long enough to capture their power and put it on display.

“Tonight, you are not solely bidding on these vials,” Mikael continues, “but bidding on access to the living sources behind these powers as well, so that you may refresh the magical displays for your enjoyment once they wane. It is a bit uncouth to present these four young women in this setting, but, rest assured, they are being safely held and have been treated with respect and care by the seller. We will promptly provide coordinates for pickup to the winning bidder. We do request that you do not cause these young ladies damage or lasting harm, or, at least, do not do so in a setting that can connect such activity back to our community. Remember, only a living Rootcrafter can supply a lasting power source. In all things, please maintain discretion and truth.”

Respect and care? Discretion and truth? For the second time tonight, I want to launch myself over the pews. This time, to take on Mikael directly and rip the Southern genteelness out of his lying mouth.

I don’t realize that I’m vibrating with the effort of restraining myself until Mariah presses her hand to my knee. “We have to stick to the plan.”

“The plan?” I hiss. “Screw the crown. We have to—”

“We can’t,” Mariah urges. “We don’t know where they are, Bree. We don’t know where they are .”

At that, I freeze. She’s right. We could take the vials, release the power, but that doesn’t help us find the girls. They’re selling access to the girls, too, so that a Collector can “refresh the magical displays” for their enjoyment.

Mariah looks just as rattled as I do. She glances at the warlocks down the aisle, keeping her voice low as she talks. “It’s the same plan as before. Wait for the winner, but…”

Follow the winner. Find the girls.

I release a broken, rattling breath. Mariah nods, and that’s when I know that she’s right. I glance at Zoe, who is peering back at me with wide, waiting eyes. She nods once. She’s on board. Then, I feel Nick’s thumb at my bicep, a slow and steady pressure. I glance up at him, and his face is twisted with emotions—distress, worry, anger—but determined.

None of us cares about the crown any longer. They’re ready to find the girls, just like I am.

But every time a card is raised, I commit that face to memory. Every time the price goes up, I grind my teeth to near breaking. I don’t know how long the bidding lasts. All I know is that it feels like an eternity and the numbers aren’t enough.

Mikael can disguise it all he likes, but they’re bidding on people. Human beings. Whole lives, just like mine. Whole dreams. Girls with minds and hearts.

Their families must miss them so much.

Tears make my eyes blur.

Beside me, on my left, Zoe trembles. A fine tremor from her feet, to her torso, to her lips. On my right, Mariah has clasped my other hand—and her body is vibrating too. With rage and pain or both. She’s taken Nick’s place, and I don’t remember him moving.

I look up to find that Nick has shifted down the pew to face one group of the warlocks, his spine a rigid line of tension, his palms open for battle. He is protecting us as best he can as we wait.

When it’s over, our heads snap up to see who the winner is.

The only man with his bid card still raised.

Gabriel.

Nick twists to catch my eye, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. Gabriel wants the Rootcrafter girls; does that mean the Regents do too?

I swallow and glance at Zoe, and she shakes her head, confusion on her face. If the girls are being kidnapped by Mikael’s contacts, by people who have hired warlocks, then trafficked to the highest bidder—in this case, the Regents, or at least Gabriel—then Erebus isn’t their customer. Which means he’s likely not feeding from these girls, after all. The Regents don’t know that Erebus is the Shadow King who needs to feed on power to survive.

“Congratulations,” Mikael is saying to Gabriel, who is now standing and buttoning his suit jacket. “The seller will contact you directly after your wire has cleared. We can provide an escort to you tomorrow so that you may retrieve your winnings safely.”

“That won’t be needed,” Gabriel says. “My own transport will be waiting outside in just a few moments.” He tips his head in acknowledgment and walks toward the waiting warlock to retrieve his phone and enter his credentials.

But behind him, there is unrest in the pews. A few of the other guests who have been here all weekend are murmuring among themselves, the tones of their voices pitched low—and angry.

“Why was a newcomer allowed to join the auction at the last minute?” The tall woman from the second day of the communions rises to her feet. “The rest of us have been vetted. Some of us have waited years to attend. How has this person skipped the procedures?”

Mikael raises his hands for peace. “I understand the confusion. In this case, I allowed a single exception—”

“But he didn’t even have to endure communion, as we did!” The man from the first day shoots to his feet.

Nick slides back, closer to us now that the warlocks who have been eyeing our group have shifted their attention to the upset Collectors.

Mikael frowns. “Truth and discretion are always—”

“We cannot risk a new player!” the tall woman shouts. “You have broken our trust, Mikael!”

Mikael’s human face slips as his lips draw back. His power sparks at the base of my skull, and then his face is human once again. “You will apologize. And you will leave.”

Three dozen Collectors are on their feet now, moving from their seats to advance on Mikael—and the row of priceless artifacts still on display.

At Bianca’s signal, the warlocks begin shifting. Their borrowed powers bloom to life, expanding their heights, their arms and legs, even sprouting tails. Lawson grows a pair of long tusks. Santiago, elk horns. Even Bianca changes, with a ripple of green scales rising along her cheek and down her neck. The smell of pact magic fills the room—and the humans scream, tumbling over one another to get out.

Our row stands as one. “ This is bad,” Zoe says, gathering our bags.

“Yeah, no kidding,” I say, tugging my leather jacket off to free my arms.

Mariah shifts beside me. “I think we need to go.”

“I think we need to follow him!” I say, pointing to the back corner door where Gabriel is being quickly ushered away.

“Where’s Ava?” Mariah says.

When we all look to her seat, we see it empty. Nick curses. “Gone for the crown. Let’s go.”

The four of us climb over the pews rather than running down them, but the fight between the warlocks and the panicking humans has escalated, and a pew comes whistling down in front of us, breaking another into splintered pieces.

We all fall back, and Mariah scampers to my side. “I’m not quite as durable as you three.…”

I glance at her. She’s right. We can’t wade through a warlock fight with her in tow—not without worrying she’ll get hurt. “Mariah—”

“But,” she says, eyes twinkling, “I think I can still help.”

“How?”

She is busy looking over my shoulder and around the room. “I need to be higher.” She points to the balcony. “Can somebody get me up there?”

Zoe is already crouching down. “Get on.”

Mariah climbs onto Zoe’s back, wrapping her legs and arms around the taller girl. “Be back soon,” Zoe says, and then she’s a blur, running in the opposite direction of the brawl.

“Duck!” Nick’s shout distracts me from watching Zoe and Mariah’s departure, just in time for him to tackle me to the floor, throwing an aether shield over both our heads as a piece of the balcony comes crashing down.

He winces, bracing against the impact. I feel the weight of the piece rattle through his body, and through him, mine. He heaves upward to shove the piece off near our feet but doesn’t move. “You okay?”

Sawdust floats overhead like strange dust through his sparkling aether shield. “Fine.”

“Then let’s go.” He’s already up and moving, pulling me to my feet. “Gabriel’s getting away.” He grasps my hand and runs me down the aisle.

Shouts and growls fill the space, echoing up to the balcony. I hear something—or someone—tear open, flesh ripping in a way that makes my stomach turn. Mikael’s imitation dollhouse falling apart.

I feel the wave of power before I see it. A hot golden surge of power that hits me and Nick before it passes over us harmlessly.

We both look up just as it strikes the warlocks—and their bodies freeze entirely in place where they stand.

“Holy shit,” Nick mutters.

Even Mikael has frozen, eyes wide and teeth bared. Only his eyes move, and they shift overhead and up to the balcony behind us.

We follow his gaze to see Mariah standing on the balcony with her arms outstretched and eyes filled with root, fingertips lit with glowing light. Her brows are knit with the effort, but she’s holding the warlocks in her grip—all of them. Whatever body part they’ve transformed with undead demon power seemingly pulling them to the ground while the rest of their human bodies struggle to get away.

She groans and curves her fingers downward, and the warlocks’ bodies hit the floor all at once. She flattens her palms, pressing, and a chorus of groans and growls tells us that she’s holding them in place wherever they’ve fallen.

“Go!” Mariah shouts down at us. “I can’t hold them forever…!”

Nick and I don’t hesitate. We leap over the pews and bodies, heading toward the door where Gabriel had been guided out.

“Stop!” Mikael’s voice reaches us at the last second, ragged and angry. Unlike the others, he is slowly, slowly peeling himself up off the ground, fighting Mariah’s power. He glares at me, jaw opening in a too-wide snarl.

Nick pulls me forward. We race down a hall, but I can tell he’s holding back—so I push him ahead. “Go! You’re faster!”

Nick gives me one last look before blurring forward. I run as fast as I can to keep up, bursting out a door into the courtyard—then see the trail of blue aether he’s left behind, faint but visible enough to guide me.

Smart boy.

Following the trail before it fades takes me through another building, to an exit that spills out onto the massive back lawn. At the very edge of the lawn is the barrier—and just outside of it is Gabriel getting into a waiting helicopter, its blades already whirring.

Nick is speeding to the outer ward of Penumbra—a bright silver-blue bullet directly toward Gabriel—when he is thrown back by a dark green shadow.

Nick flies across the lawn, hits the ground with a deep thud, and skids another twenty feet. “Nick!”

My shout is lost in the sound of the blades. I pivot, running toward his body where it lies still and crumpled on the ground, his aether armor gone dark and dusted.

He’s not moving.

Nick’s not moving.

I fall to his side where he’s landed, tentatively touching his shoulder. His eyes are closed, and his hair is stringy and wet across his forehead, mixed with blades of dewy grass. I check his breathing—he’s alive. Alive, but bruised or with broken bones—

“Next time, Crown Scion!” a voice calls. I turn to see Gabriel waving from the edge of the helicopter, a grin splitting his face open.

I stand, ready to run after him—and immediately get knocked back down to the ground. The dark green aether scent that hits me is old, ancient. Thick and rich.

The last thing I see is a pair of heavy boots walking slowly toward me across the damp grass. The last thing I hear is a low, amused chuckle.

Then, darkness.