“Did you hear that?” Finley cocked his head. “It’s that music again, that song.”
“It’s been playing for ages.” And the witch she’d danced with at the revel had claimed they didn’t like it. What a liar. “You should borrow a coat, too.” Lina shoved her feet into a pair of house slippers and cast about the room for anything else they could take. Like the black pearls, some small charm that might help.
She grabbed Finley’s knife from the dressing table, gaze lingering on a handheld fan with a tortoiseshell handle and great plumes of peacock feathers. The kind of fan that not only cooled and veiled your face but could fan away bad luck.
“I swear it’s like—” Finley paused, drifting away from her. “It sounds like my playing, doesn’t it?”
Lina held back a shiver. Did it? That faint, thin, high, and unearthly wail. For a second, she swore she could feel the vibrato of the strings in her teeth. Feel each note curling around her wrists and ankles, tugging at her, attempting to steer her body like a ship.
Sock-soft footsteps padded behind her. The door creaked open. Clicked shut.
Lina whirled around. “Finley?”
10
Lina
Lina was across the carpet in an instant, cursing, knife in hand.
She ripped the door open, burst through, and almost tripped over her own feet in shock.
Where was the corridor? The balconies and their billowing gossamer drapes? The gleaming walls of gold leaf and glowing amber? The door had taken her someplace else. Lina sucked in a breath. The air tasted tight. Metallic. Like licking the striking side of a matchbox. Dragging her tongue across her bottom lip would end in a mouthful of sparks.
She stood in a room at the top of a storm-ravaged tower. Its roof was caved in, its stained-glass windows shattered, a light rain falling sideways through the holes. Candles, books, and ruined furniture littered a sodden, blackened carpet.
Sudden guilt speared Lina. This was their fault. Her fault. When she’d thrown the bottled spell to summon the storm, she’d seen lightning strike the palace towers. She’d wanted to bring the whole hateful place down, but she hadn’t thought—
The door slammed shut behind her.
Lina jumped. “Finley?” She grabbed the door handle, dropping the knife to grip it with both hands.
It wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t open, wouldn’t give.
She thumped a fist on the wood. “Finley? Finley!”
Someone groaned. Lina whirled, the door handle digging into the small of her back. She snatched the knife off the floor.
A fallen cabinet against the wall opposite shuddered, throwing up a cloud of dust. Someone was struggling to crawl out from under it, fingernails scrabbling at the carpet. Their blond hair was matted with blood from a deep gash on their forehead.
Lina’s heart stopped. Oh God. Had they been in here when she’d brought the storm down? Had anyone else?
“Don’t move!” Her slippers squelched as she picked her way through the chaos. She felt like she was going to be sick. “Don’t move. I’m coming. Hold on.”
“What have you done?”
Her head jerked up at the familiar voice, mouth falling open as she squinted at the dusty, blood-streaked face. “Thomas?”
“What have you done?” The words were rasping, thick with pain and accusation.
“I didn’t—God, I’m so—” Lina’s breath hitched. She slipped on a leather-bound book and her ankle buckled as her weight shifted suddenly. She crumpled, landing hard, the carpet grazing her palms raw. The knife jolted out of her grip.
She gasped, gritted her teeth, and looked up. “I’m okay. Just…hold still…”
There was no one trapped beneath the fallen cabinet. No one struggling to crawl out of the ruins on bleeding hands and knees. The space Thomas had occupied was empty save for dust.
The hair along the back of Lina’s neck rose. “Thomas?” It came out as a whisper.
The air shifted. The slightest gust of wind ruffled the pages of another book, muffled the soft patter of raindrops. Lina struggled to her feet. She was suddenly acutely aware of something, someone, moving somewhere behind her. A whisper of silk. A cat-soft step.
She swallowed hard, steeled herself, and slowly turned.
There was no one. Nothing, save a fading twist of night-dark smoke.
Lina willed her heart to stop racing. She reminded herself of the black pearl she’d swallowed minutes before. She layered her words with the same soft, syrupy sweetness she’d used to compel Finley. “I—I know you’re there.” She bit her cheek, cursing herself for the stutter. “Why don’t you come out? Where’s my brother? What have you done with him?”
No answer.
Lina licked the parched surface of her lips. “My name is Lina Kirk. I’m here for Thomas Lin. I’m here to take him back.” Her voice grew louder. “But you knew that, or you wouldn’t have conjured that…that illusion, that thing.” Fresh anger stirred to life in her stomach, burning away her nerves. “You can’t pick the same boy twice!”
The smoky air seemed to pulse with half-heard laughter, as if whispering back: Who says I can’t?
“Why don’t you show yourself?” Lina coaxed, stressing each syllable. The pearl’s magic had worked to charm Finley. It worked for the sopranos at the Conservatoire. Why wasn’t it working now?
She tried forcing the lock on the door with Finley’s knife but only succeeded in blunting the blade.
He was going to be very angry about that.
If he was still alive.
If she ever saw him again.
If the Witch Queen hadn’t already fed him to her sea serpent.
In a fit of pure frustration Lina hurled the blunt knife across the room. A panicked tear singed a stripe of fire down her cheek, and she swiped furiously at the wetness.
“Are you still there?” she tried again. “I just want to talk. I—”
There was the softest snick, a key turning in a lock. A drawn-out groan of rusted hinges.
Lina jerked back as the door swung wide, but no one stepped through. The open door merely waited, patient, golden glyphs glinting over its polished wood, the shadows beyond beckoning in silent invitation.
Lina hesitated. Where would it take her this time? Unlikely that it led anywhere good…
But what did she have left to lose? They’d already taken Finley, stolen Thomas. Both were in danger because of her. She wasn’t helping either by staying put.
She crossed the threshold. And again, the Water Palace’s doors, like doors in a dream, took her elsewhere, somewhere she least expected. It was a chapel, hushed as church. Cold and smelling strongly of incense, its holy walls were decorated with human bones, a chain of skulls grinning above the altar.