“I don’t know.”

“If the amulet works and they separate, you realize what that means, right?”

It meant an unbound Second House demon would be loose on Earth, with no contract binding him.

“Let’s wait for now,” I murmured. “I think … I’d like to talk to Tori first.”

Amalia nodded. We ate our ice cream, the muffled sound of the shower filling the quiet. I set my empty bowl in the sink and turned on the tap, watching the white porcelain fill with water. As the bowl overflowed, my eyes lost focus and a memory resurfaced.

“Tomorrow night,” I whispered.

Amalia pulled her spoon out of her mouth. “Huh?”

“The old sorcerer said to Claude … he said the array would be ready tomorrow night.” I looked up, my face cold. “How on earth are we going to find and stop them in one day?”

My head hurt.

The coffee table was covered in pages torn from my notebook, my scribbles covering each sheet. Rushed notes, half-finished translations, angry slashes through my mistakes. Reference books sat in a stack beside a bowl of fresh strawberries, but the texts hadn’t been much help.

The words Anthea had used to describe her work didn’t seem to exist anymore. At least not in the Ancient Greek dictionaries and lexicons I had.

Saul had said they’d proceed with their spell “as long as we get a clear sky,” which meant they needed either starlight or moonlight. I’d been flipping from spell to spell all afternoon, searching for a mention of astral conditions in the grimoire. Anthea had been a dedicated experimenter. The grimoire might contain earlier versions of the spells Claude had stolen.

But between my inability to translate most of Anthea’s notes and my total lack of knowledge on what spells Claude had, I was fishing in the dark.

Huffing angrily, I slumped against the sofa, my legs sprawled under the coffee table. Useless. If only I could’ve stolen the grimoire pages back. Even if Claude had made copies, at least I would’ve known what he had.

I straightened with a sigh and plucked a strawberry from the bowl, the green tops removed and sugar dusted over them. Nibbling on the end, I stared toward my bedroom.

Zylas had spent the night prowling the neighborhood, ensuring Claude, Nazhivēr, and the sorcerers hadn’t tracked us to the apartment. He’d returned just as dawn broke, his eyes dim with fatigue. I’d relinquished my bed to him—though I could’ve let him crawl onto the mattress with me. There was no reason I had to leave so he could lie down.

A slow blush warmed my cheeks.

As I popped the rest of the strawberry into my mouth, my gaze slid to the grimoire. Unable to resist, I started turning its pages again. Past the spells. Past the House descriptions. Past Myrrine’s heartsore account of how she’d feared she’d lost her Vh’alyir, and her indecision over whether to share her feelings.

I kept turning the pages, searching for the next glimpse of her name.

Finally, I found it. Tearing a fresh sheet from my notebook, I began the translation, my heart in my throat as I worked. The words came fast, Myrrine’s ancient sentences spilling out of my pencil as though she were whispering in my ear.

Sister, you cannot imagine how these past months have tormented me. How I questioned my heart, my mind, the fate of my soul. How I wondered what madness had overtaken me.

I have stood before a demon of another world and wondered that which no woman should ever wonder. I have yearned for that which no woman should ever claim. I have laid my hands upon that which no woman should ever touch.

I offered a demon my soul, and then I offered him my heart.

Madness, perhaps, but if this is madness, I will keep it. Love in a cruel world is a cruelty itself. Love is pain and it is hope. Love is peril and it is beauty.

Melitta, my sweet sister, if I have learned anything it is this: do not let fear hold you in darkness. Reach for more than this small, cold world says you may have.

Dare as I dared.

Elsewise, this life is but a shadow to the sun it could be.

– Myrrine Athanas

I gripped my notebook page, my knuckles white. Myrrine’s words were like a surf beating against me, loud in my ears, but they weren’t enough. She hadn’t revealed what had happened when she’d offered her demon her heart. She didn’t seem to have regretted it—but what had happened?

How had her demon reacted? Had he shared her feelings? Had he reciprocated? Or had he rejected her? Turned her away? Taken the precious gift of her heart and thrown it back at her?

I reread my translation, desperately seeking answers. Love was pain and hope? Love was peril and beauty? What did that even mean?

My fumbling fingers reached for the grimoire again. Myrrine must’ve explained herself in the next entry. She would tell me whether her demon had loved her—or whether she’d made a terrible mistake. She would say more than a flowery speech about being brave and following your heart.

Dare as I dared.

I gave my head a violent shake and flipped pages with feverish intensity, almost forgetting to be careful with the fragile paper. Pages and pages passed, and as the end of the grimoire approached, panic awoke. That couldn’t be it. That couldn’t be Myrrine’s last entry.

Ten pages left. Five. Three. Heart sinking, I reached the final page before the torn ridges where the stolen spells of the book had been. I listlessly scanned the block of text, but Myrrine’s name wasn’t there.

No way. She must have written something else. I’d just missed it. Puffing for air as though I were running through time instead of turning pages, I started flipping backward, scanning each page carefully, searching, searching.

Page after page. The content here was different—more blocks of text, few spells or lists. Other names signed the passages, but not Myrrine’s. I flipped past yet another dense section, almost passing it over, when my breath caught.

It wasn’t Myrrine’s name, but still a familiar one.

Μ?λιττα ?θ?να?

Melitta Athanas.

Myrrine’s younger sister. She’d added to the grimoire as well?

An ominous chill whispered over me. Picking up my pencil, I got to work. The paragraphs came slowly, and with each word, the ache in my heart grew. When I finished, I had to sit for a long minute before I could bring myself to read it.