The sting of the power fading was worse than the one he’d felt when it took hold, and he had to stop at the bottom of the stairs to catch his breath. He stared down as the hairy, middle-aged hands transformed back into his own.
No. Not yet.
I still haven’t done what I came here to do.
He pushed through the set of doors at the foot of the staircase and came face to face with a row of bars—
Behind it, a room full of cells—most of them occupied, though he couldn’t make out the faces of the prisoners from here. Except for one in the very last cell—
Ridley Duchannes.
She gripped the bars as if they were the only things holding her up. Her pink-streaked blond hair snaked through them, curling off her shoulders in every direction.
Her hands were filthy, her fingernails black and ragged.
Nox approached the cell quietly so he wouldn’t disturb the others. “Ridley? It’s me. Nox.”
“Nox?” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t look up. She said it as if the word meant something more than just his name.
Relief flooded through him. “I thought I’d lost you.”
He curled his hands around the bars between them. Even then, he still didn’t dare touch her. She seemed so confused and scared, he wasn’t sure she was entirely herself.
She looks fine, though. For someone who survived a traumatic accident.
He knelt down until his head was only inches from hers. “I would’ve ripped Silas apart if he’d touched a single hair on your head.”
Her hands trembled, and she still wouldn’t look at him.
Nox slid his fingers down the rough metal, closer to hers, and she held on tighter.
Slowly—gently—Nox let his fingers graze hers. “Shh. You don’t have to say anything. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But it’s over now.”
Her fingers relaxed into his.
They stayed like that for a moment, leaning in toward each other as if there were no bars between them.
Ridley reached out until her fingers curled under his jaw, barely grazing his neck. “Nox,” she breathed.
This time, his name sounded different on her lips. Her voice sharpened it into something harder.
She was so close he could smell her hair. She smelled exactly the way he remembered—like cherry sugar and sunshine.
I found you.
He closed his eyes in relief.
In a flash, she lunged at him and her hand closed around his throat.
Her nails dug into his flesh. “I don’t know who you are or how you got in here. But I won’t let you hurt me.”
“Rid, it’s me. Nox,” he said, choking. “I’d never hurt you.”
“Liar!” she snapped, squeezing his throat tighter. “I won’t let you near me, monster. I know what you do to little girls.”
“What?” The words caught Nox off guard.
“I see your teeth. Your fangs.”
“My what?” He was incredulous. “What are you talking about?”
“I know all about the black bones. You’ll come when I’m not watching and rip my throat out in my sleep.”
“You’re hallucinating, Ridley. It’s not real.” Nox pried her hand off his neck. “The only thing I ever wanted to do was love you.”
Ridley backed away, as if he had just threatened to kill her. “Stop it! Don’t say that!” She covered her ears and slid to the floor. “Stop it stop it stop it stop it!”
She squeezed her eyes shut, cowering in the corner, her hands shaking. She rocked back and forth, singing a lullaby softly to herself.
Nox’s heart pounded as he watched her, bile rising in his throat. He felt almost as hopeless as he had before he’d found her.
What the hell did Silas do to you?
His next thought was even more terrifying.
How am I going to undo it?
CHAPTER 13: RIDLEY
Mockingbird
Ridley was vaguely aware of her surroundings—the plush mattress beneath her, a sparkling crystal chandelier above, and brightly woven rugs overlapping on the floor. The rugs reminded her of Uncle Macon’s study in Ravenwood Manor.
Maybe that was where she was?
Thoughts and memories tangled together like the yarn in her mamma’s knitting basket.
Knit one. Purl two. Knit one. Purl two.
As a child, she’d watched Mamma knit for hours and hours. There was something soothing about the way the needles moved in and out—on and on forever—like they would never stop.
Mamma was sitting in Uncle Macon’s favorite chair, knitting by the fire.
I ran toward her, my heart hammering in my chest.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Mamma asked, dropping the needles in the basket. She opened her arms and caught me as my seven-year-old frame scrambled into her lap.
“I saw her, Mamma.” The words tumbled out so fast that I forgot to breathe. “I was all grown up, and she came looking for us. But she didn’t take Lena. She took me.”
Mamma held me by the shoulders, staring into my eyes like she could see my future as easily as her powers as a Palimpsest let her see everything that had ever happened—or would ever happen—in this room. “Who are you talking about, Sweet Girl?”
I swallowed hard. “Sarafine.”
A strange expression passed across her face. “Where’d you hear that name?”
“Reece’s friends were talking about her. They said she’s the most dangerous Caster who ever lived, and she kidnaps bad little girls so they can come work for her. They said she rides on a cart made of black bones, pulled by giant rats with fangs so big they can kill you in your sleep. They’ll rip your throat out first, and then your heart.”
“Nonsense.”
“I don’t want to be a bad girl, Mamma. I don’t want the rats to eat me.”
Mamma tightened her arms around me. “Why would you think you’re a bad girl?”
I nodded slowly, not wanting to admit the truth. “Why else would I keep dreaming about her?”
“What does she look like in your dreams?”
I didn’t want to picture her again, but I tried. “Sort of like the Evil Fairy in Sleeping Beauty.”
Mamma let out a deep breath, looking relieved. I wasn’t sure why, because the Evil Fairy was the scariest person I’d ever seen. Nobody would want her to show up in their dreams. “It was just a nightmare,” Mamma said, kissing my forehead. “No one’s coming for you or taking you anywhere.”
“No rats?”
“Not a single one.”
I looked up at her, unsure. “Will you sing me the song? The one that chases the bad dreams away?”
She smiled, humming the lullaby she’d been singing to me for as long as I could remember. She taught me all the words so I could sing it to myself when she wasn’t there.
“Mockingbird.”
Ridley hugged her knees, rocking back and forth, singing the song that used to chase her bad dreams away. But this time, it wasn’t working.
It didn’t sound like her mamma, and it didn’t sound like the sweet boy who had no name. It sounded like her voice, and she didn’t like it.
Because it sounded like loneliness.
She kept her eyes squeezed shut, afraid that if she opened them, the rats would be there again. Images flashed in front of her without warning all the time now—the rats escaping from the cage. The rats racing toward the bed, climbing over one another. The Rat Man on the other side of the bars, calling her name. It all looked so real.
There were other flashes, too.
Ones even more terrifying than the rats. The bright light shining in her eyes. Fire blazing through her veins. Two men talking in the background as the heat pulsed through her body like a second heartbeat.
Patient 13.
And something about the powers of a Siren and an Illusionist.
The perfect combination to start with—wasn’t that what one of the men said?
The memory slipped away,
and Ridley rocked harder.