Blades of grass were crushed beneath my boots as I slid to a halt and swung the backpack off my shoulders. Almost ripping it open, I snatched up the Brick and rapidly punched Sirro's number into the cell phone. My sister half-circled me, her hands on her hips as she anxiously paced back and forth.

Finally, the call went through... And rang... And rang... And rang...

A click. And then Sirro's polished voice roughened by distance said, "Varen."

I panicked like a moron. Fearing that we'd get cut off before I was able to tell the Horned God what I'd learned, I explained so quickly the words ran into themselves. "TheKinslayerisn'ttrappedintheholeintheground!"

Sirro went quiet for so long, if not for the rumble of the jet's engine in the background I'd have thought the line had died. Finally, the Horned God spoke and I had to strain to hear what he said over the crackling line and background noise, but what was blatantly obvious was the cold fury pouring from his voice. "I don't know if the presence I sensed at the Deniauds' is the Kinslayer. The scent was familiar...yet not. But I don't believe in coincidences, Varen."

Neither did I, and I had an awful feeling about Tabitha. I didn't like the fact I'd discovered her at the very spot and at the exact same time Sirro had detected the strange presence that haunted the Denaiuds' mansion.

Sirro began to speak and I shoved the thought of Tabitha aside to focus on what he was about to impart. "Kinslayer or not..."—crackle—"...weak, diminished..."—crackle—"...or even haunting the forest..."—crackle—"...it stole..."

My heart kicked into a frantic pace when the line kept cutting in and out.

"Varen, I..."—crackle—"...you to..."—crackle—"...Horned God."

Silence.

Just the hissing of a bad connection.

Shit...

"Master Sirro? I didn't hear everything you said. Can you say that again?" I urged him to repeat whatever directive he had in store for me when a sudden shrill kick-back in sound shrieked against my ears.

I jerked the Brick away just as Sirro began to speak again. "...don't..."—crackle—"...at the Deniauds..."—crackle—"...keep away..." The line suddenly died with the tinny sound of beep-beep-beep as the call disconnected.

Half a minute later, I lowered the Brick and stared at it blankly while wondering what the hells Sirro had been trying to tell me. It didn't sound as if he wanted me to go to the Deniauds' to track this thing down, it sounded more like a warning that I should keep away.

My attention was wrenched aside when Valarie, impatiently shifting her weight from foot to foot, asked, "What does Sirro want you to do now?"

I raised my gaze to meet hers. I half-shrugged while shaking my head and scrunching my nose. I had no fucking idea. I'd have to wait until Sirro had finished with his business and was back in Ascendria to find out what he'd asked me to do.

What if he wants me to track this thing down?

What if he doesn't?

I'd not heard anything mysterious and untoward, or of any unexplained deaths that had occurred at the Deniauds', so maybe this thing haunting the estate had nothing to do with the Kinslayer that Sirro feared.

"What now?" Valarie asked, spinning around and keeping pace as I pushed into motion, both of us heading toward the mansion.

Until I could figure out if I should head back to the Deniauds' or not, there was only one place to go. "Home, I guess." Anger began to inflame my blood as I shoved the Brick back into my backpack and slung it over my shoulder, quickly zipping up my jacket. I was keen as hells to face my father and let him know with my fists what I thought of him going behind my back and fucking me over with this betrothal business with Irma Szarvas.

It didn't take too long to cross the lawn. There wasn't much of it, not in comparison to the vast expanse of verdant green like the Deniauds'. Here at the Szarvases' the wild forest encroached upon the mansion, gnarled branches stretching against the sky like broken fingers reaching for the sun. It seemed as if the morose building had been born here, not rebuilt after it had been broken apart to be transported from the old world to America. I'd never realized how fucking creepy the kastély looked with its pockmarked stonework and leering angles, the narrow windows that let in very little light, and the leathery-like sculptures of Brangwene with his fearsome reptilish face that captured his hunger for warfare, holding up the gray gabled rooftop.

It was busy here too. A quiet gloominess had settled over the servants as they worked outside. No doubt like everyone else they'd been affected by the deaths that Jurgana had brought upon us all. However, an unsettling feeling scraped along my spine when I saw children dressed in servant uniforms working alongside the adults. A few sat on the porch steps polishing silverware, and some were hard at work in the garden in dirty overalls, digging up weeds. Two young girls hurried across the paths, carrying large washbaskets stuffed with clean, dry linen.

I realized with a start that years ago, I'd also discovered Tabitha in a servant's uniform. Each House set its own rules when it came to its servants. I couldn't say that my family treated our servants any better, but we sure as fuck didn't have children working for us like it appeared the Szarvases did. Did the children even receive an education? Were their days split so that they had lessons in the morning and then worked in the afternoon?

With growing unease, my sister and I made our way along a neat path lined with gravel that led to the mansion's back entrance with its utilitarian porch steps. I'd been out here plenty of times over the years, but this was the first time that I'd actually paused to acknowledge the spot where I'd found Tabitha, fourteen years ago. I drifted to a halt and unconsciously massaged the side of my face, feeling a ghost of pain as if the stones that had lightly grazed Tabitha's face when she'd collapsed upon the gravel had grazed mine too. Moths had danced in the low lighting fizzing from the mansion, and shadows had deepened the hollows in Tabitha's cheeks when I'd rolled her onto her back and bent over her to see if she was alive.

I was distantly aware of my sister, clearing her throat before murmuring my name, curious as to why I'd stopped.

Shuffling footsteps on stone caught my attention. I glanced up to see Bernat, a footman, leaving the porch steps to approach us both. He was accompanied by a small child, perhaps the same age as Tabitha when I'd come across her all those years ago. The boy carried a silver tea set, much too large for his small hands. His smooth brow was furrowed in concentration, determined gaze fixed on the teapot and teacups, ensuring they didn't wobble or rattle too much on the silver tray.

A warm yet professional smile lit up Bernat's face with its wrinkled olive skin and saggy jowls. I had no idea how old Bernat was. He'd already been ancient back when I first met him as a boy, and now he seemed like a museum piece.

"Mr. Crowther," Bernat greeted. "Miss Crowther," he said to my sister.

"Bernat," I rumbled back. Bernat had attended to me in the past when I visited Irma. He was someone I knew and was comfortable around, but shamefully I realized just then, I really didn't know him.

"The elder Szarvases are having afternoon tea in the pavilion if you'd like to join them. I know Miss Szarvas has been looking out for your return. I'm sure your company would reassure her you are quite alright," Bernat said politely while casting a curious eye over my armor-clad body.

Annoyance sparked. I bet Irma had been watching out for me like a fucking stalker. In the corner of my eye, I caught a twitch of lace, and I glanced upward to watch Irma peel back the curtain netting and peer down at me from the upper level of her bedroom. She enthusiastically waved. I was fucking tempted to flip her off. Instead, I glowered, my bottom lip poking out a bit, before turning my attention back to Bernat. "Nope," I replied rather churlishly.

Valarie shot me a quick reprimanding frown. She smiled at Bernat, who swiftly hid his surprise at my vehement reaction behind an impersonal expression. "Could you pl-please g-give the Szarvases our apologies? We really m-must head straight b-back home."

He nodded. "Of course."

"Just give me a sec," I murmured quietly to Valarie, shooting her a look that silently requested a moment alone.

She gave me a quizzical look but began to back away. "I'll wait f-for you at the car." She sprang into a faster walk, her braid swinging wide as she spun away and hurried around the mansion to wait for me at the grand entrance where I'd left the Bugatti.

I toed the gravel with the tip of my boot. The sharp, tiny stones chinked like the sound of rain on tin as I dug an indentation into the deep layer of gray gravel that pathed the half-circle area near the porch steps. "That girl who lost her mother and memory years ago... Tab..." I hmm-ed and made a half-snap-half-rub of my thumb and middle finger, as I feigned pretense at trying to remember her name like a dumbass. "Tabbi..."

A glint of recognition lit up Bernat's watery brown eyes as he straightened his hunched spine. "Oh, young Tabitha Catt." The crepey skin around his lips and eyes wrinkled deeper as his gaze was drawn down to the very spot where I'd found Tabitha. "Yes, I remember that night. I don't believe any of us could forget it. You and Miss Szarvas found the child here, and if I remember correctly you were quite impatient to track down the beast."

I lifted a shoulder, unable to deny it. I had been.

Relaxing my body into a more casual stance, I said, "I'm pretty sure I spotted her at the Servants' Dance this weekend..." My words drifted apart, trying to tempt Bernat to impart what he knew of Tabitha.

His dry, chapped lips broke into an eager smile. "I saw her there too. I spoke to her aunt...but not Tabitha directly," he quickly clarified. I raised an eyebrow expectantly, and he carried on. "She doesn't remember us you see. She doesn't remember anything about her childhood or growing up here either." Bernat turned thoughtfully toward the Hemmlok Forest and stared at its thrawn trees and grim depths as if gazing all the way back to the past. "It's always nice to hear how she's doing. She's grown into a fine young woman." His bushy gray eyebrows drew over his faded eyes as he said a little more softly, "And it's good she's with her aunt, even better to see her smiling and happy..."

It was a slightly odd thing to say, made even stranger by the way sorrow dusted his tone and clouded his expression. What Sirro had hinted at in regard to Tabitha's childhood and the neglect he'd spotted as she'd cowered underneath her bed unnerved me. "Tabitha wasn't happy here?" I asked Bernat.

The older man blinked rheumy eyes but he didn't turn his gaze my way. He kept them trained on the forest and I half-turned around to stare at it too, thinking of the derelict cottage in the forest that had crumbled away with time and age and had been swallowed up by the wild trees. My mind wove to the dried-up water well, full of bones—human skeletons. Whoever they were, they'd been tossed down into the well to starve to death. Who would do such a thing and why? Could it be someone that resided here at the Szarvases'? Was it a servant or a family member?

"Her mother, Asta, arrived as a young widow with a newborn baby to raise on her own...and she didn't cope very well." He heaved a sigh and it whistled from his lungs like wind rattling a window pane. "Not that I expect that anyone suffering such deep loss would be in their right mind..."

Abruptly he blinked and glanced toward the Pavilion before turning back to me, his tone all business. "Ah, I'm sorry to have detained you, Mr. Crowther. I really must see to the Szarvases." He angled his head toward the child patiently waiting beside him and squeezed his shoulder with knobbled fingers. "You're doing a fine job, Peter. Come along, let's get these to Mr. and Mrs. Szarvas before the tea goes cold."

Peter carefully carried the tray while Bernat shuffled beside him. But I had one more question to ask the old servant. "What was Asta doing out there in the Hemmlok Forest, that far in and that late at night?"

Bernat turned back, perplexion staining his gaze as he lifted a hand, slightly trembling with old age, as if to say he didn't know. "I'm afraid that's a question no one knows the answer to, Mr. Crowther. Asta had been spending more and more time in the forest before that terrible night..." His mouth parted as if he was about to say something, then closed. I was wondering what he was about to say, how I could encourage him to speak, when the old man cast a quick, fervent glance over his shoulder as if to check if anyone were nearby. He shuffled closer and said quietly, almost whispering, "Most of us go into the Hemmlok Forest for a walk or a little bit further to gather mushrooms, but we all know not to travel as deeply as Asta obviously had. And Asta, she... Well, she'd never been quite right after the death of her husband..."

Before I could ask—what the fuck does that mean? I heard a door opening behind me and a familiar feminine voice that irritated the shit out of me call out, "Varen!"

Hells, no.

Irma Szarvas.

Curse her!

I didn't even turn around to double-check myself or to say goodbye to Bernat. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. I threw my body forward and surged into a panicked smear of speed, fucking bolting.

I was gone in a heartbeat.

Two beats—I'd pounded down the path and rounded the mansion to the grand front entrance.

Three—Stones sprayed as my boots slid across gravel when I came to a skidding halt in front of my car. My sister squawked in surprise as I waved my arms like a maniac, bellowing at her to get her ass inside.

Four—I tossed my backpack down by my sister's feet and threw myself in behind the steering wheel.

The fifth heartbeat was drowned out by the vicious roar of the engine when I ignited the Bugatti and sped off.

Six—I slammed my foot down on the accelerator and, in a rapid shift in gears, pushed the sports car as fast as it could go. Gravel rattled behind in a stony wave, chased by plumes of tire smoke, as the car carved around a corner and I powered out.

Seven heartbeats later—We blew down the driveway before my very-ex-and-fucking-better-not-ever-be-my-fiancée would have had time to trip down the porch steps to chase me down.