Whatâwhat happened?
âPhilippe?â Isabelle asked.
âIâm fine,â he said, the lie small and unconvincing to him. He could still feel the weight of Morningstarâs gaze; could still feel the magic turning, slowly focusing on him: the gaze of a gigantic cobra, annihilating his will, turning his own desires into dust.
And something else, too, something darker, quieterâthat had lain biding its time away from the light, and that now stretched and turned, sniffing the air like a predator searching for prey . . .
A summoning. Of what?
âI donât know what happened. But itâs gone now. There is nothing to worry about.â
His gaze, roaming, found the stone mirror: the luster had gone from it, leaving only a bleak darkness. âItâs gone now,â he repeated; but he knew that, whatever had been contained within the mirror, it was within him now; and that whatever had been summoned with its magic was outsideâwithin the House.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
IT was late at night, and Madeleine couldnât sleep.
By no means unusual. Nights like these, with the lambent starlight hanging over the House, brought back memoriesâof how sheâd first come to it; of Elphonâs death, and his shimmering blood on her hands as she crawled away from the House of Hawthorn; as she prayed so very hard to a God she no longer believed benevolent to spare her, to let her go just a bit farther, to reach safety before Asmodeusâs thugs found her.
On nights like these she took angel essence; breathed it in, and let the rush of power sweep everything from her mind; let herself believe that she was safe, that nothing like Asmodeusâs coup would ever take place in Silverspires; that even if it did, she would have the power to protect herself, to protect Oris. That what had happened in Hawthorn would never happen to her again.
It was a good lie, while it lasted.
An insistent knocking at the door of her laboratory drew her from her trance. Slowly, carefully, she rose, fighting a feeling of weightlessness that promised she only had to wish to take flight; the rush of power slowly settling into her limbs. In that moment, she was the equal of any Fallen, had she wished to cast spellsâbut of course that wasnât why she took angel essence. It never had been.
âWhat is it?â
Sheâd expected many things, chief among them either Selene or Isabelle; but the one on her doorstep, his face pale with fear, was her assistant, Oris.
âWhat are you doing here?â
âThereâs . . . thereâs something in the House,â Oris said. âItâs after me.â
âDonât be ridiculous,â Madeleine said, but then she took a closer look at him. His hands were shaking; and if she focused the magic within her she could see through his skin, could feel the panicked rhythm of his heart. Whatever heâd seen had badly frightened him. âFine. Calm down. Tell me about it.â
âItâs . . . I donât know. Itâs dark and angry and if I turn my head to look at it, itâs gone. But itâs following me. Itâs . . .â He stopped then. âYou think Iâm lying.â His voice was flat.
âNo,â Madeleine said. âBut Silverspires has strong protections, so unless someone within the House is working magic on you, I canât see why . . .â
Oris drew himself to his full height. âI donât have enemies in the House.â
âI didnât think you had.â And even if that had been the case, personal vendettas were outlawed by order of Selene. âWhere did you see it?â
âFirst? In my rooms,â Oris said. âBut it has been moving aroundââ
âThen letâs start with your rooms,â Madeleine said, gently.
The House at night was different; expectant, as if poised on the edge of something that
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