“Okay, let’s go see what he made us, hm?”
I walk into the kitchen and find enough food to feed a small army. He’s left enough for three meals—just how long does he plan on being gone?
Toffee hops into the kitchen, his little webbed feet pattering on the floorboards.
“Hungry?” I ask. He chirps and jumps onto the table, curling up beside the plate.
I feed Saevel and Toffee pieces of sweet fruit while I wait for the tea to steep. Andrik left a special blend—chamomile, and something that smells like winter. He always thinks of everything. He builds a world around me so I don’t have to face the one outside.
I eat slowly, trying to pass the time more quickly, but my mind is a runaway train. Andrik was right about the heat; it’s simmering beneath my skin. By the time I finish, I feel like hours have passed.
3:30 p.m. It’s only been a little over an hour.
Just take a bath. He’ll be back by the time you’re done.
I walk into the bathroom and reach for the pouch of herbs, emptying them into the tub as pale petals and crushed mint leaves swirl into the depths. The water shimmers with a sudden, supernatural frost that curls along the rim.
I slip in with a sharp gasp. It’s freezing, but for a while the ache does quiet. I close my eyes and visualize rhûen’ka moving through the trees on his way back to me.
He’ll be home soon.
The relief is short-lived. I sink deeper, pressing my palms to the bottom of the tub, but the frost is melting. The water is warming from the heat radiating off my skin.
I dress quickly, pulling the tunic he wore last night over my head. The scent of cinnamon and leather washes over me, deepening the ache.
He said he’d stay close, but it’s been hours.
I grab one of the romance books I packed and crawl onto his side of the bed. I giggle thinking how jealous he’d be that I’m reading about a different species of monster—a warm, plant monster at that.
I try to read, but the words blur. My eyes keep darting to the clock.
6:13 p.m.
The air in the room suddenly feels heavy, like the oxygen has been sucked out. Something is wrong. Andrik wouldn’t leave me this long.
I run back downstairs, my heart hammering in my chest. As I pass the front door, I notice the rune has turned red. Thin streaks of crimson are dripping from the carved lines, trailing down the wood like severed veins. It’s no longer pulsing with a comforting glow—it’s sizzling like sugar boiling over a fire.
A malodorous copper scent hits me, and my stomach turns—blood.
Saevel is already on edge, pacing near the hearth. Toffee’s tail is fluffed out like a bottle brush, his little body coiled so tight around my foot I can feel his tiny heart racing.
The room goes silent. The ticking of the clock stops. Even the fire dies, the flames winking out in an instant.
Thud.
Something hits the porch outside. I flinch, eyes flicking to the boarded windows.
I crack the door open just a sliver. Nixie is there, perched on the top step, his feathers reflecting the dying light in oily, violet-black sheens. His mismatched eyes are locked onto mine.
He doesn’t caw or move. He just stares at me with a terrifying, ancient intelligence. His beak opens, then closes, but no sound comes out.
A single feather detaches from his wing and drifts to the floor. It hits the stone with a sharp clink. The sound is crystalline and cold, like a glass flute shattering on the ice.
“Nixie,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Is he ok? Where is?—”
And then I hear it.
The scream.
