“It takes as long as it takes,” Isadora snapped. “And it would go much faster if I had a daughter capable of singing alongside me.”
Priscilla’s voice was a low melody as she said, “How long, mother?”
Isadora’s voice was unusually flat as she said, “At least a week. But it would be quicker if you could sing too.”
“Well, it’s a pity I can’t,” Priscilla said. “What’s the conch for, anyway?”
Isadora scoffed. “Sometimes I truly wonder if you have any siren blood in you at all.”
Priscilla’s voice was a soft lilt. “Indulge me, Mother.”
“If you did, these things would come naturally.” She paused, then added, reluctantly, “Compulsions only last a short while. As a half-siren, and one not from a lineage that specializes in compulsion, mine endure only a few hours at best, which means I must remain close to maintain control. That is why we imbue our most precious ocean finds with our magic—to concentrate our voices into an object capable of exerting control where a whisper alone cannot. The conch in that cauldron is the finest I found while scouring the beaches after my exile—seeing as I cannot swim the oceans,” she spat. “I have been saving it for something special.”
“And what do you plan to do with it, Mother?” Priscilla asked, that same lilt to her tone.
“We have a choice of houses to seize control of,” Isadora said. “But the one in Headless Hollow, as you said, is the least suitable for my needs. It will be far easier to take the house the other incubus has gone to.”
A weight dropped into my stomach—a sudden, unmistakable sense of wrongness.
Don’t let her anywhere near Blaise.
My blood surged, a primal urge rising fast and violent. Shadows stirred beneath my skin, aching to lash out, to coil around Isadora’s throat and—
The feeling vanished.
The bloodlust evaporated into nothing, leaving behind a hollow stillness. My pulse slowed, thrumming unevenly, and I found myself blinking, vaguely confused as to why my heart had been racing at all.
“Speaking of incubi,” Priscilla said. Her tone was flat, almost bored, though the crash of glacial panic rolled off her in waves. “Yours is about to expire.”
“Hm?” Isadora murmured. “Oh—Ambrose?” She sounded faintly amused. “Yes, I noticed he looked a bit peaky earlier.” Then she laughed cruelly. “I suppose it’s fortunate there’s another one waiting, unawares, at the house I’m about to claim. Perhapsthatone can actually cook.” She paused. “But if you’re concerned about this one, by all means, feed him. I only need him to last a few more days.”
“Ew. No, thank you,” Priscilla said, disgust lacing her tone. “I’d rather let him die than take someone who was compelled to be in love with my mother.”
“I suppose the body would be a nuisance,” Isadora mused. “But I can always bury it at the edge of the woods alongside the witch who used to own this place.”
There was a long pause.
“I thought that witch abandoned the house,” Priscilla said carefully.
Isadora cackled. “Honestly, Priscilla, sometimes I forget just how innocent you really are. Do you truly think I—after dedicating the last ten years of my life to acquiring a house that could serve me—simplystumbledupon an abandoned one with a hob attached to it?” She scoffed. “I told the hob she’d abandoned it to make the compulsion easier.”
“It didn’t stay compelled for long, though, did it?” Priscilla said, her voice tight with barely contained fury.
“No,” Isadora snapped. “The blasted thing escaped before I could deepen the compulsion, and I haven’t managed to capture it since.”
“Well, you needn’t worry about a body, Mother,” Priscilla said lightly. “Incubi simply fade into the shadows when they die.”
Isadora snorted. “Stupid girl. They most certainly do not—”
Priscilla’s voice cut in, suddenly hauntingly melodic. “When incubi die,” she sang softly, her voice crackling as if she were exhausted, “they fade into the shadows, Mother.”
The silence that followed stretched.
Then Isadora huffed a laugh. “Well. At least I won’t have to worry about a body when he finally expires. That’s one thing off my plate. Let’s hope he manages to cook at least one proper meal before he fades into nothing.”
***
Warm fingers pressed into my shoulders, and a melodic, whisper-soft voice murmured, “Wake up, and remain quiet, Ambrose.”
