My eyes obeyed before my mind caught up. I blinked blearily, the hazy figure above me resolving into something pale and otherworldly—skin marbled in fading blues and purples, black hair spilling down like ink in water.
I tried to speak, but no sound came out.
Another blink, and her face came fully into focus.
Priscilla?
What in Hades’s name was she doing?
Her voice was gentle again, soothing in its cadence. “Get up, Ambrose.”
She offered a slender hand. I took it without thinking. My body protested as I unfolded myself from the couch, joints cracking after hours spent curled too tightly in place. Hunger cramps seared through my abdomen, forcing me to bend forward as I found my feet.
Priscilla steadied me, her hand slipping beneath my elbow, holding me upright until the room stopped tilting. Only then did she let go.
“We’re going to go outside now. You need to follow me.” Her words were a soft hum radiating through me, and I reached instinctively for my boots.
“Leave them,” she said quietly. “You can’t take anything with you.”
I wanted to ask“Why?”or“Where are we going?”or even“What do you want from me?”
The questions crowded my mind, but my mouth refused to shape them.
“Do you remember where your partner is?” she asked. “The house he’s working at?”
I nodded.
I’d memorized every detail of the candy witch job. Every stop along the route to Isadora’s had me pulling out my phone, rereading the listing line by line, burning through every scrap of resolve I had not to cancel Isadora’s work and turn back. To drive straight to Blaise instead.
“Good. Because you need to leave your phone here too.”
With that, she crooked a finger and beckoned me to follow. She moved through the house as silently as death itself, every step precise, as if she’d practiced this escape a thousand times before. The front door clicked softly as it opened, and she ushered me through, pressing a finger to her lips when I, not quite as silent as her, followed after.
I walked barefoot through the garden, the cold earth biting at my soles. Priscilla stayed on her tiptoes, casting quick glances over her shoulder toward the house every few steps. It wasn’t until we slipped through the garden gate, passed beyond Isadora’s wards, and were engulfed by the underbrush that she finally seemed to relax.
“You’ll have to forgive me for using my compulsion on you,” she said, her voice soft now—nothing like the cool indifference she’d spoken in since I met her. “I’ve only ever used it on mymother before.Sparingly.” She hesitated, then added, almost wryly, “I’ve spent my whole life convincing her I don’t have a siren’s song.”
A beat passed. Her brows drew together, then her expression softened. “Oh. Right. You can speak now, Ambrose.”
My throat burned as my voice finally returned. “What’s going on?” I croaked. “Where are you taking me?”
Priscilla didn’t answer. Instead, she asked quietly, “You listened last night, didn’t you? You heard what my mother plans to do?”
I nodded. I’d spent nearly a full day on that damned couch doing nothingbutlistening. Listening until my ears rang and the ache behind my eyes rivalled the hollow, gnawing pain in my stomach.
“Good,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Then this part will be easier. I need you to do something for me. But first—” She took a steadying breath. “—we need to undo my mother’s compulsion on you.”
She didn’t expand further, and I followed her in silence.
Part of me ached to turn back, to return to Isadora, to the familiar pull of her presence, her voice curling through my thoughts.You’ll never leave me, Ambrose.
But every pulse in my ears carried Priscilla’s command instead.
Follow me.
Follow me.
Follow me.
