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He tried to force the image from his mind but the question he was avoiding punched forward. Whose shoe was that? Then he remembered the sickening smell and thought, What if… what if there was a foot still inside? What if—
He glanced at the scissors, covered in gold.
No. No!
His father was harsh but he wasn’t evil.
Jumping to the worst conclusions was something only idiots did. He heaved a deep breath, thinking of more logical reasons to explain what he’d seen. Maybe his father kept a spare set here on the odd chance that he’d need to change. The smell? Well…
The room began to tilt slightly.
“I must be off now, actually,” Oleander said abruptly, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here.
“You haven’t finished your wine,” his father said coolly.
Oleander wanted to argue that he wasn’t feeling well, but he was loath to ever show weakness in front of his father. He took another drink of wine as he glanced to the darkened doorway Samael had left through. His father was behaving strangely and he suddenly wished for the other Grand Duke to return.
“I promised Hemlock I’d join him for dinner. Please give Samael my regards—I” Oleander took one last long drink of the horrible wine. The aftertaste was brutally bitter now, his throat stinging. “I’ll find you another time and we can discuss the bargain with the fire sprites, then.”
Everything tilted.
His vision grew fuzzy.
He felt as if he were falling, his body suddenly boneless. Something cold pressed into the side of his face. He felt hands gripping him roughly, dragging him somewhere. He tried to ask them to leave him be. He found it impossible to move any part of his body, let alone his mouth.
Moments later he was consumed by darkness.
The next thing he knew, Oleander was curled in a tight ball on the sofa in his living room. Hemlock was shoving a rich, milky tea into his hands, eyes filled with concern.
Hemlock signed, >Did you accept wine from our father?I think so?This will help you sleep off the side effects.<
He took a drink of the steaming tea and stared at the fire sprites sleeping soundly in the bright flames of their fireplace. Had his father put something in his wine or had he drank too much too fast? It had been a while since he’d drunk that vintage and it was known to go straight to one’s head.
When the tea was empty Oleander nestled into the couch, deciding that whatever he’d forgotten must not have been that important after all.
Chapter
Six
PERINE WILDER
Afaint, jangly tune floated from beneath Peri’s bed, disrupting her contemplations as she laid curled into herself, staring at the silver scars on her wrists. It was, perhaps, the only sound that could have made Peri laugh despite her melancholic disposition.
She swung her body over the side of the bed and peered underneath, her bright lavender curls cascading wildly around her face. Around a hundred smoke sprites were gleefully dancing beneath her bed, oblivious to the world above. The tiny onyx creatures—each with tufted, hellcat-like fur and comically large white eyes—moved in erratic, joyous patterns. A miniature brass band played a merry tune, filling the air with music as the sprites bounced and twirled.
Peri rubbed her temple, fighting off a grin. “Seriously?”
The sprites had been throwing their impromptu parties for weeks now—and while their celebrations were undeniably cute, they were also bound to attract unwanted attention if anyone from her family happened to stop by her bedroom.
“Hey!” she whispered.
