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I am in Luka’s house.

My heart plummets.

I try to turn around and leave, but I can’t. Instead, my body floats forward like a lifeless doll, my toes brushing against the floor.

When I reach the door, it swings open.

The first thing I see is people—everywhere. All dressed in black, sitting, kneeling, praying in a frantic rhythm. “Zdravo Marijo, milosti puna . . .” Hail Mary, full of grace. Candles burn on every surface, and in their leaping light, I recognize Davor and Karmela amidst the crowd. They all sway together in an undulating mass, mirroring the wisps of incense curling through the air. All faces are turned to the same spot in the center of the room, where a wooden casket sits upon a table.

As I’m tugged forward, my eyelids peel back. Dread claws at my chest because I know—I know—who I’ll see.

Luka lies still before me, his face peaceful and serene. I let out a strangled gasp.

The praying halts. A voice speaks behind me. Then more.

“It’s her.”

“Get out!”

“It’s your fault he’s dead!”

The people suddenly rush toward me, their faces contorted into angry red snarls. I duck and run back to the door, wincing as hands snatch at my clothes, as nails scrape my skin.

I run and run, all the way down to the harbor, their footsteps pounding just behind. Some people even throw stones. I stop at the end of the pier. There’s nowhere else to go. Panic pulses through me as I turn to face the mob.

Davor stands in front, his arms crossed in disapproval. I open my mouth to speak, but then his figure blurs. Suddenly, it isn’t Davor scowling at me, but Marko Klarin. The people behind him transform too, changing into men I don’t recognize, carrying torches that shine down on rustic outfits. Like they all belong to an older time.

As quickly as it comes, the scene shifts back. Davor charges toward me but falters, pointing at my chest.

I look down. Blood gushes from my gut, dark and glistening.

At the sight, a lightheaded feeling rushes to my head. I stumble back, falling off the pier. But there’s no splash of water, no sea. I fall and fall through an endless void. Just when I think there’s no end, I wake with a jolt—and immediately wish I hadn’t.

For there, floating above me in a cloud of rosy mist, is the woman.

No—the mora.

I slam my eyes shut, but then her voice slithers like a snake through my head.

Open your eyes.

Like a puppet, I obey.

The shadows that once obscured her figure are gone. Only a foot stretches between me and her horrid features: Her inky hair, hanging down in lanky tendrils. Her deathly pale skin stretched over sharp cheekbones. Her crimson-hued lips, lifting into a devilish smile, revealing teeth like the monkfish, jagged and sharp.

But the worst part are her eyes, devoid of any irises—only two black pits boring into mine.

My body seizes, but I’m locked in place, trapped. In a panicked frenzy, my gaze skids over the rest of her, faintly registering a dirty blouse with blood smeared across it. A red crown sits atop her head, lined with pearls. The jilted bride.

She reaches forward. Paralyzed, I watch as she pushes me gently, gently down. I sink easily, like I’m floating through air. A moment later, my throat clogs and I convulse, swallowing liquid.

With a garbled choke, I spring upright. Water sloshes over the tub as I heave over its edge, coughing and gasping. Squinting through the perfumed haze, I try to soothe my racing thoughts. It was only a nightmare. Only stress.

But as the faint sound of laughter echoes around the room, I suspect it’s no longer true. Maybe never was. Open your eyes. Now I see what I should have far sooner.

The mora is real—and she’s fixated on Luka.

Fear clamps a cold fist around my heart. Everyone knows not to love a Klarin.