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Luka’s gaze sweeps over me. “What happened? Why are you out here?”

I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t know how to capture what I just witnessed.

Magdalena is the mora. Even though it was always the strongest possibility, I had resisted it. But now I can’t deny it anymore. And yet worse than this is the horror of what Nikola did. My ancestor murdered her and her unborn child. She was never family, though she deserved to be. Instead, that title goes to Dobrila—haughty, mean, the solution to Marko and Nikola’s money problems.

“Petra?” Luka’s voice beckons me back. “What’s going on?”

“I—I saw a light,” I say shakily.

“A light?”

“Here in the workshop.” But my thoughts are spiraling too fast to go on. All she wanted was to be accepted. To be loved. And yet Nikola acted like what happened between them was nothing, let the village turn her into a monster. Hot moisture blurs my vision, and my legs start to shake. Overwhelmed and weak, I sway forward.

“Whoa—pomalo.” Luka breaks my fall, wrapping me in his arms. Together we sink to the ground, his salt-and-smoke scent enveloping me. I nuzzle his chest, wanting to bury myself in his warmth, forget all that I’ve seen. “It’s alright,” he says. “I’m here.” As a tear trickles down my face, he kisses it away. The scruff of his beard scrapes my skin, and I close my eyes, reveling in the rough texture, the heat of him, reminders that I am here, in the present. Safe. But for how long?

I peer toward the house. Even through the darkness, it is formidable. A stalwart symbol of my family’s pride, but now I see it for what it really is: A legacy built on wooing women, then tossing them aside. On Marko’s sweat and Magdalena’s blood. On lies.

Absentmindedly, I brush my hand across my stomach. When I lift it, it is drenched in blood—but only for a moment, a schism in my perception. Another horrible truth dawns on me: The awful gash in my nightmares was not merely an unsettling sight, but an omen. Magdalena wanted me to see, feel, what Nikola had done. I was never the victim though. If there is blood on my hands, it is because my body is tainted by the crimes of my family’s past.

You should be proud of this house.

Does Karmela know the truth? Did my mom?

I turn away from the structure. Whatever admiration I might have had for it has vanished completely, replaced with horror and disgust.

“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper.

Luka strokes my cheek, tilting my face up to his. I brace myself against the inevitable questions he must have, but he only says gently, “I know a place we can go.”

Thirty

Mora

At first, the mora knew only darkness.

Sleep, a voice said. This is not the end.

And then she was sinking, falling down, down, down into the murky depths of the sea. Water rushed down her throat, and yet her lungs accepted it. Fish fled from her passing form. Emptiness surrounded her, the silence vast and all-encompassing. She floated, suspended in the cold, dark water, as if time itself had paused.

Abruptly, a command pulsed through her: Swim.

She obeyed.

The mora kicked her feet, pumped her arms, rising higher and higher, until she broke through the water’s surface.

She took a sharp breath, though her body did not need it. The air tasted strange—overly pungent, heavy with salt. In the distance, the island of Tolba shimmered faintly against the night. Something dark stood at the end of the pier, some sort of animal—a dog. No, a wolf. Watching.

Weakness weighed on her limbs, threatening to drag her back down into the depths. Swim, the command came again. As she kicked and stroked, she noticed a light bobbing above the water nearby. Attached to a boat, illuminating a fisherman hovering at the prow, a pronged spear poised in his hands, ready to strike.

The mora swam toward it. As she drew near, she tried to speak, but her voice came out raspy, parched. “Help.” She tried to snatch at the boat’s edge, but it was too high.

The man’s silhouette appeared above, limned by the ghostly light of his lantern. “Oh my God!” he gasped, staring in disbelief.

“Please help,” she tried again.

The fisherman surged into action, pulling her up into the boat. As she rose, the mora’s long skirt slapped against the hull, clinging to her skin. She collapsed at his feet.

“What happened?” the man asked above her, his voice shaky with fear.