Their eyes move to Des, and they tense up again.

“Be calm,” I say, my voice ethereal. “He means you no harm. I mean you no harm.”

It’s a tense few moments while I wait to see how they’ll react. When they don’t begin to scream again, I relax. At least, I relax is much as I can, considering I’m surrounded by a gaggle of creepy kids. A couple of them have dried blood caked around their lips.

I try not to shudder.

“My name is Callypso, but you can call me Callie. I wanted to ask you all a few questions. Will any of you speak to me?”

Their eyes move to me, and they stare unblinkingly at me. I’m seriously concerned that they’ve gone catatonic again when, as one, they nod, circling around me.

“Where are your mothers?” I ask.

“Sleeping below,” one little boy murmurs.

“Why are they sleeping?” I ask.

“Because he wants them to.” This time, it’s a girl with a lisp that responds. As she speaks, I catch sight of two sets of fangs.

I try not to recoil.

“Who is ‘he’?” I ask.

“Our father,” another girl says.

A single father to all these children?

I swear I feel a ghostly breath on the back of my neck. There is no earthly reason why they should know this—or anything else I’ve asked so far—yet they do. And I have a feeling in my gut that they have most of the answers Des is looking for. Whether they’ll share them is another matter altogether.

“Who is your father?” I ask.

They look at each other, and again I get the impression that they make decisions as a collective unit.

“The Thief of Souls,” a boy murmurs.

That name—Gaelia had mentioned it, and I’d seen it scrawled on Des’s notes.

“He sees it all. Hears it all,” another boys adds.

Ten points to Slytherin for the creepy answer.

“Where can I find him?” I ask.

“He’s already here,” says a boy with raven black hair.

My hackles rise at that.

“Can I meet him?”

As soon as I ask the question, the room darkens. The Bargainer doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear that he’s not happy about my question.

“Yesssss …” This comes from one of the cradles on the far corner of the room. “But you cannot bring him along.” The children’s eyes dart to Des.

“Our father will like you,” a redheaded girl says.

“He already does,” another adds.

“He likes pretty things.”

“Likes to break them.”

Again, that chilling breath is breathing down my neck as the children speak, their unwavering gazes fixed on me.

Des’s shadows circle my lower legs protectively. “Callie.”

The children tighten their circle around me, throwing glances over their shoulders at the Bargainer.

Earlier, I’d worried they wouldn’t talk. Now I’m worried that they might be too fond of me.

“Do you know where I can find him?” I ask.

“He will find you—”

“He always finds the ones he wants—”

“He’s already begun the hunt—”

“The hunt?” I shouldn’t ask. I feel like coming to the Otherworld has exposed me in exactly the way I feared it would.

“He’ll make you his, just like our mothers.”

Alright, I’m done.

“I have to leave,” I say.

Across the room, Des begins moving towards me, clearly on the same page.

“Not yet,” the children beg, closing in on me, their hands grabbing my dress.

“Stay with us forever.”

“I can’t,” I say, “but I can come back.”

“Stay,” one of the oldest boys growls.

“She said no.” Des’s sharp voice cuts through the room.

The kids recoil from him, several beginning to scream again. One hisses at the fae king, her pointed teeth bared.

“Stay,” several say to me again. This time they grab my exposed forearms, and when they do …

The air in my lungs leaves me.

I’m falling into myself. Down and down, into the darkness, past cages and cages of women, some who batter the doors of their cells, some who are lying far too still. Floor after floor of them blur together as I plummet.

Then the world flips until I’m no longer falling down, but falling up. And then I’m not falling but flying.

I land at the foot of a throne, the wings at my back spread wide. My surroundings vanish, replaced by a forest. I’m soaring through it, and the trees seem to howl. I fly out of the woods only to crash into my old kitchen, the room soaked in blood.

My stepfather pushes himself off the ground, his body coming to life.

Oh God, no.

He looms over me, his eyes angry. From his head sprout antlers. They grow and twist with each passing second. He stares me down, his face shifting until I’m no longer staring at my father; I’m staring at a stranger, one with chestnut hair, tan skin, and wild brown eyes.

The man in front of me is covered in my father’s blood, and as I watch, he licks a stream of it off his finger.

“My,” he says, “aren’t you a pretty, pretty bird.”

He and the room fade, and the darkness swallows me whole.

Chapter 14

February, seven years ago

My alarm goes off next to me, just as it has been for the last thirteen minutes. I don’t have the energy to untangle my arms from my sheets and turn the thing off.