She moved without thinking, reaching for Sable’s knife as dead leaves crunched beneath her steps. She was about to call out—to tell him she was coming—when a hand slammed down over her mouth.
Someone grabbed her from behind, their arm fastening around her middle, hauling her backwards. She tried to squirm and kick and buck, using her elbows and feet. She tried to scream, but the hand clamped too hard, stifling the sound.
“It’s not him!” hissed a voice in her ear. “It’s not him.”
Emeline breathed in the tang of smoke and steel.
Sable.
When her hand fell away, Emeline insisted, “It is him.” She was still fighting as Hawthorne called for her and Sable continued dragging her backwards, into the hollowed-out trunk of an old tree. At the center was an empty hole, letting the stars shine through. “They’re hurting him!”
“Hush.Hush.” Sable pulled Emeline against her. “It’s not him. I promise you.” She leaned back against the wall of the hollow and sank down to the ground, bringing Emeline with her. “Stay quiet and still.”
Hawthorne’s tortured cries drew closer, calling out for her. His voice echoed in this hollow, swelling around them.
Emeline pushed against Sable, needing to get to him.
Sable held on tighter.
When Emeline dug an elbow into her ribs, trying to hurt her so she would let go, Sable started to sing. It began as a hum in the back of her throat, soft as velvet. The way a mother might soothe a crying child.
Emeline fell still at the sound.
But it wasn’t Sable’s singing that entranced her; it was the song she’d chosen. One ofEmeline’s.
An old song buried in the password-protected folder on her phone.
How on earth …?
The tune was only a whisper, but its familiar rises and falls held Emeline spellbound. She could barely remember this song—nor any of the others she’d locked away. How could Sable possibly be humming it?
Like every other song Emeline had ever heard or sung, this one came with a memory: She was maybe fourteen, sitting on the second-story beam of Pa’s barn, her bare legs swinging as shesang. It was the height of summer and everything stuck to her sweaty skin: her clothes, her hair, the dust in the air. And she wasn’t alone. There was someone beside her, all stretched out, lying with her back on the beam. A girl with brambly hair and bright gold eyes. She was smiling as she listened, her dirty bare foot bobbing to the rhythm of Emeline’s song.
Sable.
The memory burst like a popped bubble.
What??
It made no sense. Emeline and Sable had only just met. Had something distorted the memory trapped in the song? Or had her brain inserted Sable becauseSablewas the one singing it now?
In Emeline’s confusion, the terror in Hawthorne’s voice stopped tugging. His calls for help quieted, moving into the distance. Finally, she heard the truth in his voice: beneath the familiar cadence was a sick and festering rot—like the curse itself.
It was a trick of the shadow skins. A weapon to lure her in.
Sable hummed until the sounds beyond the hollow trailed into silence. When the shadow skins had moved on, Sable fell silent, letting Emeline go.
Their staggered breaths echoed in the dark space.
“We should go.” Sable pushed upwards to her feet. “Before they circle back.”
THIRTY-TWO
“HOW DO YOU KNOWthat song?”
Sable—whose lupine eyes could clearly see in the dark—strode several steps ahead, as if she were trying to put distance between them. As if Emeline were wrapped in barbed wire and if Sable got too close she’d get cut.
“What song?”
