“You’re hurting them,” I breathed, my voice small.
The Monster’s humming didn’t falter. “They’re dead, dear. They feel what I want them to feel.”
That made it worse.
Odette staggered in the centre before the prince lifted her. They danced in the high-mist above the tombs as though it was a lake.
“I said stop.” My voice cracked like glass. I could feel the knife shift in my hand, heavy and cold.I should kill it now. End the Monster before it ends me.
But I didn’t know how.
The Monster twisted around, and the ghosts froze mid-dance turning into glass-like statues.
“You’re just like them!” it snarled, wind whipping around us, fierce and wild. “Weakling.” It glided closer, venom dripping from its voice. “And here I thought you were special. Strong.”
I staggered back.
“Your grandmother was strong. Yet she crumbled after your grandfather’s death. Your mother, she abandoned everything and everyone, hiding for years. A true scaredy-cat.”
My knuckles whitened. Every word it spoke sliced deeper, driving a jagged knife into the raw wound inside me.
“And you,” it sneered as my back hit something hard. “You let a boy use you for your blood.”
My eyes widened. Preston?
“I could smell him inside the crypt.” It leaned forward, drowning me with the cloying sweetness of Lillian’s perfume. “Only a Thornbury’s blood can open these gates.”
My lips parted. I remembered my question just as clearly as his answer.
Why do you even care?
I’ve got my reasons.
He really did make a fool of me. Not only by pretending to be someone else, but using me entirely. He knew what his sister was doing. He knew my mum wasn’t really here, and he must have enjoyed the torture. Watching me fall for their ploy. Cecily sent me to one place, and Preston—he was already there.Waiting. They wanted the book and now they got it. But what good did it bring them? What did any of this bring them? My chest hurt, tightening, pressing the air out.
A familiar voice cut into my mind like a blade.
Now you know.
I breathed hard. Why was I still thinking of him? Hearing him? He played me. Lied to me.
Liar.
A sharp, icy pull twisted behind my ribs. My breath hitched as I was moved against my will, staggering closer to the ghosts.
“What…” I whispered, but the word tangled in my throat.
The Monster tilted its head, its vile smile spreading. “There’s no Swan Lake without the Black Swan itself,” it purred, its voice low and honeyed with malice. “Every tragedy needs its temptress, doesn’t it, pet?”
I tried to move, to rip myself free, but my feet betrayed me.
They stepped forward.
One. Two. Spun, then I was in the air.
“No,” I whispered, but no sound left my mouth. My hands lifted against my will, my fingers curling like dried petals until they hurt. My limbs weren’t mine.
I was a puppet once more.
