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I frowned and tried to sit up, but the small body I sat within didn’t move, entirely unresponsive to my urging. It was only then I felt the same odd presence as the strange dream with the forest. Nerves settled heavily in my stomach, making me want to be sick.

“No drawings on this page,” the man murmured.

I sighed and settled back against his chest. “I like drawings.”

The man’s voice was even warmer as he chuckled. Then he turned a few pages back in the book. The left page was filled with a drawing of a temple, its spires taller than the Collective Basilica and its roof extending with flying buttresses like Notre Dame.

“Pretty.”

Lips brushed my temple. “It is very pretty.”

“Can I see it?”

His fingers faltered in my hair, his breath catching. Then his lips were against my temple again, longer than before.

“I’ll take you to see it one day, cárias.”

Then he began to hum, a song that was familiar in the same way a movie you can’t quite remember sits on the edge of your mind. My eyes slowly fell shut, my breathing evening out, that strange feeling that had drawn me into the room fading away.

I woke when the man spoke, his voice raised enough to carry through the entire small house.

“Rina?”

There was a blood-curdling scream, and the man cursed viciously, the same curse Vincent liked to use. He quickly sat up, but I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to be scared by whatever had made Mama scream. The spiders were bigger than her hands sometimes, and they made her scream when they surprised her. I hated spiders, too, even if Sloane thought they were interesting. His arms were soft but sure as he moved me onto the chaise.

“Stay here, cárias,” he murmured.

With a frown, I sat up. I didn’t like it when Papa told me I had to stay in one place. I liked being able to be with him and with Mama and with Sloane. The small fire jar still sat on the desk, burning a bit brighter as he walked by it, turning down the hall to our rooms. There was another, smaller scream, that I knew was Sloane.

I scooted to the edge of the chaise and then stood on unsteady legs, following behind the man. The fire grew even brighter as I walked by, like it responded to my very presence. The man turned, stepping into another room, and then there was his own scream, full of pain and anger. My feet moved faster, the small patters against the wood planks soft compared to the noises coming from Sloane’s room.

As I turned into the room, stopping just inside the threshold, the room lit up, brighter than Vincent’s garden at noon. I squinted against the sudden light and then covered my ears as a new scream ripped through me, one I didn’t recognize. A second one joined it, hurting my ears and making me want to cry. Then the light disappeared, leaving spots in my vision like I’d stared at the sun too long. The man ran his hand over Sloane’s cheek, murmuring in a language I didn’t know, that language he used when he was lost in thought or praying.

There were two people sprawled on the ground I’d never seen before, their cheeks sunken and their mouths open like they were still screaming. Around their necks were thin black collars. They made me want to hide, crawl into the man’s lap so he could hold me tight.

Sloane took a shuddering breath, her eyes fluttering without actually opening.

“Praise Persynthia,” he muttered. Then he turned back to whoever was in front of him. I couldn’t see who, his body blocked most of the rest of the room. Sloane was asleep in her bed, a bruise on her face. I walked to her, crawling into her bed and laying next to her while the man kneeled in the middle of the floor. Not I could tell the limp body he curled over was Mama.

“Rina, look at me,” the man crooned.

The person twisted, long brown hair like Sloane’s falling over the man’s arm, revealing a dark red stain growing on her shirt. He murmured those same words as before, and the stain seemed to get smaller before growing even faster.

“Fuck,” he said, and now his voice trembled.

Fear skittered through me. He never said that, never looked at Mama like he was terrified. His looks were always soft, adoring. He loved Mama like he loved me and Sloane.

“Take them,” Mama whispered. “You need to take them. Now.”

He shook his head and pulled her closer to him, murmuring those words again. His hands glowed, and her hair whipped around her from the magic, but the stain on her shirt didn’t get any smaller this time.

“I won’t leave you,” the man said, more forceful than before. “That was the promise I made you.”

She nodded, and I realized there was blood on her face, splattering her neck.

“And you never did.” She gave him a small smile even as he sobbed. She curled into him, a drop of blood falling from her lips. “They know about you, about them. You have to take them before they send another assassin.”

I closed my eyes as her stain got bigger, curling into Sloane.