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I peer around the room then, searching for my father—the only ally we have besides Christopher. He’s on an upper balcony with two of my sisters.

“What is the meaning of this, Annalise?” my mom asks. She’s wearing that same ridiculous white ball gown, with those same puffy sleeves. White gloves cover her hands—soaked now from drowning so many victims. She must have been really fucking desperate to not let that infernal tattoo show.

I step up to her and square my shoulders. “I think you know what the meaning of this is. You killed Martha and framed Daemon, and I’m going to prove it.”

She chuckles, but it’s a dry and serious sound. “And how is that?”

“You have an infernal tattoo on your wrist.” I grab her hand. The wet glove squishes in my fingertips, dripping water onto the already soaking marble floor. Without hesitation, I yank the glove free and peel her sleeve back. Meanwhile, Daemon does the same with her other hand.

Oh, no.

God, no.

Twin pale wrists greet us. No infernal tattoos. We were wrong.

29

RECALLED

“How dare you bring a demon into our sacred space and accuse me of murder?” my mother hisses. I take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. All the doors are blocked by light witches. “And you, Christopher, can kiss your position goodbye.”

I don’t dare look at him—I can’t bring myself to after everything I’ve done and all the trouble I’ve brought. A hand slips into mine, and I look to see Daemon standing protectively beside me. He can still teleport us out. It’ll likely cost him the last of his energy, but he can do it.

I wait for the mist to curl around us, to save me from this embarrassment, but it doesn’t. Daemon doubles over instead, wincing in pain. As if being wrenched open by magic, his fingers disentangle from mine, and he collapses onto the marble floor, a puddle of water splashing beneath him.

“Daemon?” I crouch at his side. “Daemon, what’s happening?”

He talks through gritted teeth. “I’m being recalled.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Salios didn’t like this little display.” He winces again, and a tear slips from his eye.

Oh God, not a tear, I realize. Blood.

“I’m sorry, Annie,” Daemon says. “I can’t stay. The longer I fight him… the worse it hurts.” Daemon glances up at Christopher, who stands half-hidden by several elders. “You’ll take care of her,” he says, and it isn’t a question.

Christopher nods anyway. “She’s safe with me.”

“You’ll… find a way to free her from her contract.” Again, not a question.

“Yes.”

The second the word leaves his lips, relief flashes in Daemon’s dark red eyes. It’s quickly replaced by a grimace, though, as more blood drains from his tear ducts, down his cheeks and chin. It drips into the water, rippling it.

“I love you, Annie,” he whispers.

A second later, Daemon is gone. My hands that had been on his shoulders slip through thin air, and I nearly stumble into the puddle. The rotunda goes so silent, I could hear a pin drop, and for a moment we all just stand there awkwardly until my mother speaks up.

“I have been more than gracious with you,” she says. “Both of you.” Mom peers at Christopher, who’s scooting between two elders to reach me. She raises her voice so the entire coven will hear it. “From this point on, Annalise Etten is considered a member of the Septem. If she’s seen in any coven-owned space, she’s to be executed on sight. Is that understood?”

Everyone nods in agreement. Pleased grins break out amongst all the witches who’ve spent years hating me, including my sisters. In the upper balconies, my father remains silent—no rush to defend me, no arguing with my mom. In the end, the only person willing to help is Christopher. The man I just rejected. God, if that doesn’t make guilt twist my insides.

Quietly, he steps between my mother and me. He lowers his voice so only she will hear it. “Daemon didn’t murder her, Sarah. You’ve blamed the wrong person and doomed an innocent man to an eternity in Hell.”

Her nose crinkles in revulsion. “He’s an incubus, Christopher. He’s far from innocent.”

“It doesn’t matter what he is. It matters what he does,” Christopher says. “Your bias against him has clouded your judgement.” And with that, he takes me by the hand and pulls me through the crowd of witches, past the elders who have always despised me, beyond the heavy gilded doors I once hoped would be the key to my belonging.