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A few yards away stood Fabian. He turned as the door banged shut. When his gaze landed on me, his jaw fell open. A second later, he rushed over. “What is this? What have you done to her?”

Bart stumbled, set me on my feet, and propped me against a steel table. “I had to use my Curse on her to get her out quietly. Luckily, she had enough anxiety to attract Hangover.”

“What have you done?” Fabian's voice rose, cracking with aristocratic outrage, as he spun toward Osric. “Why is he here? More importantly, why is she here?”

Osric set his clipboard down on the table with a quiet, deliberate click, adjusted his glasses, and walked toward Fabian with measured steps. “You said you didn't need her consent anymore, that once Heartbreak was extracted, it would surge to her. So, here she is.”

“Drunk. Without Tristan. What are we supposed to do with her?”

“Tristan will come for her.”

“And how will he know where she is?”

“I'm sure the Conclave has trackers on their cars.” Osric rolled his eyes. “Stop being so melodramatic. He will come.”

Fabian calmed. “And then we trap him.”

Osric was right; Tristan would find me, but not because of any tracker on Bart's car. He'd find me because had a lock of my hair. I slid down to the floor and leaned my head back against a table leg. At least the urge to vomit had passed.

“Precisely. By the time they arrive, she should be sober. Happy?”

“What about him?” Fabian waved at Bart.

“He's going to be next.”

“Next? This was a one-time thing. For Tristan. I'm not opening a shop of Curse extracting.”

Simultaneously, Bart said, “I'm supposed to be the test. I go first!”

Osric ignored Bart and continued to speak to Fabian. “Did you think I was in this just to meet a Curse? That's preposterous.”

It was the last thing I heard before I passed out.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The cold concrete beneath my cheek was the first thing I registered, followed quickly by the sour taste in my mouth and the strange scents around me—nose wrinkling odors, almost sulfuric.

I opened my eyes, blinking against the glare of overhead industrial strip lights. The room stopped spinning after a few deep breaths, leaving behind a dull throb at the base of my skull and the heavy, lingering ache of Bart’s unnatural fatigue. I pushed myself up onto one elbow, my palms scraping against gritty floor, and took stock.

I was in a different room. It stretched at least thirty feet wide beneath exposed steel ceiling joists, supported by bare concrete walls. In the center of the room, a raised, steel surgical table with leather cuffs loomed ominously. Cables ran from it to an usual machine. It had silver panels inscribed with arcane symbols, glowing glass tubes, gold gears, and, set in metal prongs within a glass case on top, was the silver piece with Heartbreak's name on it. More cables led from it to a bank of high-voltage transformers against the wall.

As I sat up, I noticed a curving line of arcane symbols made of silvery powder. The symbols continued to my side and around, forming a circle. Curious about the composition of the powder, I leaned down and moved forward. Before I could get close enough to sniff one of the symbols, I hit an invisible barrier. The symbols flashed with light and then went out.

“Holy shit,” I muttered and straightened.

Osric stood near a console attached to the machine. He'd replaced his cotton apron with a brown leather one. Whistling a jaunty tune, he turned dials with gloved hands and inspected a row of needle gauges twitching on the board.

Ten feet away, Fabian stood with his arms folded tight across his chest as he stared at the leather restraints on the steel table. Beside him was a smaller, wooden table holding bowls and bottles.

Bart sat on an overturned wooden crate against the wall, his shoulders hunched and his elbows resting on his knees. Sweat darkened the collar of his rumpled shirt, his face had the grayish cast of wet plaster, and he stared fixedly at the floor between his shoes. He looked at Osric. “The particle accelerator. Where is it?”

Osric stopped adjusting his dials. He turned around, resting one gloved hand on the edge of the console, and let out an easy, genuine laugh. “A particle accelerator?” Osric shook his head, looking at Bart with mild amusement. “Bartholomew, honestly. Did you truly believe human physics could untangle a metaphysical entity?”

Bart’s hands clenched into fists against his thighs. “You promised me you could free me.”

“And I will. Just as soon as I find you a vessel.”

“A vessel?” Bart pushed himself up from the crate, his voice cracking with rising panic. “You told me there wouldn't be another vessel. You said the energy would be destroyed.”