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Iestyn stiffens beside me as I edge forward, teetering on the threshold. One more step, and I will be inside, where he cannot follow.

One foot crosses the wooden sill, and the other follows. It is done.

I turn to Iestyn, a cold breath rattling in my lungs. Here, he cannot reach me. But if I speak, if I let him in, there is no going back.

My voice is no more than a whisper. “Come in.”

36

I’ve barely finished speaking before Iestyn strides towards me, sweeping over the threshold into Leighbury House. His expression smooths, lips curling with satisfaction as he takes in his surroundings.

“You’ve done well, Alderose.” He strokes my cheek. “We are almost at the end. Soon, we will both have that which we most desire.”

I can’t help but shiver at his words. Neither can I help yielding to the kiss he presses against my mouth, soft and wanting. On his lips, I taste everything I have ever run from—the desire, the blood, and above all, the hunger. I swallow it like poison, craving more, at the same time wishing I could expel it.

The vestibule is dimly lit, but I still see signs of decay all around. Burnt panels hang off the walls, exposing red brick underneath. The banister leading up the central staircase is charred and black, its bars strewn with cobwebs. Not one of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling is lit; their candles are crumbling stumps, their once-gleaming arms tarnished and stained with soot.

Wreymoor Hall was a festering wound. This is a house abandoned to the ashes.

“Do you know where Elric is likely to be?” I ask, finding my voice.

A smile twists the corner of Iestyn’s mouth. “Right where I left him, I imagine.”

He starts up the staircase, leaving me in his wake. I hurry after him, but before I reach the first landing, one of the fire-blackened stairs gives way. My foot crashes through the charred wood, leaving me lurching for balance as Iestyn continues to climb.

“Wait!” I try to tug my leg loose, but the splintered ends catch my ankle.

When I look up, Iestyn has disappeared.

A wave of unease creeps through me. Perhaps he meant to abandon me here, or perhaps his haste to find Elric has simply taken over. Whatever the truth is, all that matters is I am on my own. Leighbury House may not be Wreymoor Hall, but that doesn’t make it any less dangerous.

I draw my rapier, its balance awkward in my left hand. My right arm is only a hindrance—wrist swollen, pain shooting through my elbow. I am in no condition to fight, but I take a small comfort in the silver and steel beneath my fingers all the same. The blade thrums like it can sense the unnaturalness of this place.

With a grimace, I wrench my foot free from the hole in the staircase. The burnt wood crumbles into darkness below, leaving jagged splinters behind. Judging by the stinging around my ankle, it’s left a scratch, but there’s no time to deal with it. The pain will catch up with me soon enough.

I climb the rest of the stairs carefully, testing my weight on each one before moving on. I can’t fall into the clutches of this house, not with Elric in here somewhere. If he finds me before I find Iestyn, I am done for.

When at last I reach the top of the landing, I pause. The hallway is covered in ash. I smell something burning, the air thick with acrid smoke. If I concentrate, I can make out the crackle of flames coming from somewhere down the corridor.

It’s a memory, like in Wreymoor Hall. But this time, the memory is Elric’s. If I follow it, I might be able to find him.

Against all instinct, I turn and head towards the sounds of the fire. With every step, the air thickens, smoke clinging to the ceiling in black plumes. It burns my lungs, and I splutter through coughs as I press forward, using my injured arm to smother my nose and mouth as best I can.

The temperature rises as I approach the end of the corridor. I can’t see the flames yet, but the heat is already stifling, seeping through the smoke. Part of me wonders if I have gone mad, if I am running into a fire that is all too real.

I dart my head left and right, but there is nowhere else to go. The corridor ends here—there are no hallways to turn down, no doors to go through. The only thing that stands out is the huge, ornate mirror on the wall, its glass surface coated with ash.

When I wipe it with the end of my sleeve, my blood turns cold. For a moment—a fleeting, impossible moment—I glimpse a reflection behind me. Infernal red skin, twisted horns, eyes that burn blacker and hotter than coal.

Mephistopheles.

I spin around, heart racing, but the hallway is empty. Smoke seeps along the carpet and clings to the walls, obscuring the way I came, but there is no sign of anyone behind me, man or devil.

Am I imagining things? Or have all the horrors I’ve committed these last few weeks finally caught up with me?

I turn back to the mirror, but the shadow in the hallway is gone. It’s just me, face stained with grime and ash.

It’s a dead end. There’s nowhere else to go, except…