Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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A dim light shone on the dusty stone floor from the naked light bulbs that crackled and fizzed overhead and cast the corners of the room in inky black shadows. A thick quilting of spider webs was spun between bottles of wine and along the metal wine racks. It was cool in this tomb of stone, but not freezing. I had my woolen jacket back on, and though it wasn't necessary to wear my aunt's knitted scarf and hat, I did. The feel of the soft wool with the barest trace of my aunt's scent comforted me in my miserable state.
As soon as I said my last piece to Varen, I'd hastily cleared the dirty dishes and carried them back to the kitchen. I'd snatched up everything I needed for my next assignment—one I blatantly made up—and informed Mei that I was doing a stock-take in the wine cellar and wasn't to be disturbed for the remainder of the day.
I rapped my pen unconsciously against my clipboard—tap, tap, tap—with the chart stating how many wine bottles and which vintage should still be down here. The wine crate I'd tipped on its side to sit on was hard and my butt had gone numb hours ago, yet I couldn't move from this spot.
Like the worst kind of coward, I'd hidden beneath the Deniauds' mansion in the wine cellar the entire day because I was terrified to face Mr. Volkov. With every hour that passed, so freaking slowly, anxiety wound me tighter and tighter.
I glanced toward the rickety staircase that led to the cellar's doorway, pulling in a breath of stale air. Surely by now the Head Housekeeper would have been informed of the state of the drawing room and come to the right conclusion—I'd been responsible for the destruction.
This time the debt was so far out of the realm of paying back, I didn't know what to do. I could sell my car, my darling little Honda Civic—a daring Habanero red and economical to run—which I'd purchased last year with my entire savings. If I sold the car, I'd be able to put forward a tiny chunk, more goodwill than anything, toward the debt I owed. But as for the rest of it...I despaired as to how to get my hands on that sort of money.
A sudden noise—rackety and loud—erupted behind me. I leaped to my feet. The clipboard clattered on the ground and my pen stuck stone and rolled through a carpet of dust. I spun around my heart in my throat.
Oh my gods...
Mr. Volkov had come for me.
An enormous figure cloaked by shadows clattered down the rickety staircase, the wooden steps creaking beneath their weight.
To my utter relief, Oswin huffed into view. He'd obviously run all the way here and his broad cheeks were puffed out and sparkling red with sweat. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he gasped. Oswin was still dressed in one of his dirty work overalls, his knees wobbled beneath him and he slumped against a rough wall trying to catch his breath. "Varen Crowther..." he wheezed.
I went ramrod straight, my heart fluttering in my chest like a frantic butterfly trying to escape a delicate net.
