As he rapped his heel on the floor, the upyr edged against the wall, her eyes glistening deep within her sunken sockets. Her scalp was bare, but remnants of ebony hair cradled the back of her head.

“Toma,” Mikhail said reaching out for me. “It’s not—”

“Who are you?” I asked, sinking to my knees to show her that I was not a threat. “What’s your name?”

“What are you doing?” Emre yelped. “I told you not to get close!”

The upyr scrambled forward with a howl so forceful that it should have dislocated her jaw. As the chain rattled across the floor, she tripped over its coiled links and fell into me, her arms flailing. She was heavier than I expected—still fully fleshed, no doubt—and her hot breath fanned across my face. Gasping, I reached up to push her away, and my fingers snagged onto the edge of her face and tore it clean off.

I flinched back in horror, expecting to be confronted by raw bone and the still gnashing stubs of her incisors.

A small olive-toned face peered up at me. A girl. A living, breathing girl. She pushed wisps of dark hair out of her face, grimacing as she settled cross-legged on the floor.

“Why did you get so close?” she demanded. “You are supposed to run away or start screaming.”

Across the room, Emre groaned, putting a palm to his face in dismay.

“You’re still alive,” I stammered.

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes, picking up the upyr mask with a groan of disgust. “This thing is so gross. Why can’t Pelin be the upyr for once?”

Emre extended a hand toward us. “I can explain.”

“The rusalka is fake, too,” Mikhail said. “I saw a similar act a few years ago. There’ll be enough room at the top for her to breathe or a hidden tube attached to an air canister, like the sort used with dirigibles.”

“All right, so they’re both fake,” Emre said quickly. “But the rest of the artifacts in the Hall of Wonders are real. Let me explain. We did have a real upyr once, but it was taken a few weeks ago by the Fraktsiya. My youngest daughter Aergul volunteered to take over until we acquired a new one.”

“Taken?” I demanded, stepping forward. “Taken where?”

“Wh-what?” he stuttered.

“Where did the Fraktsiya take the upyr? Did they take her to Koschei? Answer me!”

“Toma,” Mikhail said, placing his hand on my wrist. I shook his arm away and turned my attention back to Emre, who had stepped in front of Aergul and was eying me uneasily, as though I were halfway to becoming an upyr myself.

Emre lifted his palms placatingly. “All right, look—”

“You’re disgusting for keeping an upyr prisoner, you know that? And for this!” I snatched up the mask and hurled it at him. “Skinning one? You do realize that they’re people, don’t you? That they have feelings?”

“Now listen, I don’t know what’s with you and upyri, but this is just calfskin,” Emre said, catching the mask only to wave it in my face. “It’s been bleached and painted, see? And okay, fine, I lied. We never had an upyr. Do you really think I’d try to keep one captive in the same house as an eight-year-old?”