Grace wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disturbed. “So she will have all the time she needs to—to try to bring you back.”

“Yes,” he said. “In the meantime, I remain trapped here, in between life and death, sun and shadow. Haunting the house at night, when I am awake, and vanishing when the sun rises. At sunset, I awake to find I have slept unaware all day in my coffin.” Grace could not imagine how terrifying that must have been, must still be. “Even without necromancy, it is still dark magic that keeps me in this state. It cannot stand like this forever.”

She knew that Jesse was right. And yet a curl of happiness had twisted in her stomach, a guilt-inducing happiness maybe—but having Jesse with her, even only at night, was so much better than being alone forever. Alone with her mother, in a dark, cold house.

7 TREAD LIGHTLY

Faintly I met the shock of circling forms

Linked each to other, Fashion’s galley-slaves,

Dream-wondering, like an unaccustomed ghost

That starts, surprised, to stumble over graves.

For graves were ’neath my feet, whose placid masks

Smiled out upon my folly mournfully,

While all the host of the departed said,

“Tread lightly—thou art ashes, even as we.”

—Julia Ward Howe, “My Last Dance”

The sight of Anna was a pleasant hurt in Ariadne’s chest.

Pleasant, because Anna had only grown more beautiful since the first time Ariadne had seen her, when she’d been all long dark hair, ill-fitting dresses, flaming blue eyes, and terrifying scowls. Now her beauty shone through how at home in her skin she was—the scowls were gone, her lips curved red and smiling as she took a sip from her glass of champagne.

And hurt, because Ariadne could not touch her. Anna was a fortress surrounded by her friends: tall, handsome Thomas; Christopher, who shared his sister’s stern delicacy of features; peacock Matthew, who always looked as if he’d just rolled out of an unmade bed piled with silks and velvet. If James and Cordelia hadn’t been waltzing on the dance floor—Cordelia looking lush as a flower in a dress Ariadne was sure had been Anna’s suggestion—she was positive they’d have been surrounding Anna too.

The group eyed Ariadne suspiciously as she approached Anna. Anna didn’t seem to see her at all; she was leaning against the wall, one booted foot up behind her. She was all lean black-and-white lines, her close-fitting jacket following the outline of her slim curves, her head thrown back as she laughed. Her ruby pendant, which Ariadne knew was sensitive to demonic energies, glimmered in the hollow of her throat.

“Hello, Anna,” Ariadne said.

Anna flicked a lazy glance in her direction. “Miss Bridgestock.”