She doesn’t look at me as I run up to her.

“Where’s Willow?”

“Who?” Her voice is so faint that she sounds like a distant owl in the night.

“The apprentice who just went home. Did you already wipe her memory? Did they bring her to you?”

Her face pinches like she’s thinking it through.

“Swing with us, Ava!” the twins yell.

When I look back, there’s a third swing now. The vines around the whole set seem to be growing. I glance from it to Annalise’s vacant stare. One of the twins gives a little yelp as a new vine grows over her hand. A trickle of blood drips down her wrist.

“Annalise.” The vines keep growing until I touch her arm, and she looks back at me. “Why don’t you get rid of the thorns?”

She seems confused for a second.

I point at Briar’s or Bridgette’s arm, but it’s already healed.

“Maybe there are too many thorns in my mind,” she says, but her eyes are sharp and clear when she looks at me. “I can’t give you what you’re looking for. I haven’t seen her.”

She bites her lip, and blood runs down it before it heals, and then she turns, laughing and clapping her hands as she watches the twins soar higher and higher. There’s clearly no answer for me here.

I only have one more option.

I am his daughter—I may not feel it, but it’s still true on a basic level. Maybe I can use that. Maybe I’d be allowed to leave and go see Willow, just so I can know she’s okay. He could have some sort of magical crystal ball to show me. He might agree to bring her back—not as a competitor again, but as a friend.

It doesn’t seem like too much to ask. I need a reason to stay. A father who shows a glimmer of care for me would be a good place to start. I can give it one more try, and then I’ll carve my way through the front door with my knives if I have to.

My intent is clear as I push into the hallway. The magic snaps and bends around me. One second the hallway is a brick corridor, the next it’s cherrywood paneling with glowing sconces, the next it’s lined in a forest-green damask wallpaper. But it gives in to me eventually, and I’m standing in the black marble hallway. I stride down it, trying not to linger on the pictures of my mom. I reach the giant black doors and glance up at her portrait. Her eyes look wary, like a warning. Did they look that way before?

Reaching out, I pound on the door. Something tells me Lucius appreciates boldness.

He doesn’t answer, though.

I try the doorknob. Locked.