“It must have been the cards,” I said later that morning, watching Phelan pace the library. “Perhaps the enchantment has worn away in them, from being passed through so many hands.”

“No,” he said. “Those cards will never lose their enchantment. Not while the curse still lives on the mountain.”

“Do you think the curse will ever end?”

“I don’t know, Anna.”

I fell silent. I hadn’t told him that I was also dreamless. As far as he knew, I had suffered a nightmare while he had suffered nothing. And if I was honest, there was a piece of me that wanted to tell him the truth. To confess and watch the furrow in his brow ease. But I feared it would make me too vulnerable.

“How does your mother create the cards?” I asked. How does she enchant her illustrations with nightmares was what I truly wanted to know.

Phelan stopped pacing. His back was angled to me; his attention was fixed on the frost-laced window. One would never think he had experienced a bad night; he was impeccably dressed, and his raven-dark hair was held by his customary ribbon. But his eyes were bloodshot and distant. Even when he looked at me, I sensed he was far away.

“I’m not sure. I know very little of deviah magic.” He sighed. The sound could have come from my own lips, as if our worry was the same. “I need to go tend to a few things. You can have the rest of the day off, Anna.”

He left in a rush, grabbing his top hat and coat from the rack on his way out.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to do with myself and this unexpected day of freedom. And then I smelled the aroma of Mrs. Stirling’s cooking drift down the hall, browned butter and golden crust and strawberry preserves, and I knew exactly where I wanted to go.

I went to see Imonie.

She had the town house to herself again. Mama was at the theater, Papa at the mines. I sat on a kitchen stool with Dwindle purring on my lap—even in a different shape, my cat knew me. Bright October sunlight flowed in from the windows as I watched Imonie bake. It almost felt like the Vespers had never happened to us and we were back in Hereswith.

Almost.

“It looks like they’ve been feeding you well,” she said as she kneaded dough on the counter.

“The food is good,” I replied. “But I do miss your galettes.”

She tried to hide how much my comment pleased her; only a hint of blush warmed her cheeks. “If I had known you were coming, I would have a whole tray ready for you.”