“No,” Twelve gasped, sobs racking her. “I didn’t know. I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have left you. I wish every day that I’d stayed.”

“Excuses,” Poppy hissed, suddenly angry, her features contorting. “How can you talk about being sorry when you wanted me gone all along? Admit it, you were happy when you thought I was dead!”

“No!” Twelve cried, shaking her head furiously, feeling her knees give way. “Never! I never wanted . . . AAAARRGGHH!”

Widge flew out of nowhere and landed on her shoulder, his teeth sinking deeply into her tearstained cheek. Bright, vivid pain cut across her vision and, for a confusing instant, the scene before her shimmered and changed.

It was so dark, and the smell! Twelve gagged and pulled the moonstone out of her pocket. It blazed to life, blinding her completely.

Poppy screamed and Twelve tried to shield the light so she could see. Widge was out of control though; he ran down her arm, scrabbled her furs away from her wrist, and sank his teeth into the flesh there too. With a gasp, the moonstone fell from her grip and rolled away, still blazing blue-silver light.

“Stop it!” Twelve cried, shaking Widge away. Poppy was cowering with her back to Twelve.

“Put it out!” her sister shrieked. “Put it out!”

Twelve’s fingers scrabbled in the snow—or was it? She paused, confused. The texture was strange under her fingers, soft and slimy. And that awful smell again. A wave of nausea made her gag.

When she opened her eyes, it was as though a veil had been lifted. Everything was altered. She was in some sort of underground nest, tall enough to stand upright in and several yards wide. A single narrow tunnel in front of her wormed its way up through the earth. Pale roots trailed down from above and dead things covered the floor. Rib cages rose like shipwrecks from the filth and empty eye sockets stared balefully at her.

Twelve’s shoulders shook as she took this in at a glance. Widge gazed up at her from the muck, his eyes wide, urgent.

“Why did you do that, Starling?” a voice whispered behind her. “We were having such a nice time. You always spoil everything.”

Twelve shuddered, a tidal wave of horror breaking over her. Whatever it was standing behind her, it couldn’t be her little sister. Could it? The tunnel was in front of her; she and Widge could have fled. It took all of Twelve’s strength to turn around, but she had to know, some part of her brain still hoping, still trying to believe.

She turned—and recoiled in horror.

Chapter

Twenty-Six