The instant it closes behind me, I yank on my boots and throw on my coat. I wait a beat to make sure no one in the apartment follows me and then I’m out of there full-speed down the hallway, down two flights of stairs, and out onto the cold dark street.

It only takes one block to find an idling taxi and fifteen minutes to get across town. I repeatedly glance out the back window, making sure that Ash or one of the others didn’t somehow follow me.

The taxicab lets me off on a commercial street filled with cafés and boutiques that are completely dark at this hour. I double-check the street signs and building numbers for the address Matteo gave me. It’s an odd adjustment from always following the map on my phone to suddenly having to use atlases and trust my own navigation skills.

I stand there on the street in the dark staring at the building, which appears to be a run-down Victorian-era shop with boarded-up windows. In faded gold letters the sign reads PASSEMENTERIE. Can this be right—did Matteo really want me to meet him at an abandoned store?

It occurs to me that I never questioned the invitation, not after he mentioned Layla. But Matteo doesn’t like me. And now all of a sudden he shows up in London, follows me from the apothecary, tells me to meet him somewhere because Layla is here, and also tells me I can’t tell Ash. I frown, tucking my hands under my armpits for more warmth.

For a split second, I think about turning around, grabbing another cab, and sneaking back into bed. I’m an inch away from finding my dad and here I am taking a chance on Matteo—meanwhile no one knows I’ve left the apartment or where I’ve gone.

“Damn it,” I breathe, and a white cloud billows out in front of me. No. This is ridiculous. Matteo gave you the apothecary information; he gave you the necklace. Why would he help you just to betray you? Unless he was just trying to lure you into a false sense of confidence so he could make his big move?

I look down at my boot, where for once I have no knife hidden, and shake my head, annoyed at myself. I take out my cell phone and type a draft of a text to Ash with the address. It’s now 3:58 a.m. I lock the phone and walk to the front door of the boarded-up store, grabbing the handle, and to my great dismay, it opens.

“Layla?” I whisper into the darkness. “Matteo?” But no one answers.