She hadn’t even realized that she’d pulled out her white stone and was rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s my good luck charm.”

“What is the point?”

“There’s no point. I’m just attached to it.” It was the one constant thing in her life.

“Good luck charms are for the desperate.”

“I’d say that describes me perfectly.”

“May I?” He asked, holding out a hand.

Reluctantly, she handed it over. “I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s something magical.”

He sighed, rolling it around in his fingers. “No. It’s ordinary hecatolite. Completely uninteresting.”

“It has sentimental value.” Though what it tied her to, she had no idea.

He eyed her. “I thought you had no memory.”

“I don’t, but I always assumed F.U.’s life was better than mine.”

“You’re a very strange person, you know that?”

“I saw you turn into a dog and eat a live sheep,” she sputtered. “I’m not sure you have a great handle on normal behavior.”

“You still seem cranky. Have some dinner.” He pulled the dome off her tray, revealing a beautifully plated steak, a bowl of cauliflower soup, and a small watercress salad.

Her mouth watered at the rich aromas. “Where did this all come from?”

“Room service here is fast and Michelin rated.” He filled her wine glass. “Hopefully, some filet mignon and red wine will placate you.”

She picked up her knife and fork to cut the steak and took a bite; it was as soft as butter. For the time being, she could almost forgive Kester for kidnapping her in the middle of her slice of bread.

“I hope you like it here,” he said.

“It’s… fancy. Empty, but very grand.”

“You don’t find it comfortable?”

She cut another piece of rich meat. “It’s not what I’m used to. It’s amazing, but I was about two days away from being homeless, and it just seems like it’s a waste for a place like this to lie empty when there are probably families freezing outside.” She frowned at him. “You’re not eating?”

“I filled up on lamb.”

It took Ursula a moment to realize that he was talking about the ewe he’d devoured. “Right.” The image of his gore-covered teeth almost put her off her food. “What exactly are you? Some sort of werewolf? Am I going to turn into a wolf now that I work for Emerazel?”

“A hound. I’m a hellhound, and so are you. But you won’t transform for a number of years.”

“Are we…” She struggled to get the word out. “Witches—I mean, mages? Like people are talking about? The terrorists who slaughtered people in Boston?”