The noise stopped, replaced by the muffled voice of the tenor singing on stage.

“Hello?” She softened her voice into a low caress, walking toward the final stall, heels clacking on the floor. “Are you there? We got off the wrong foot before, I know. I’m here to make everything better.”

No response. As she stood before the final stall, the hair rose on her arms. Something felt wrong—the air felt a little too cold, almost electrified. Was it just a draft, or was that dark magic crackling in the air around her? She flicked out the blade of the reaping pen. Dread rose up her throat, and she leaned closer, knocking on the door. “Hugo, my darling. It’s not as bad as you think.” Lies. Horrible, evil lies, tumbling from perfectly-glossed pink lips. She was a monster now.

She took a deep breath, waiting for his response, but she heard only shuffling in the stall, and a low moan.

She stepped back. Her heels wouldn’t be good for running, but she could still kick down a door. She hiked up her dress and slammed her foot into the wood. Her kick snapped the lock, sending the door smacking open.

A rush of fear ran over her skin. The man she’d met earlier—the one with the pale grey eyes—stood, cradling Hugo in his arms like a baby. As soon as the man’s eyes locked on Ursula, he dropped Hugo onto the toilet seat, and the pop star’s head smacked hard against the stall’s wooden walls. His skin had taken on an unhealthy sheen.

Ursula swallowed hard. What. The. Fuck. “What are you?” she breathed.

Abe stepped toward her in a single flowing motion, like smoke rising from the wick of an extinguished candle. The air temperature dropped at least ten degrees. He fixed his otherworldly gaze on her, his eyes gunmetal grey.

He moved closer to her. When he smiled, fear twisted in her gut—but something else, too. She couldn’t stop staring at his smooth, golden skin.

“Hello, pretty girl.” His voice whispered over her body. When he spoke, it almost felt as though he were touching her with a feather-light stroke. “I was wondering if you’d stop by.”

She tore her eyes away from him, glancing at the crumpled pop star on the toilet. Nausea welled in her stomach. This was all wrong. “Did you kill him?”

“I may have been a bit greedy with him. His soul tasted delicious.”

“You devoured his soul?” Horror slithered over her skin. She had a dizzying feeling she was facing one of those shadow demons Kester had mentioned. And what would Emerazel do when she learned Hugo’s soul had been stolen?