Kester stood in the dim street lights, the wind tearing at him like a wild animal. Despite the cold, he remained perfectly still, oblivious to the frigid air. He stood barefoot, wearing only a pair of boxers, his strong chest covered in menacing tattoos. Wordlessly, Kester gathered Zee into his arms, eyes blazing.

“Will she be okay?” Ursula asked, stepping out of the car into the freezing air.

“Come with me,” he said, as Joe drove away.

So he’s not going to answer my questions. She was obviously in trouble—big trouble. He’d warned her that if she screwed up, he’d have to send her to Emerazel.

She rubbed her arms, trying to burn some warmth into her skin. “Is she okay?” she repeated, clutching her purse to her chest. Please wake up, Zee.

Silently, he pressed on over the icy pavement.

Ursula’s heels clacked over the asphalt as she followed him, and her body burned with fatigue. From the river, the wind whipped off the tops of the waves, blowing a freezing spray that coated everything in a thin layer of ice. Ursula hugged herself, shivering in her flimsy dress.

He led her toward a dock that jutted into the water. Despite his bare feet and state of undress, he navigated the slick planking with ease. Swirls of steam rose from the ground as his fiery body melted the icy ground. Ursula trailed behind, clutching a frozen rail.

At the end of the dock, a paint-chipped tugboat floated in the water, tied to a post. Its stern had been painted with gold lettering: ELYSIAN. Not exactly what she’d expected of a place with such a poetic name. It looked like a large, shabby version of a child’s bathtub toy. Is this where he lives?

Kester slipped over a narrow gangplank, disappearing inside. Teeth chattering, she followed, treading carefully to avoid falling into the churning water.

The boat’s warmth washed over her as she stepped inside. Although the tug’s exterior had suggested a state of total disrepair, the inside was immaculate. Books lined tall wooden shelves between a row of portholes. A wooden table nestled into an alcove, and a fire crackled in an iron stove that stood in the center of the cabin. She eyed a green velvet sofa, fighting the urge to give in to her aching body and rest. The only thing unusual about the place was the dark mark of Emerazel on the floor—another sigil.

Kester held Zee’s unconscious body, examining her face. “I won’t be able to heal her.” His eyes flicked to Ursula’s, burning with accusation. “Were you so enthralled by the incubus that you let him feast on Zee, after you failed at your task for a second time?