Whatever was happening here, I was definitely, entirely screwed.

“Privyet, for real?” Rowan was saying with a grin. “Wow, y’all really stay milking that Slavic heritage shit. Your family’s been here for, what, a solid three hundred years just like the rest of us? I think hello or possibly even what’s good would suffice.”

“The language of the motherland dwells in our blood, Rowan Thorn, my coconspirator,” Talia proclaimed, lifting her chin. “And who am I to deny its call?”

“Yeah, you just think it sounds hardcore,” Linden teased. “Tell me you know more than like three words.”

Talia flicked one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m practically fluent for all the tourists can tell. It’s all a matter of perspective. I also prefer to approach my vodka as an homage to the ancestors.”

“Well, that’s a handy take,” I said, hefting my bottle of Tanqueray in salute. “Congratulations, by the way! I haven’t even had a real chance to say that yet.”

The families had dispersed soon after my confrontation with Igraine, scattering swiftly to the winds. I’d gone straight home from Hallows Hill, wrung out by the mantle magic, and collapsed into what was intended to be a power nap—waking up a disoriented six hours later to a group text with Talia and Linden about coming here tonight.

“Thank you, Arbiter Harlow,” she said, adding a playful little twist to my title. “You were pretty legendary yourself.”

“Seconded,” Rowan said. “I mean, I’m the one who lost. But it was still worth it to see you acquaint that corny jackass and his gram with some grade A humiliation.”

“This all calls for a proper toast,” Talia announced. “Shall we?”

With the three of us in tow, she swept off toward a table stacked with bottles of liquor and decanters of red wine, deepened to almost black by moonlight. There were delectable-looking snacks too: silver dishes of chocolate truffles sprinkled with salt, trays of sliced cheese and grapes, whole rounds of fancily braided bread. It all had a decadent Persephone aesthetic that I personally felt inclined to steer clear of, just in case.

Haunted-ass shit aside, Rowan clearly had no such reservations, already making himself a plate while Talia poured wine for all of us.

“What, sis?” he mumbled in response to Linden’s pointed side-eye; apparently she’d caught the same vibe as I had from the food. “I practically conjured a tsunami earlier, I’m freaking starving. I’ll take my damn chances.”

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Talia assured him, pressing goblets into our hands. I set my gin down on the table, feeling slightly self-conscious about double-fisting this early on. “We didn’t invite any enemies tonight. And we made sure not to let Adriana near it, just in case. My baby sister’s sense of humor is still a little . . . unreliable.”

Rowan stopped midchew. “Define unreliable.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I promise,” Talia said, waving her free hand breezily. “That whole shapeshifting hex thing Addie had going for a while was mostly just a phase. These days she’s a way less terrifying child, overall.”