“There is a curse,” Rastin admitted. “And Erik is its victim.”

“But not its only victim,” I said.

A beat passed before Rastin replied. His answer came with a tired, sad expression. As well as a note of resignation. “No.”

“Stephanie,” I continued.

“She is Erik’s prisoner,” conceded Rastin, his frown deepening. “That much is evident.”

“But?” I folded my arms, certain I wasn’t going to like the next turn this conversation took. But if the signposts pointed to Stephanie, then it was time to hit the gas.

“But,” began Rastin, “Erik, too, is a prisoner.”

“Uh,” interjected Wes, and for once, I was glad he did—because it saved me from having to. “A prisoner who nearly crushed your heart. For the second time, I gather?”

“You must believe me.” Rastin shut his eyes again, like his headache had only grown in the time he’d been here. “But Erik is currently not himself—and has not been for a very long time.”

“Zedok and Erik,” I said. “Tell us once and for all. What is their relationship to one another?”

Rastin laughed, and the mirthless, hopeless sound of it caused the hairs on my arms to stand on end.

“They are the same,” he confirmed. “And yet . . . they are not.”

Wes smacked his lips. “Well. Now that that’s cleared up . . .”

“It is difficult to explain,” sighed Rastin. “Nearly as difficult as it must be to understand.”

“But maybe it won’t be so hard to explain it to us,” I said, hoping he would hurry up and realize that, just as he was the only one who knew for sure what we did about Stephanie—that she was a prisoner in an alternate dimension—we were the only ones in a position to hear him out on anything regarding the creature keeping her there.

We needed Rastin’s help. But it was growing more and more apparent that he was going to need ours, too.

And that was really where this conversation was headed. Now that he’d recovered, why else would he still be here? Regardless of what he was hoping to accomplish, our overall goal was bound to be a unified one.

Get Stephanie out.

“If someone will make me hot tea,” said Rastin, “chai, preferably, I will tell you all I know about the curse, and about Erik. I cannot ask you to pity him as I do. Perhaps none of us—myself especially—can afford to pity him any longer. But . . . if one is to understand their enemy, then one must be willing to put oneself in their enemy’s shoes. Or, in this instance, perhaps it is better to say . . . we must put ourselves in his masks.”

Silence pulsed.

Then Charlotte sighed and, turning toward the stairs, said what she knew none of us would since we didn’t know how.

“I’ll go make the tea.”

FIFTY-NINE

Zedok

She awoke with a start, eyes springing wide to focus on the blazing hearth.