‘You’re in luck,’ the girl said, moving out of the way to let Lottie through into the pitch-black corridor beyond. ‘Stephanie said we were to let you in immediately when you finally came.’

Lottie gulped, a cold chill running through her at the idea they’d been expecting her, but nonetheless she went on, feeling around in her satchel for the box that held her family tiara, the shape of it through the fabric reminding her not to back down.

When Lottie pushed the second door open, she was at once consumed by a kaleidoscope of deep blue and emerald lights, the air turning cool with the salty-sweet smell of brine, like she’d been submerged under the sea. Along the walls, doll limbs reached out from where they were trapped.

‘Back so soon? Oh!’ And there she was, one of the most beautiful girls Lottie had ever seen, looking up at her through feathered eyelashes as she leaned back in a black-velvet throne covered in twisting shells glued over the fabric.

The sea witch.

The thought flared in Lottie’s head without warning and her hand shot up to her neck like she was in danger of losing her voice, and she had – her throat was so dry she could hardly make a squeak.

‘Oh, Gem, you’ve caught me a little fish,’ Stephanie cooed. ‘Paris, Max, say hi to the little fish.’

Lottie found herself being pushed further into the Parlour, shoulders being pressed down, forcing her into a seat opposite Stephanie. Her vision swimming at the flickering lights, Lottie was vaguely aware of two people raising their heads in greeting before returning to their gruesome pieces of art, but her focus stayed trained on Stephanie.

‘I need to ask you about a henna tattoo I think you gave a friend of mine,’ Lottie began, swallowing down her nerves like she was gasping for air. ‘I need to know what tattoo you gave to Ellie Wolf.’

She had to know for sure what the tattoo said. If Ellie had really got the Maravish for ‘painful self-sacrifice’ etched on to herself, then Lottie had no choice but to confront her princess about it, no matter the cost.

Stephanie’s eyes pinged up to hers like an elastic band, black fingernails coming up to wind in hair darker than the bottom of the ocean. ‘I deal in secrets, little princess,’ she murmured, a wry smile awakening on her lips at the taste of the word. ‘And that also means keeping the secrets of others.’

It hit Lottie like a cannonball, knocking the breath out of her. She knew.

One thing was clear – it was important enough to Ellie that she’d traded her secret identity, which meant the girl in front of her knew Lottie was a fake.