The wraith has been watching. Has been trembling with excitement. Its newest mechanical creation lurched inside the castle through an opening in the wards. Then a fae came from nowhere to land a dragon in the topmost tree near the castle, and the fae followed its mechanical creature and her dire wolf inside.

The clouds lower as the wraith pulls ancient magic on the wings of storm. As the winds pick up, branches break and giant pines twist out of the ground. The dire wolves howl and close in tight, and the fae’s dragon spits fire into streaming sleet.

Who is this fae? Or . . . does it matter?

Not to the wraith.

The wraith slithers toward the small door left ajar. Leaves rise in hurricane spirals around the wraith as it makes its way through the opening. Thorny vines trail over the threshold and wind down the hallway.

The wraith pauses, what little heart it has left beating wildly. It is so close to having what it wants. What it longs for. Her.

Parts of her, the mechanical parts, lie at the bottom of the well. Parts of her, the organic parts, lie in the chest the wraith dragged to its hidey-hole. The wraith is ready to remake her, its love. But the part of her it wants the most is trapped inside that silver thimble, and the wraith needs great magic to free it.

This confluence of evil magic on Rookskill Castle—its own primal magic and the dark fae’s magic—is the wraith’s perfect dream.

CHAPTER 45

Moloch

Moloch strides through the castle. He’s taken his own form again—that boy is too small. Uncomfortably tight for Moloch’s overlarge ego. His leathery wings brush the walls and ceilings, raking the portraits. The subjects of those portraits cower and shut their eyes, and Moloch leans a little closer, just because.

He’s frustrated that Isaac eluded him in this first encounter, but at least he knows now that it’s Isaac that he seeks. And, in addition to carrying the key, what a powerful skill Isaac has. He can make magic stronger. Even Moloch’s magic. This is a skill Moloch can use—will use—for certain.

Finding Isaac—capturing Isaac—will give Moloch power beyond even his wildest dreams.

He finds the hallway again where the boy and his dog and that mechanical monster lie spelled. Moloch doesn’t need the boy’s form any longer; he needs information. He leans over and puts clawed fingers on the boy’s forehead to extract his thoughts and memories. The boy stirs in his unnatural sleep and moans.

The dire wolf grumbles and sniffs at the helpless dog and salivates. Moloch finishes his task and steps away from the prone bodies, saying, “No feasting yet, my new friend. But soon.”