Isaac, too, was at least part fae. That was the magic his mother gave him. He felt sick, thinking he was in any way, however distant, related to Moloch.

“It would be so nice, Isaac, if we could be friends,” Moloch said, sounding pleased, “since we both have fae blood.” Moloch paused. “But I sense that you have a unique kind of magic. Even now I feel it.”

Moloch was tapping, probing Isaac’s magical energy, and the boy had to concentrate to resist the pressure Moloch put on him. Isaac’s magic zipped up his spine, and he gave an involuntary shudder, then resisted again.

Moloch grimaced. “I’ll find a way,” he muttered.

“Let her down,” Isaac said, as firmly as he could. “Bring Amelie back.”

“I will, when we come to an arrangement,” Moloch said. He moved closer to Isaac and said with urgency, “I could use your gifts, Isaac. And I need that key. I need you so that I can be what I’m meant to be. Listen, Isaac. I made a bad call, I’ll admit. I should have been good, but they threw me out. I could be good again.” Moloch turned his head, and Isaac could only see the side of Moloch’s face that was beautiful and unscarred, and Isaac’s breath caught.

Moloch was beautiful. So beautiful it was impossible to look away.

Moloch needed Isaac. Wanted Isaac’s gifts and the key to the Vault—Moloch wanted access to the magical artifacts that Isaac’s father had said were dangerous in the wrong hands—so that Moloch could be good again. Oh, Moloch was trying very hard to break through Isaac’s resistance.

But . . . Isaac shook himself. If Moloch could go from being a Seelie fae to what he was now, could go from being beautiful to being a monster, then Isaac could slip from being an uncertain boy with magical gifts and a special, magical responsibility to being a monster, too. It wouldn’t take much, would it?

Becoming a monster only takes justifying one little slip toward the darkness. One little thing that seems at the time like the right thing to do.

“So,” Isaac said, “if I give you the key, you will let her go?” The pendant was cold against his skin. Isaac, no one can take this from you by force, only if you relinquish it.

“Of course,” Moloch answered. “Once you let me inside the Vault, then the Vault is mine.”

“I have to let you inside?”

Moloch stirred with impatience. “Yes,” he said, with a hiss. “There’s a little spell, just a small spell, yet to perform.”