“Well done, Enrique!” said Ruslan. “You might’ve lost your ear, but you’ve certainly gained mine! Well … for a little while at least. Noon does not look as though it’s very far away, does it? I suppose I can stand to wait a little while longer.”

Around them, the floor continued to brighten. Now it was high morning. The sky upon the glass was clear and blue, and though noon promised danger, Laila felt nothing but hope.

When she looked down at her garnet ring, the number read zero, and still, Laila felt no panic. It was not because of an encroaching blankness, but rather a delicious absence of fear.

That number on her ring spoke true. She should have no days left, and yet, in the space of an hour, she’d glimpsed a night strewn with stars, a rubied dawn, and now a blue morning. The day continued, and still she stood.

Perhaps Laila really was just grave dirt and borrowed blood, and yet … she lived.

And she felt, deep in her stolen bones, that miracles were not yet finished with her.

32

ZOFIA

Zofia tried to count the number of steps that lay ahead of them, but by two hundred and seventeen, a headache pulsed behind her eyes and she was forced to stop. She could feel her fear burning around the edges of her thoughts.

Their ammunition was lost.

Their tools were useless.

Their options were gone.

“Why do you stand so far from me, my lovelies?” crooned Ruslan.

The patriarch of the Fallen House stood at the very base of the ziggurat. Séverin and Enrique stood on either side, daggers pointed to their hearts. A corner of the divine lyre poked out from the front of Séverin’s jacket.

“Come, come!” said Ruslan, clapping his shining hands.

Zofia recognized the gesture as a common one used for dogs. Her lip curled.

“It will be okay, Phoenix,” whispered Laila.

Zofia tried to turn her head to Laila, but the dagger point at the base of her neck stopped her. Even so, she could feel Laila standing beside her. Hypnos was on her left. Behind her, Zofia knew the four dead Fallen House members stood close by because a fly buzzed around her nose. Twice, Zofia heard the wet plop of maggots falling to the glass floor. She bit back a gag, forcing her gaze straight ahead.

Ruslan growled. “Now.”

A Fallen House member shoved her, and Zofia stumbled forward on the glass floor. By now, the colors on the glass floor had brightened from morning to noon.

Ruslan had forced Enrique to take the first step onto the glass. Zofia had nervously looked to the silvery fog and the giant automatons, but nothing moved. It was as Séverin had said: The temple would not grant them access until the right time, and now that time had come.

The closer Zofia got to the ziggurat, the more she saw that a golden aura hung about the temple. High above, the forested ceiling now bloomed with white flowers that Zofia did not recognize. A fragrance wafted down. Though there were no candles, it smelled of the Havdalah spices passed around on Shabbat.