“What are you doing here?” I demand, unlocking the door as quickly as possible, sounding angry when what I really am is frantic—grief-stricken. My throat is a fist closed tight around my tears, and every breath I take is a reminder that Daphne is dead, and Rasputin is somewhere behind me.

“Waiting for you,” she answers with vacant simplicity, stepping out of the shadows and blinking as if the moon hurts her eyes. “I must have fallen asleep. It’s … it’s really cold, Auggie.”

A horrible thought comes over me, like a centipede crawling up my arm, and I shove the front door open and hurry inside. The house is warm—and empty, and silent, but it’s a safe zone of a sort, and just standing inside it makes me ready to weep for a dozen more reasons. I turn back, my breath tight, the crucifix still biting into my fingers. “I mean, yeah, it’s cold. It’s the middle of the night. Why were you waiting for me?”

“I…” She blinks again, still framed by the doorway. “I don’t know. I just … wanted to see you, I guess.” And then she steps inside, uninvited, closing the door behind her. I hold my breath for a beat … but nothing happens, and finally I let it out, inexpressibly relieved. I couldn’t feel her with that undead radar I’ve got … but, then, I can’t feel Gunnar, either. I don’t know who to trust anymore.

Adriana’s cheeks are bright pink with cold as she kicks off her shoes, and then takes two steps past the threshold and goes rigid. She gasps, her head snapping back, her fingers splayed until the tendons in her hands stand out like the guylines on a tent.

Her eyes roll up until only a crescent of glistening white is visible beneath the lid, and her mouth opens. The voice that comes out of her is deep, gravelly—and thick with a Russian accent. It’s not hers, but I recognize it immediately, and my head swims.

“August Pfeiffer, we have your parents. If you wish to see them alive again, you will pledge yourself and your blood to the Mystic Order of the Northern Wolf, before the vernal equinox on Friday. You have until Thursday to decide.”

As soon as the statement is out of her mouth, Adriana’s body collapses to the floor.

LONDON, ENGLAND

1536

Outside in the night, bells rang the late hour, and a breath of wind teased the candle that flickered by her elbow. Another day ended, another hour closer to her appointed death, and all she felt inside was empty.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. Inside she felt … something. And it troubled her greatly.