“I know what I did to Esmé wasn’t fair, but this decades-long tantrum is frankly tiring. I’m getting a lot of grief about it. Lucifer has told me that I must get her under control. So now we come to you, Ms. Barnes. You come from a long line of my descendants. You aren’t entirely mortal—you’re also part cambion. Perhaps you’ve noticed that you live in a perfect town. With no crime. Zero. Well, that’s Cecile’s doing. She gave Margot a spell, but I hear your mother keeps it up quite well, the way one would take care of a lawn. Audrey is a general bore, but she knew how to protect you from Esmé. Sadly, that spell doesn’t work outside Kerrigan Falls, so my dear child nearly killed you the other day at the Père Lachaise.”

“The woman who chased me? It was Esmé?”

“That was my sister who tried to kill you,” said Cecile. “Audrey gave you a spell, but it didn’t work or you didn’t perform it correctly. I made Father intervene. Usually he won’t, but for some reason he’s taken with you.”

“Why is she trying to kill me?” Lara shifted her gaze from Cecile to Althacazur, irritated that no one seemed to be jumping to answer what she thought was a pressing question.

Cecile looked irritated, so she began the story. “After I fell from the trapeze and died, as she promised, Sylvie took Margot and fled to America—you knew her as Cecile Cabot, your great-grandmother. My sister also ran away from the circus, but it wasn’t so easy. With me dead and her gone, no enchantment was required at the circus anymore. She’s a great illusionist, so she took what she learned from Father and figured that if she wanted to keep up the illusion of being young, beautiful, and immortal, she needed to keep killing. Maintaining the spell on herself has been a lot easier than on a full circus, so instead of killing each time we move, she only has to do it every thirty years, on October ninth, our birthday. On that day she finds a man and sacrifices him. Like Émile, he needs to bleed. She’s a hundred years old now, but I bet she’s still stunning.” Cecile looked at Althacazur. “How was that?”

“Quite accurate,” said Althacazur. “The bitter flourish really does add a lot.”

Like a bored tour guide, Althacazur pointed at the next attraction. “We’re under the Styx right now, kind of like the Eurostar Hell Line.” They came up to a white sand beach with black trees and red leaves. Lara could see animals—more accurately, animal skeletons—grazing on the sand.

The trees shook themselves as they went past, and leaves pelted them. Althacazur plucked the leaves from Lara’s hair.

“Oh no,” said Cecile, grabbing at Lara and plucking frantically.

Lara suddenly felt woozy.