Celeste dreamed of dancing. She had never been very good despite the hours of lessons her father had forced upon her, hoping to pass her off in Elect society. But in her dream, she was as graceful as any proper lady. Her partner led her onto a polished floor of black obsidian. They were alone, the shadowy space lit only by small blue flames flickering atop black wax candles. She wore a dress of red satin, the neckline low, the back sheer, and her arms bared. Waves of fabric billowed behind her as the man who held her drew her close. She could not see his face, only feel his strong hand at her waist, his rough cheek against hers. Her nose grazed the curve of his neck, and she smelled rosewood and amber.

The music began, a sensual duet of fiddle and guitar. They moved—languid, patient—as they found their rhythm. His lead was subtle, the pressure of fingers against skin, the touch of hips as they turned, their bodies molded into one.

“It could be like this forever, Celeste,” he whispered, his voice the brush of silk against her skin. “All you have to do is say yes.”

She opened her mouth to answer—

And bolted awake, a cry in her throat and sweat hot on her neck. She grasped at the sheets, expecting red satin, before she recognized the familiar bed, the well-worn room. She threw the bedding off and stumbled to the washbasin. She splashed cold water on her face and neck and waited for her heartbeat to cool.

In the mirror, she saw Abraxas’s pendant still resting against the hollow between her breasts. Furious at his invasion, she thought to rip the pendant off but instead found herself studying the reflection of it in the mirror, her fingers wound in the cord. She had not had time to learn anything of the sigils etched in the pendant, and even now she did not recognize them, but she wondered if there was something there that allowed the demon lord into her dreams.

Dreams that left her sweating in her bed, dreams where she willingly promised her soul to him. Almost.

“He wouldn’t,” she whispered, but of course he would. And at every chance. She looked to the window, convinced she would find it open, but it remained firmly shut, just as it had been when she went to sleep.

Saints and sinners, she was foolish to let him back into her life. No, not foolish, she reminded herself. Just terribly, terribly desperate.

After that, she dared not sleep again. She dressed quickly and was putting the final pins in her hair when a knock came at her door. Her first thought was of Abraxas, but he was not one to knock, and besides, he preferred the window. She approached cautiously, her mind conjuring Virtues with iron shackles, but she could not imagine them knocking, either.