Chapters (52)
- Copyright
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Acknowledgments
- Read More from the Market of Monsters Series
- More Books from HMH Teen
- About the Author
- Connect with HMH on Social Media
Nita took the subway south. She got off at Catedral station and walked the twenty minutes the rest of the way to San Telmo. Wide roads gave way to older cobblestoned streets. It was Sunday, and a massive antique market sprawled down all the side streets, people selling leather books and maté cups, artisanal dulce de leche and candles. Inside the buildings, more shops had been set up, these ones full of antiques and curiosities, nineteenth-century microscopes sitting next to Barbie dolls still in their packaging. The antique shops reminded her a bit of Adair and his strange pawnshop, and a part of her longed to be back in Toronto with Kovit, in simpler times.
Nita paused at one shop, full of antique weaponry, ancient pistols and swords and knives, all of them polished and sharpened, ready to find a new home. She considered them for a moment, imagining herself walking into her mother’s hotel room with a double-bladed axe strapped across her back. While the image was tempting, it would ultimately be pointless.
Nita couldn’t beat her mother in a straight fight.
Her mother had decades of experience on Nita and had been hunting and killing unnaturals far more powerful than herself for years. In terms of skill, strength, and ruthlessness, Nita would never win in a straight fight.
Which was why she had a very different plan.
Her mother had emailed Nita the hotel address and room number. It was in the heart of the San Telmo district, surrounded by colorful historic mansions crammed together in a sea of faded glory, and a few blocks away from Plaza Dorrego, the center of the Sunday market and the home of tango. It was a huge tourist trap, and Nita hated how crowded it was as she squeezed her way between people on the narrow cobblestoned streets.
The hotel was old but well cared for, and it had an aging, retro feel to it that made it seem quirky rather than dated. The bottom looked like it had once been part of a grand house, and the top floors were a newer addition, made of brick that didn’t match the lower level.
She took the elevator up to the eighth floor. Her own reflection stared back at her in the mirrored elevator walls, shadows under her eyes and something both very empty and very dark caught in the reflection of her gaze.
She walked down the long hallway to the end and stood in front of the door for a long moment. This was it. The moment she’d never thought would actually come, yet somehow had always known had to happen. She expected to feel some sort of regret or resistance. This was her mother, after all, and for so long, she’d been the only person in Nita’s life. Nita had truly believed her mother loved her.