your mortal blood. Only one drop each. And one more thing—” The Black Scissors continued gently, “Serafina cannot take her sister from the Ghostlands. She can free Lily Rose from the Wolf’s house, but she can’t bring her to the true world. Seth Lot’s house hoards memories, dreams, phantoms.”
“You expect us to tell Finn to leave her sister there?” Christie’s voice became tight with disbelief. “No. No—”
“Christie.” Sylvie spoke softly. “He’s telling us something.”
Christie shook his head and glanced desperately at Sylvie. “Lily Rose can’t be a ghost. Sylv—”
The Black Scissors had vanished. His voice drifted to them, “If you bring Lily Rose to the true world, there will be terrible consequences. I’ll see you soon, Sylvie Whitethorn.”
Christie and Sylvie turned toward StarDust and Sylvie whispered, “We have to tell Finn.”
“First.” Christie was pale with anger and fear. “We have to find her.”
“Let me see that.” Sylvie took the jackal walking stick from him. She carefully gripped the handle as she held it horizontally before her. When something clicked beneath her thumb, she partially drew a sword that almost glowed in the night. She and Christie regarded it with awe. She noted, “It’s so thin.”
A dead leaf drifted from StarDust’s snow-dusted roof, onto the blade’s edge, and was neatly sliced in half. Christie’s eyes widened. “And so sharp.”
Sylvie sheathed the blade, hooked the walking stick on its strap over one shoulder, and stomped toward StarDust. “Let’s go.”
As their lights brushed across the metal door, a muffled laugh erupted from the trees. Sylvie’s light speared through the night, but Christie knocked her flashlight aside and quickly turned his off. She did the same. They waited.
Whatever came crashing through the woods made Christie say, “That sounds like drunk people.”
As the first figures appeared, Christie and Sylvie snapped on their lights.
“Shit!” Aubrey Drake flung a hand over his eyes. “Hey! Who’s there?”
The girl with him—Claudette Tredescant—snorted. “It’s Christie and Sylvie.”
The other five blessed came from the trees, carrying bottles and reeking of something that wasn’t nicotine. Christie waved his flashlight. “Aubrey, what are you doing here?”
“This is where we hang out for stress relief.” Aubrey unsteadily extended one arm and made a gesture as if he was an emperor indicating his empire.
“And to get stoned,” Ijio added, one arm around Nicholas Tudor. Victoria Tudor was watching Sylvie and Christie. Claudette Tredescant was giggling. Hester Kierney, the voice of reason, said, “We can go somewhere else.”
Sylvie and Christie looked at each other. Sylvie aimed her light back at the blessed. “You’re really coming out into the woods to get high when there’s a Very Bad Man—Wolf—prowling around? You saw him at Hester’s party.”
“That’s basically why we’re getting high,” Aubrey said, “ ’cause there’s nothing else we can do.”
“Guys.” Hester Kierney seemed to catch on to something. “Let’s go to Drake’s Chapel. I think Christie and Sylvie want to be alone.”
“Wait—ow!” Sylvie glared at Christie, who had hit her with his flashlight.
“Okay.” Aubrey looked doubtful. He ruefully glanced back at Sylvie as he and his friends trudged away, and murmured, “Why would they want to make out in that scary-ass place?”
When they’d gone, Sylvie turned to Christie. “They think we’re on each other.”
“And that’s what worries you? We’re about to step into another freaking dimension and you care about a bunch of sellouts thinking we’re a thing?”
Sylvie breathed deep and turned to face the door, which was made of dark metal, not glass like the rest of the structure, and engraved with images of eyes, hands, and feet tangled in ivy and stars. There was an old-fashioned brass lock. The whole building had a look that reminded Sylvie of old Hollywood. And it seemed to be waiting.
“You ready to do this?” Christie asked as she gripped the dragonfly key like a weapon.
“It’s an adventure,” she whispered, and she shoved the key into the lock.
Christie clasped her hand as the door swung open.
SYLVIE FELT CHRISTIE’S HAND SLIP from hers the moment they stepped through the door into the rosy glow of twilight. She gazed in wonder at the studio before her—it was still abandoned and creepy, and the dusky light, though reassuring, was a shock, because they’d entered at night. She was surrounded by skeletal film equipment and furniture gone to rust and ruin. Lichen and rotting leaves streaked the glass walls and caused unsettling shadows. Beyond the glass doors at the back were a forest and a red sky—there was no snow, only green grass and green trees.
She became aware of a lack of presence