thought. I would know if I was standing in front of the Dark One. But she had stood in front of Nero half a dozen times. Dragging herself out of the river. Searching for answers in the library. Fumbling with the siphon. She had stood in his workshop with his voice surrounding her. She had—
“Oh my God.” Sloane put her head in her hands and rocked back and forth.
The origami. The paper crane she had found in Nero’s office with scribbles of color on the notebook paper. It hadn’t just resembled Albie’s; it had been Albie’s. The Dark One had kept it, whether as some kind of sick trophy or some kind of foundation for magic, she didn’t know.
She didn’t know a goddamn thing.
He had been standing at her bedside when she woke. She had seized up at the sight of him, freezing somewhere between lying down and sitting up.
Hello, Sloane. Despite the friendly form of address, his voice had been cold and almost robotic. Did you get some sleep?
They had been careless, her and Albie, as they crept toward the enclave of Dark One supporters, just the two of them, off a country road in the night. They had been in Iowa, and the air had smelled sweet, like yellow grass baking in sunlight. For Sloane, the place had felt familiar: roadside gravel, prairie plants scratching her ankles, a big, star-dusted sky. And maybe that was the reason she had let her guard down a little. Or maybe there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. But they had taken her, taken Albie, swarmed them, knocked them out. When she woke, she had such a bad headache she could hardly open her eyes.
The Dark One’s question had seemed ridiculous. What she had gotten hadn’t been sleep. It had been unconsciousness.
He hadn’t needed an answer. I hope so, because you have a big decision to make today. She had forced herself to her feet and noted the exits. Behind her, a window. Simple enough to break with a lamp or a bedpost. And behind the Dark One, a door, simple wood with a pushbutton lock. A hairpin would—
You wouldn’t leave without your friend, would you? the Dark One had said. Could he read thoughts or could he just read her? Either option terrified her.
His face, though, was what terrified her most. It was like the face of a wax figure in that it resembled someone she had seen once in passing on the street or as a placeholder in a picture frame, but it had no identity of its own. His skin was smooth—too smooth—and his hair was a nondescript shade of brown that could almost have been blond. A face constructed, it seemed, to be forgettable—but by someone who didn’t know what it was to look human.
I would like to know where your cache of magical objects is located, the Dark One had said. In return, I will give you a profound gift. I will show you to yourself, Sloane. Such a rare treasure, to see yourself.
To his credit, she supposed, he had done exactly as he promised.
“He’s kept his identity a secret for a long time,” Ziva croaked. “Why does he want you to know who he is now?”
Sloane stared at the boots, the red laces still knotted at the ends so the fraying wouldn’t spread. She felt frozen even though Mox had led her to the storeroom and made her sip some water. The boots were lined up next to the door as if the warehouse were her grandmother’s place. “I . . . I don’t know,” she said dully.
“Something’s different now,” Mox said. He had pulled the other chair over to sit right in front of her, so her right knee was wedged between his legs. “You left.”
She found herself staring at him, at how he made the chair look child-size, his knees higher than his hips and his big hands hanging limp between them. Hot praying mantis, Esther had called him. “He has my friends,” she said. “He knows I’ll go back and try to help them if I find out he’s dangerous.”
“No.” Mox shook his head. “You can’t do that.”
“Why would he care where you are?” Ziva said. “You can’t do magic. You don’t know anything he doesn’t. What’s so special about you?”
They were such obvious facts, Sloane couldn’t even be offended. She shook her head. She didn’t know. She had never known why the Dark One showed a particular interest in