ELISABETH TASTED SALT as the round exploded, filling the room with glittering particles, unexpectedly beautiful in the moonlight, like snow. The fingers loosened enough for her to wrench her ankle free. The Malefict answered with a ragged shriek. There came a confused flurry of movement, scaled limbs lashing out in every direction, and then the bedroom door tore straight from its hinges, letting in a spill of light from the sconces in the hall. A stooped, long-eared figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. Another shriek, and it flung itself around the corner.
She snatched Demonslayer from the floor and set off in pursuit, leaping over the splintered remains of the door. The Malefict sped down the hallway with a limping gait, the origin of its binding now clear. It resembled the imps from Ashcroft Manor, but its crimson scales were dusty and desiccated, and seams of stitching ran across its hide. Booklice had left its ears tattered. Patches of gold leaf clung to its body, dull and scabrous with age.
When it reached the stairs, it skittered down on all fours, its claws leaving gashes on the carpeting. At the bottom it careened into a table, sending a vase toppling to the marble tiles. Roses tumbled across the floor amid a cascade of water and broken porcelain. How long had there been fresh flowers in the foyer? Elisabeth hadn’t noticed.
She dismissed the steps in favor of sliding down the rail, leaping into the fray while the Malefict scrambled to regain its footing on the slick tiles. She advanced on it slowly, Demonslayer held at the ready. It cowered away from her, clutching its emaciated hands to its chest, its ink-black eyes round and glistening. She suppressed a surge of pity as she cornered it against the wall. She wasn’t about to underestimate its strength—not after what it had done to her door. An agitated Class Six was more than capable of overpowering a warden.
“What on earth is going on out here?”
Elisabeth froze at the sound of Nathaniel’s voice coming from the hall. A moment later he stepped into the foyer’s moonlight, fully dressed despite the hour. He stopped and leaned against the entryway, calmly evaluating the scene, as if he walked in on this sort of chaos daily.
Her stomach performed a strange maneuver. Her last memory of him, pale and trembling, reaching for Silas’s hand, still felt recent enough to touch. Now that she had seen him that way, it seemed impossible for him to look so collected. So normal, as though nothing about him had changed. But then—nothing had. He had been hiding his pain from her all along. Not just her, but everyone save Silas, who alone had understood.
“Scrivener,” he sighed. “I should have known it was you the moment I heard my great-grandmother’s priceless antique vase hit the floor.” He turned his assessing gaze to the Malefict. “And who’s this? A friend of yours?”
The Codex bared a mouthful of fangs and produced an ear-splitting shriek. Above them, the chandelier trembled.
“Charmed,” Nathaniel said. He turned back to Elisabeth. “If the two of you feel the need to destroy anything else, I’ve been meaning to get rid of Aunt Clothilde’s tapestry for years. You’ll know it when you see it. It’s mauve.”
Elisabeth opened her mouth several times before she could speak. “I need your help.”
“What for? You look like you have the situation under control.”
“Can you turn a Malefict back into a grimoire? With sorcery?”
“Possibly, assuming it’s not too powerful.” Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
She resisted the urge to grit her teeth. Nightmares aside, he was as infuriating as ever. “This grimoire is important evidence against Ashcroft.” Pained, she admitted, “It’s the only thing I have.”
Both of his eyebrows shot up. “I knew you were up to something at the Royal Library. Theft, though? Really, Scrivener?”
Blood rushed hotly to her cheeks. Her grip on Demonslayer loosened. She sensed the mistake the moment she made it—she couldn’t afford to become distracted—but she reacted a split second too late as the Malefict sprang into action, striking her aside and barreling past her guard. The next thing she knew, she lay sprawled on the floor, the air slammed from her lungs.
Don’t let it escape, she thought desperately. If the Codex escaped, all would be lost.
The syllables of an incantation scorched the air. Emerald light swirled above her, reflecting on the wet tiles, limning the petals of the scattered roses. Elisabeth raised herself on one elbow, coughing, to see