The shadow slinked a wide circle around her. Then another. And another. The creature, whatever it was, drew closer each time.
Blythe attempted to flash but failed. She tried to mist. Another fail.Too weak.
The darkness receded as the shadow stopped directly in front of her. She jolted. A wraith. A species that fed on a specific emotion. None could assume a solid physical form, but all could change their appearance at will. This particular wraith had chosen a beautiful redhead with amber eyes and overlarge breasts squeezed into a skintight silver gown. Very evil queen chic.
“Hello, Blythe. My name is Penelope. Some call me Miss Murder. I answer to either.”
She knows me?Blythe struggled to think as she attempted to swing the dagger, but again, she failed, her arm too heavy to lift. No, no, no.Need to fight!
The wraith chortled. “I’ll take this, thank you very much.” Penelope plucked the prized weapon and sheath from her grip. “By the way, it was your father who told me you’d be arriving tonight. He’s paying me to oversee your...care. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of forging a link between us.” She grazed a red-tipped nail against the ruby. “From now on, I’ll feast on your hatred anytime I open the link. Or anytime you decide to wallow in the emotion.” A wicked grin bloomed. “Don’t hate me—or do—but I’m not sure I’ve ever tasted anything sweeter. To be honest, I’m hoping to glut myself.”
Betrayed!“Why?” Blythe eked out. Why would Erebus do this?
The other woman’s grin widened. “Isn’t it obvious, dear? You aren’t the Astra’s killer. You’re the bait.”
5
THE MYSTERY
Roux walked like a doomed man headed to his execution. He held a piece of crumpled paper in a tight grip. An invitation from Isla Skyhawk, Blythe’s young daughter.
His lungs emptied anytime he glanced down at the paper. Hand-drawn locks and keys consumed every free space. The old iron ones with fancy swirls. In the center of the page, she’d written:
WHAT? A TEA PARTY.
WHEN? TWO MINUTES AGO. DON’T BE
LATE.
WHY? YOU OWE ME.
No location was mentioned. Not that he required any kind of map to find her.
He should ignore the summons. He had duties to complete. By Roc’s command, Roux must aid Ian and Silver as they fortified the palace against Erebus. Somehow, the god continued to bypass once impenetrable defenses, bringing his phantoms inside. But how could Roux turn down an “invitation” from a young girl who’d recently lost her father because Roux had brutally slain the male?
He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. No doubt Isla wished to poison him. An act of revenge. Something most harpies revered. One thought kept him striding forward. He’d left her with a memory she would forever long to scrub from her mind; something too many others had done to him. If he could ease her inner agonies in any way, why not play along?
His dread magnified as he entered a small sitting room with yellow walls, gilt-framed portraits, crystal vases, and velvet sofas, all spotlighted by lavender beams of sunlight filtering through a stained glass wall. Delicate china was spread over a large oval coffee table.
Isla sat on a beaded pillow, concentrating with all her might as she poured steaming tea into a saucer. She wore a pink leotard and a fluffy tutu, with her sleek black hair twisted into a bun.
Seeing her, he felt like someone shot him in the stomach. Would she shrink back with terror upon noticing him?
After placing the teapot on the table, she glanced up at him with mismatched irises. One blue, one brown. No, she didn’t shrink back. She narrowed her eyes.
“Sit,” she commanded, motioning to the pillow on the other side of the table.
Such bravery deserved a reward. “Yes, ma’am. I believe I will.” Roux folded his enormous body onto a small pillow across from her and attempted to get comfortable. An impossibility. Never had he felt so awkward. “May I ask why you have no fear of me?”
Her brow furrowed, as if he’d asked an unanswerable question. “Why would I be afraid of you? I’m, like, a powerful goddess or whatever.”
Yes, he supposed she was. “Does your mother know about this party for—”
“Nope,” she interjected, so much like Blythe he figured he’d be losing another kidney before this ended.
WherewasBlythe? What was she doing? Yesterday afternoon, mere days after Halo’s triumph, she’d come to Roux’s bedroom. He knew she had. He’d caught a waft of her delectable fragrance—mixed with her father’s. But neither individual had appeared, or challenged him. Or approached him since. He thought he might, perhaps, miss the female.
Isla pushed a cup toward him, the action smooth. “I know your secret.”