I laughed—a shrill, desperate sound—as the vision faded away . . . as Madame Marineaux’s face swam back into my vision.
My laugh broke off, replaced by a sob. I toppled to the hard earth. “Where is it?” I screamed, clutching at her skirts. “The vision, bring it back! Please, I want it back.”
The edges of her lips twisted up. “And you can have it, Mademoiselle Fitt. You can
“Do not believe her!” Joseph rasped, still bound to the table. “It is only a fantasy.”
“Ah, but it is
With your power and mine, we can do anything. They”—her voice lifted, as if she wanted the Spirit-
Hunters to hear—“do not appreciate you. These Spirit-Hunters think you are dark, but they simply do not understand that this is who you are. But I understand, for you have told me all your troubles.
“You are not dark,” she went on. “You are
I shook my head, my eyes burning with tears.
“They do not understand that your mother hates you. That your friends have all rejected you. Or that your fortune is gone. What do
—“know of the dresses you had to sell to pay for your mother’s bills? Your ungrateful,
What do they know of the friends who avoid you on the street or laugh behind your back?”
A sob shuddered through my chest. Everything she said was true
“Nor,” she continued, “can they see the fine line you walk between life and death. The Hell
Hounds await you—still these guardians hunger for your blood. You
“I will tell you,” Madame Marineaux declared. “The Spirit-Hunters know nothing. Their lives have gotten better, while
Madame Marineaux bent to me and whispered in my ear, “I feel your pain as strongly as my own,
“What—” My voice cracked, but I tried again. “What do you want from me?”
“Oh, it is easy.” She brushed my hair lovingly from my face. “My master—my
“What do I have to do?”
“Don’t!” Daniel roared. “Empress, don’t!”
Madame Marineaux twirled around, and I realized with a start that Daniel and Joseph were both free now . . . that Daniel was running toward me.
But then a bolt of light flew from Madame Marineaux’s hand and blasted Daniel in the chest. He toppled backward, flipping over like a rag doll to crash into the stone altar.
And for several heartbeats I only watched. Completely indifferent . . . until a noxious wave pummeled into me—a shock wave from Madame Marineaux’s spell that was filled with complete
“Daniel!” I pushed off the wall, trying to skitter around Madame Marineaux. But she was faster—
so much faster.
She lifted me up and slammed me against the wall. Pain cracked into my skull, and sparks raced through my vision. I reached for her, tried to scratch at her face, but she merely straightened her arms —and somehow her arms were suddenly longer than mine. Much longer, and my fingers reached nothing but air.
So I punched her elbow.
Her arm shuddered, and a wail broke from her lips. “After all I have offered and given,
“Offered?” I croaked. “By sacrificing
“An amulet for the Marquis?” She gave a giggle. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“His cane. I know what it is.”
Now her giggle became a howl of laughter. “How quaint! You think his cane is an amulet. But it is not; it is a far more powerful artifact than any amulet. I told you I found it in India, did I not? I have no need for silly compulsion spells. My venom compels anyone I want. Why, a drop of venom in your wine, a drop of venom on your dress—
Her claws dug deeper. She wanted to poison me. Wanted to overwhelm me with her visions . . .
“Then why did you need sacrifices?” It took all my strength to stay still. To fight the shudders racking inside me. “If you can compel and you had wealth, why sacrifice all those people?”
“Those were not for me. Though the blood was
Over her shoulder, I saw Oliver hauling Daniel to his feet. Satisfaction—triumph, even—washed over me. At least Oliver and the Spirit-Hunters could get out alive. Now, I was the only one who had to walk the fine line between life and death. . . .
And with that thought I recalled Madame Marineaux’s comment:
The Hell Hounds. If there was one thing a demon—even one as powerful as a Rakshasi—could not face, it was the guardians of the spirit realm. And thanks to Marcus’s spell, I knew just how to call them here.
I creased my face into a sneer—a victorious smile I could not contain. “Why would your master,”
I crowed, “want compulsion spells? I thought, Madame Marineaux, that he could simply make you—
make his
She gritted her teeth, her nostrils fluttering. “He wants a spell that lasts days. Weeks, even. Mine only maintain for hours at a time.”
“Because your magic isn’t good enough? Is that it? He does not think your magic is strong—”
“Stop!” she screeched. “I see what you try to do,