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The metal is cold against my skin, heavier than it looks. I turn it over slowly and feel the air leave my lungs in a single, controlled exhale. Engraved into the surface is a barren tree, its thick, knotty roots twisting into a circular border. Not the modern Baron pentagram. Older. Far older. The ancestral Kayes symbol—the mark of the lineage that predated the fraternity’s city-wide reach as undertakers and guardians of the dead. The mark of blood and rot and the old ways that never truly died, no matter how many times the modern House of Night tried to bury them.

My mind flashes to Arianette’s fragmented memories: the ones that surface when she is underwater or cornered by fear. The underground cell with its cold stone and black candles. The place so deep in the forest that even after her escape she’d been unable to lead us back to it. Billy and Mateo speaking in low, reverent voices about the old ways—the real ways—that demanded rebirth through sacrifice. The sacred line was purified only when Amber’s victims were given their rites. All of it has been leading back to Benji and Amber. Back to the Kayes bloodline and the rot that has been living inside it for generations.

I stare at the knotty roots etched into the charm, turning it slowly between my fingers. Arianette was never held in the standard House of Night tunnels. If she had been, we would have found the location by now. The maps would have led us there, or one of the search parties would have stumbled across the chamber. She was hiding somewhere more sacred. Somewhere Amber would choose for her final sacrifices—somewhere the old blood still held meaning.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach for it.

I expect a condemnation for bailing on Arianette tonight, and brace myself for the groveling that I’m going to have to do, but the message on the screen chills me to the bone.

While the Barons were at the theater, Sofia was being watched by a dozen eyes, and as I combed through this abandoned room, Amber made another move.

I pocket the charm and take a deep breath, focusing back on where I should have been all along: With my family.

38

Arianette

The post-show celebration that was roaring backstage earlier is winding down now. Most of the other dancers have already left or are in the process of packing up. A few dancers still linger near the costume racks, carefully hanging leotards and sorting through discarded pointe shoes. The air smells like sweat and the faint sweetness of flowers. Someone has turned off the brighter overhead lights, leaving the space softer, almost intimate.

Even with the stragglers from the performance, I’m not alone.

“My stuff is over here,” I say, pointing the girls toward the corner of the dressing room where I left my things. My curls brush my shoulders as I turn. “You don’t have to wait with me,” I assure them. “Damon’s just being⁠—”

“Protective?” Story suggests, tugging at the hem of her oversized shirt.

“Possessive,” Lavinia asserts, blue hair catching the low light as she crosses her arms.

“Smart,” Verity says. “None of us should be alone right now.”

My eyes skip down to her belly and back up. I can’t help acknowledging that she’s putting herself and her baby at risk just by standing here with me. The thought is unnerving and I do my best to push it, and every other emotion, aside.

“I’ll be fast,” I say, grabbing the small pile of street clothes I brought and ducking behind a curtain to change out of my costume. The fabric of the Chosen One’s dress is damp with sweat and clings to my skin as I peel it off. I take a slow breath, trying to shake away the leftover adrenaline from the performance, while also trying to get over the fact that Timothy didn’t show up. There was something out there more important than I am to him.

“Take your time,” I hear Lavinia say from the other side of the curtain. “The guys are in planning mode and it’s either going to end up taking a while for them to figure it out or it’ll end in a fist fight.”

“Well, they can’t fight for long,” Story says. “They’ve got to get out there and find Auggy before the Equinox.”

“We’ve still got time,” Verity says. “Right, Ari?”

The way she shortens my name seems familiar. Friendly. Something I’m not used to from other women.

“Yes, the spring Equinox doesn’t start for another two days. Tuesday morning, around seven,” I say, pulling a soft sweater over my head and hunting for my skirt under the rest of the clothes. I want to be reassuring, but no one knows Amber’s exact timeline. So yeah, time is of the essence–an additional pressure—pressure for me to do the impossible and somehow remember the things that might lead us to Amber.

I step out of the changing area and face the three of them. Story is leaning against a mirror, Lavinia has claimed a stool, and Verity stands with one hand resting lightly near her stomach. They all look at me with the kind of attention that makes my throat tighten.

“Before we go, I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” I say. “It means a lot. And I hope I don’t disappoint everyone if I can’t figure out where Amber is hiding.”

“You are not disappointing anyone, Arianette,” Verity says firmly. “Our minds are tricky things. You went through a lot when you were kidnapped. It’s not a surprise your mind wants to protect you.”

“I know, but the idea of Stella and now her sister going through all of this? I hate it.” But it’s more. I’m scared for them. I agree that this will likely end before the Equinox. Amber will go through with whatever ritual she thinks will give her the new life she’s been craving.

“You know,” Lavinia says, her voice quieter than usual. “I went through a time when I couldn’t remember everything that happened with my sister. It was confusing and frustrating. I had paralyzing nightmares, and I had a hard time trusting myself.”

“Did anything help?” I ask.

“Getting a handle on my traumatic childhood helped. Realizing that my sister wasn’t my enemy. Sy helped me work through the nightmares—but I had to trust him first.” She looks up at me, blue hair framing her face. “That’s the key to this kind of thing, I think. Embracing yourself and letting go of the past. The question isn’t whether you were safe then, because fuck no, I sure as hell wasn’t. But are you safe now?”

I don’t have to think about the answer. “Yes. I’m safe.”