TWENTY-TWO
EMELINE SLEPT TERRIBLY THATnight. Her dreams were full of Hawthorne. Hawthorne untying her robe and sliding it off her shoulders. Hawthorne in her bed, his body flush with hers. Hawthorne whispering sweet things against her skin.
Emeline pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to grind the dreams out of her head.
How am I supposed to face him?Last night was too embarrassing to come back from.
Maybe they could pretend it never happened and move on.It was only an enchantment, after all.Maybe nothing needed to be weird or awkward. They could simply avoid each other until Emeline saved her grandfather and escaped. After which, they’d never see each other again.
Emeline pushed Hawthorne out of her mind in order to focus on her lessons. She spent that morning and afternoon with Calliope, pushing hard through the Song Mage’s music. Countering her new instructor’s patience with an unyielding drive to learn as much as she could.
The songs were more of the same: odes to the minstrel’s muse, the moon-marked woman whose beauty had utterly bewitched him. Emeline was starting to wonder if he’d made this woman up. She was so … perfect. No woman was this perfect.
By midafternoon, she’d managed to learn two new songs, bringing her count up to seven. That left four songs to still learn—one partly missing—before tomorrow at midnight.
She had no idea if she could do it.
So much depended on what she found at the Song Mage’s house today.
IT WAS THE WITCHINGhour when Emeline and Grace arrived at the Song Mage’s estate. Despite the iron gate hanging open, their horses refused to tread any closer. They were in the Stain here, and the sickly trees looked bleached in the sunlight filtering down from the sky, their leaves silvery with corruption.
“This is it?” Emeline stared across the curse-bitten earth, past the black stagnant pond, to the end of the path leading towards the towering manor. Darkness clung to the house. Dead moss covered the sunken roof like a carpet, and cobwebbed cracks scarred the windowpanes.
It certainly didn’t seem livable. Not even for a witch.
“According to Sable’s map, yeah.” Rolling up the map, Grace thrust it back into the canister buckled to her saddle. “This is it.”
The trees of the Stain murmured anxiously around them.Beware.They brushed their leaves across Emeline’s cheeks.Horror lurks within that house.
Neither of them swung down from their horses.
“Well,” said Grace, chin in the air, clearly working up the nerve to dismount. “Probably best not to linger.”
They left the horses, stepped through the gate, and warily approached the house. Corrupted elm trees bordered the path,watching Emeline pass beneath them, whispering as she approached the door.
Turn back, Emeline.
She glanced to Grace, who either didn’t hear the warnings or was ignoring them.
The rotted wood was slick with damp and the doorknob was ice-cold beneath Emeline’s fingers. When she turned the knob and pushed the door open, she found the air within even colder. Unnaturally so.
Grace shivered. “What are we looking for again?”
“Sheet music. Rough drafts of songs. Any musical notes left by the Song Mage.”
“Right. Got it. Let’s be quick.”
Emeline eyed the hilt of a short sword strapped to Grace’s boot.Just in case we run into trouble,Grace had told her earlier.
The floorboards sagged beneath their footsteps, mushy with rot. Furniture lay smashed and overturned around them, while years of moisture flecked the windowsills with mold. Meanwhile, the late-afternoon sun beamed cheerfully though the windows as if it hadn’t gotten the creepy memo.
Emeline’s heart sank. If the sheet music was here, it was likely damaged, or decomposed.
Grace waded through the chaos. “This will go faster if we split up.”
Emeline nodded. “I’ll search upstairs. Call me if you … see anything.”
“Like a bloodthirsty witch?” Grace smiled, trying to lighten the mood. Except a sudden breeze rattled the windowpanes, making them both jump.
