Mia was the first to speak. “What if this was never about the Moonstone? I mean, it might have started out that way, and no doubt they all still want to use the Moonstone’s inexhaustible aether.”

“I’m fairly certain we could place Gaspar, Oakley, and Victor in that bunch.” Exeter offered. “But—”

“But perhaps not Prospero.” Mia rolled a bottom lip under her pearly white uppers. “We’re all thinking it. Luna is special, but what if she’s really special?”

Exeter knew what they must do. “We have to split up.”

Phaeton shook his head. “There is no safe place from him. America needs to rest—the hotel suite will have to do.”

Exeter pondered, for a moment, the whereabouts of the others. He still had no idea if Jersey Blood had survived the blast in the tunnel. Perhaps there had been additional cave-ins. Exeter shook off the grisly thought. All he really knew was that the Nightshades were missing. “There’s a communicator and a portal maker in the dining room. See if you can’t locate Oakley. Tell him to send Ruby and Cutter over.”

Phaeton nodded. “I’d feel better with a few bodyguards.”

“Mia and I will continue to act as decoys.” Exeter chose the widest, most well-trafficked tunnel and headed toward his best guess at north. Using all of his intuitive feelers, he led them in the general direction of the river. They must have covered a mile of quarry tunnel before they encountered the terrifying sound of—quiet. No more Métro trains traveling at high speed down adjacent tunnels.

“I believe we have passed through a portal.” Phaeton mused aloud. “We are returned to eighteen eighty-nine.”

“Would that be good news, or bad?” America asked.

“Good.” Phaeton mused aloud. “While in captivity, these past long months, I’ve had a chance to study the wizard. He’s not as comfortable in our world. Never stays for long and is knackered upon return.” Phaeton lifted America higher and redistributed the weight in his arms.

“Do you need a rest?” Exeter asked.

“I can go a bit longer—I was allowed a bit of gymnasium every day—confined to the cell block. Kept me from going barking mad.”

Exeter checked over the child, who had begun to fuss. “I recommend we find a defensible spot and take a rest.” A chorus of hisses and growls could be heard behind them. “What is that?”

“Something revived from the dead—ghastly creatures.” A disembodied voice answered, politely.

“Above us.” Exeter nodded upward. Perched in an alcove overhead, two large eyes blinked in the dark. A hairy face plunged forward, tilting a curious chin. Phaeton turned a shoulder to the creature, shielding mother and child, but the troll ignored the rebuff and intruded for a closer look at the infant.

“Careful.” Exeter calmed the defensive father. “He won’t hurt her.”

As if the baby could sense her father’s trepidation, Luna ceased her crying and stared.

For a moment, the hisses quieted as well. “There’s a horde of them,” the troll explained. “Made from catacomb bones, with a few masterful touches by the wizard himself.

“More wraiths?” Mia looked to Exeter.

Exeter had yet to take his eyes off the troll. “You were supposed to keep watch. What happened?”

“Those things—the drones happened. Or wraiths. Whatever you prefer to call them. Wretched creatures like most of his creations.” The troll’s brogue was gone, replaced by proper British speak.

Phaeton pivoted in place, peering down several smaller tunnels. “What’s the fastest way out of here—the closest exit?”

“There’s a passage not far from here that connects to an old drainage pipe. The storm drain leads up to a florist shop.”

Exeter nodded. “Archie, I need you to get these good people up top. Find the Hôtel Claude, on Île de la Cité.” He searched in his pocket and passed the room key over to the only one with a free hand—the troll.

Phaeton’s stare traveled from the key up the lumbering hairy-faced creature and over to Exeter. “Hard to sneak him in, but I like the size of him.”

“Lock yourselves in the sixth-floor suite. Order room service and a bottle of stout for America.” When Phaeton raised a brow, he explained, “Encourages the secretion of milk by the mammary glands.”


Mia followed close behind Exeter, who set a blistering pace through a passage that veered off to the east, along the Seine. They did not speak, but concentrated on putting as much distance between themselves and the troll family as they could safely manage. This section of tunnel was older—and piled high with bones. They were headed back into the catacombs. A cold shiver vibrated through her body.

Mia grabbed hold of Exeter’s arm, slowing the pace. “What if Prospero knows about the trap?”

Exeter shortened his stride, pulling her up beside him. “You think he suspects something?”

Her nod quickly turned into a confusing shake. “I’m not sure—it’s more of a feeling than anything he said. There was something odd about the way he spoke of his appointment—as though he wanted me to know where he was going. He mentioned Ping and an address. Eight rue de Talleyrand.”

Exeter stared. “The address of the Contessa Castiglione?”

“Ping and Tim could be in trouble. I say we pay her a visit. We’re invited, are we not?” There was something comforting about his wary gaze. She’d seen it hundreds of times over the years. Ordinarily it meant he was on to her—some bit of mischief she was plotting. But not tonight. Tonight his shaded squint felt reassuring.

Emboldened by his interest, she continued. “If I’m right—we might be able to help Tim and Ping capture him. Prospero can’t fight us all off.”

“We’ll make our way to the Contessa’s home . . . however . . .”

A caveat was coming. “Yes, Exeter?”

“We will not be announced. We’ll find another way in—have a look about. If I deem the situation too dangerous, you will leave immediately.”

“And what about you?” she protested. Exeter laid a finger to his lips. The hissing sounds and low moans were drawing closer. She brightened. “A good sign, is it not?” The wraiths had followed her and Exeter.

“How are you feeling?” She sensed his struggle to read the signs of an impending shift in the dark. The telltale wrinkle in her brow and pain in her eyes. The band of headache radiating from temple to temple. He placed a thumb to her racing pulse, so he could feel the elevation in temperature. No use hiding her symptoms any longer. “She wants out.”

Exeter massaged her temples. Gentle hands, the hands of a healer. “Better?”

Mia closed her eyes and nodded. “A bit.”

“Hold her back, until we arrive at the soiree. We’ll find a spare room—or closet. I’ll take care of you.” She imagined his mouth on a nipple—his fingers slipping inside her. Arousal shuddered pleasantly through her body.

Mia grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him back. She kissed him hard, drawing blood. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

He licked his bottom lip. “We must go.”

The hissing noises had grown steadily louder—by the time they found an exit, the wraiths were nearly upon them. Rounding a corner, a bony hand stretched out and grasped at her shoulder. Exeter turned and leveled a blast of energy at the wraith and pushed her up a ladder. “Wait for me topside.”

The wraith hordes had reached the level of a howling storm. “Do not try to fight them off by yourself.” She turned back to see a large round ball of energy grow in his palm. A squadron of skeletons dressed in rags hissed at the sight and retreated.

“Topside, young lady. I’ll just be a moment.” Exeter glanced up at her. “Promise.”

Mia climbed the ladder and turned the wheel of the hatch. Nothing—no release, just a few creaks and groans. She put her shoulder to the stubborn barrier and pushed. Finally, the door swung open. Mia stepped out into the cold night air and marveled briefly at the unlikely spot. The hidden entrance was situated just below the foot of the Pont Neuf.

Exeter climbed out of the small opening. “Shall we make our way to eight rue de Talleyrand?”

Mia picked up her skirts and jumped over a puddle. “The sooner the better.”

Exeter hailed a hansom on the left bank and they were at the Contessa’s palatial maison in minutes. Parting the canvas curtain to have a look ahead, he spoke softly. “There’s a line of carriages at the gate waiting to enter the grounds.” He tapped on the roof and passed the driver a few coins. “We’ll be getting out here.”

Inside the gate, they meandered past low shrubs and through flower beds. The garden path led to an open door under a sign that read LIVRAISONS. A swath of gaslight poured out the entrance, illuminating several cases of champagne. Exeter grabbed a bottle and nudged Mia through the delivery door, startling a scullery maid. “We seem to have taken a wrong turn. Might you point us toward the salon?”

Following the girl’s directions, he opened the door on the right and found the servants’ stairs. On the second floor, he turned the knob. Mia wriggled between Exeter and the crack in the door.

“What do you see?” His words breezed past her ear and tingled through her body. Mia caught her breath. “A gathering of rather smart-looking nobs swilling champagne and—”

“And?”

The scene was not unlike any soiree one might attend in London, with an exception. “Not a soul in costume, but some are wearing demi masks—or donning them.” Mia shifted to one side, so Exeter could see. “What do you make of it?”

Exeter squinted through the crack. “It appears there is yet another level to this party—on the third floor.” He opened the door as a servant walked by, and scooped two black feathered masks off a tray.