“Take us there.”
He shoved the map away, like it was a burning flame and not a simple scrap of paper.
“I can’t,” he said.
“Bel—”
He stopped my lips with his thumb, and then trailed it along the ridge of my jawline. “You know I love our arguments dearly, but I don’t have time to argue on this. Hide the map. Wait for me until I’m back. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” He touched the key at his neck. “We’ll figure it out later. I promise.”
He wasn’t taking us.
After he was gone, I threw the map across the room then paced the floor for many minutes. He didn’t return. I tried sitting for a little while, but I was too antsy.
There was no clock in Bel’s room, and it had been very close to midnight when I came up here. He should be back by now. Unable to stay put, I rushed out of the room and down the hall.
A hand grabbed my shoulder, jerking me around.
“Found her,” Sido called out.
He wrenched my arms behind my back, his stinking breath on my face. I thrashed, clawing at him, but it didn’t do a thing. “Let me go,” I said, but he ignored me.
Alastair walked over with Yrsa.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Where’s Bel?”
He didn’t answer me. He drew a finger around my right eye and nodded at the alchemist. “Take her downstairs.”
My heart thumped. “What? Why?”
“With pleasure.” Yrsa grabbed me by my elbow. Sido did the same on the other arm, pulling me. They shoved me into the lift.
“You can’t do this!” I shouted.
Alastair ignored me. He walked to the moon window. For a moment he stood there, staring out. Then he let out a frustrated cry and smashed his fist against the thick glass.
The image of Alastair stayed with me as they brought me to that terrible room behind the bar. Sido held me while Yrsa lifted her teacup with the reverence a mother might bestow a newborn babe. She then placed it on the long table—that same table Red had lain sprawled across. Bile rose in my throat. Next to the table, a single oil lamp burned beside a macabre display of curiosities I hadn’t noticed the first time.
Bottles, tinctures, canisters, and glass jars filled with tiny bones dotted the shelves. Then other things: blades and feathers, vials of human hair. Teeth. A small bird skull sat on a book slick with drippings of candle wax. A glowing mercury glass vial labeled maiden’s tears sat next to other jars labeled with various emotions like sorrow and regret. Down at the end sat a huge shelf filled with eyes.
My knees buckled. Half the shelf was stuffed with glass eyes in various colors and sizes. The other half was filled with porcelain versions, unglazed white orbs that looked out at nothing. Each one unique. Each one a person. A finishing hammer coated with porcelain dust sat next to an eye cracked in two, no doubt belonging to a corpse.
Hellas came through the door the same moment Yrsa unrolled her surgeon’s kit.
“How is it out there?” she asked him.
“Messy,” Hellas replied.
I wanted to know what he meant.
Yrsa nodded. “Sido, stand at the door by the bar. Make sure no one wanders back here.”
I stumbled when he let me go. At the sound of Sido leaving, something rustled in the corner: a tiny golden bird in a cage.
“What’s she doing here?”
Yrsa lifted a piece of porcelain, a slim finger more delicate than my own. “One outburst and I’ll snap this. You can see what happens for yourself.” She glanced at my sister. “Alastair said a doorway bit off her fingers. Such a shame I wasn’t the one to cut them off.” Her mouth slanted up.
Rage flooded every inch of me. Yrsa pulled a spool of black thread from a lower shelf and rested it beside a pair of blood-flecked pliers, a spoon, a knife, and a candle. She waved a hand over her teacup and the not-milk swirled. One creamy tendril touched her finger. She flicked it down.
Zosa shrieked, flapping at the cage bars.
My nails dug crescents into my palms. “You might think you’re helping the ma?tre’s cause, but you’re nothing more than a curse on this world.”
My words seemed to put Yrsa in a better mood. She hummed while she lit the blue-flamed candle. Slowly, she lifted the knife and held it over the flame, twisting it until the metal glowed red at the edges.
“Up you go. On the table.” She waved the thin knife at me. “Hurry now.”
The table swirled with a mess of wax drippings and dried blood. My legs shook so badly they threatened to give out. I couldn’t crawl up there if I wanted to.