She cackles. “Have you seen the world we live in, Abriella? Have you seen the realities I’ve saved you from by keeping you under this roof? Maybe your sister is the lucky one. Maybe you should be wishing you could’ve gone in her place.” She waves toward the door. “Now, out. Go enjoy your freedom. But unless you want to sign a rental contract, you’ll need to find a new place to sleep, effective immediately.”
I wouldn’t stay here another night if she paid me, but I don’t bother responding. I pull her office door shut and rush down the stairs to the cellar.
Our bedroom looks just as it always does. Jas’s sewing kit sits open against the wall. She must have been working when Bakken took her. The muslin mockup of my dress is folded on the foot of the bed, and I clutch it to my chest, ignoring the stinging pinch of the pins poking me from the fabric.
I crawl on the bed and curl onto my side. I’m too tired to cry, too stunned, but my eyes burn. She’s really gone.
The door clicks, hinges creaking as it swings open, then whooshes shut again. I feel his presence without having to look. The mattress shifts as Sebastian sinks onto the bed, lying on his side to face me. He takes my chin in his hand, tipping my face up so I meet his eyes. “Hey . . .” He wipes my tears away with his thumb. “It’s true, then?”
I can only stare at him—at those eyes like the stormy sea, at the wrinkle between his brows that reveals more of his worry and fear than his words likely will.
“Brie?”
“It’s true.” I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “Madame V sold her.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters a curse. “Another year,” he whispers, his jaw hardening. “Another year, and I would’ve been able to free you myself.”
“This isn’t on you, Bash. You can’t blame yourself for what Madame V did.”
He blows out a long breath and opens his eyes, pulling one of my hands off the muslin to grip between both of his. “Please promise me you won’t go searching for her. I can’t bear to think what might happen to you if you went to Faerie.”
“What about what’s happening to Jas there now?”
“Just give me a chance. Let me try to figure this out.”
Sebastian leaves tomorrow for the next part of his apprenticeship. I don’t know what he thinks he can do for her, but I nod. I won’t deny his help, even if I don’t believe he can save her.
He releases my hand and looks around the room I’ve shared with my baby sister for the past nine years. “Where will you go?” he asks.
I don’t have much in the way of possessions. I could pack up everything and be out of here by sunset. “My friend Nik owes me a favor. I’ll stay with her.” Until I can come up with a plan to get Jas back.
Nik will feel awful about what Madame V did, maybe even blame herself, but I know in my gut that if we hadn’t missed today’s payment, we would have missed another in the future. The money I gave Nik couldn’t have saved Jas when a soulless witch held her life in her hands.
“I am so sorry,” he says, his eyes searching my face.
“Me too.”
“I promised Mage Trifen I’d help with his next client. Will you be okay if I go? I’ll come find you later.”
I nod, and another tear escapes. Sebastian watches it roll down my cheek before following its path with his thumb. The touch is so gentle it makes me want to wrap my arms around his waist and curl into him, to bury my face in his chest and pretend none of this is happening.
Instead, I say goodbye, happy to see him go, if only so I can make a plan.
* * *
Madame Vivias’s house goblin lives under the stairs by the kitchen. I knock softly with one hand and pull the tie from my hair with the other.
Goblins love human hair, teeth, and nails—collect them the way the Seelie queen is rumored to collect jewels. If I’m going to get any information out of Bakken, it’ll be by using my hair. I can only hope that denying him all these years has made him want it that much more.
He yanks the door open on my second knock, and the faint odor of rotting fruit wafts from his tiny room. Bakken is a typical house goblin—short and barrel-bellied, with spindly limbs and thin lips that can’t quite close around his pointed teeth. His bulging eyes widen greedily when he spots my hair. I rarely leave it down, and never around goblins. “Good day, Fire Girl. How may I help you?”
I ignore the nickname he’s used for me since the day we moved in with Uncle Devlin and I met Bakken for the first time. He took my hand in both of his and leered at the scar on my wrist—the only evidence left of the burns that should have killed me. That day, I was shocked that he knew about the fire and my unlikely survival, when I knew nothing about him. I didn’t know then that goblins deal in stories—in histories, secrets, and information. They make it their business to know. “Take me to my sister.”