That night I wake to the clangor of chains and gears as the stone door hauls open.

"Ashwyn."

"E.J.?" I bolt upright, squinting through the darkness, holding the blankets to my chest. Wearing clothes while asleep has never made much sense to me.

"No. It's Kundu."

I don't know how I could have thought they were E.J. I must have been dreaming about her.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you like this," they go on, "but it's urgent."

I pull the blanket up over myself then hang off the other side of the bed, grabbing my robe up from the floor. A few seconds later I'm rolling out from under my covers more-or-less dressed.

"What is it? What's going on?"

"The boss got an untraceable message the night Ms. Bee was kidnapped. They gave her a port-sigil and instructed her to turn herself over through it in exchange for Bee's release. We've tried everything to get around it, to locate and rescue her our own way, even contacted the police. We have nothing, and neither do they. We've reached the kidnapper's deadline. E.J.'s preparing to turn herself over."

"What?"

"I'm not happy about it, either. That's why I'm here. We need you."

Hot tears burn the corners of my eyes, track fury down my cheeks. "What can I do? She didn't even bother to tell me."

They fix their uncanny crimson eyes on mine, brow furrowed and stubbly jaw set.

"You can stop her."

~*~

I charge up the stairs to E.J.'s room two at time, lungs burning, heart battering my ribs. I could have taken the lift, but it would have been too fast. I need time to let my Umbral power build unfettered. Then, if I release it at just the right moment—E.J. will become a beast. She'll lose control of herself, and she'll miss the port out. She won't be able to blame anyone but me—and she seems to hate me already, anyway. No harm done to the household.

But what about Beatrice? They could hurt her. They could kill her. But would they really? Their only bargaining chip? Am I willing to take that risk?

A new idea occurs to me.

Focusing on my breathing. I cut off my thoughts. I don't let the power flare. Not yet.

When I reach the roof she's standing over the control pad. The port platform begins to glow as a sigil appears there.

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"Don't even try," E.J. says, already moving around the panel to step onto the sigil.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," I lie, raising my voice to be heard over the rush of wind.

E.J.'s eyes tighten around the corners. A tear streaks down her cheek even as her lips curl back in a snarl. "You're only making this harder for both of us. Get out of here, Ashwyn."

"No."

She's bathed in the light of the sigil now, growing brighter by the second. I throw myself into it, and the stone vanishes from beneath me before I can land.

Within seconds the light fades and the ground returns. E.J. stares down at me from a few paces away with fury written across her face.

"What the fuck, Ashwyn?"

There's a murmuring from the darkness just beyond the fading light of the sigil. Feet scuff across packed dirt. A door bangs open. My eyes adjust, I realize we're in some kind of basement. The walls and ceiling are damp and made of stone. I turn from E.J.'s scalding expression to the small crowd of people staring at us.

I recognize all of them immediately. My mother's four favorite acolytes and her right-hand man Zachary Pollux form a half-ring around us, every one of them armed. Standing at the forefront— dressed in cream-white robes with her mane of gray and brown curls cascading around her shoulders—is my mother herself. Gwendolyn Fleetwood.

~*~

"Ashwyn! you've come home to me!" My mother's expression drips satisfaction, but then her eyes go wide. "You've been stricken!"

I shove my way back to my feet, groaning.

"Mom, what the curses is going on? Why are you doing this? Where's Beatrice?"

"Mr. Pollux, please escort my daughter to her room. Assign a guard." Her eyes move from him to me, lips twisting in a bright smile. "I'll see you in a bit, honey."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving E.J." I'd let go of my control the instant I'd stepped onto the portal sigil. My heart thumps harder, my breathing comes faster, and I can feel the searing power at the center of my chest mounting past the point of containment.

My mother shoots a glance over at Mr. Pollux. He raises an Umbrapistol, twitches the setting wheel, and fires a bolt of blue light into my chest.

It should knock me out. It very nearly does. For half a second, everything goes dark. Then it all flares back. The shock of being shot only makes the power within me burn brighter. My mother's face pales, setting into hard, vicious lines.

"Don't resist. Either of you. If you do, I'll send a signal and your Beatrice will die."

I freeze, but the pulse of Umbra only builds with my anxiety. I have to contain it. I have to. Or it'll be my fault if—

A crackle of purple electricity fizzes through the air around me. My stomach sinks with dread and the light flares. Behind me, E.J. lets loose a panicked growl...her features already subtly warping.

Breathe. Focus on your breath. Make your mind go blank, black. I try. For a few seconds it's almost impossible. Then I realize just how good it would feel to just...not care. To not think. After a few seconds, the purple light subsides. Pollux and two of the acolytes come forward to grab E.J. The last two come for me.

"Mom—"

"Quiet."

They guide us out into a narrow, dark hall, neither one of us daring to so much as drag our feet. While E.J.'s taken to the left, I'm pulled right. At the thought of being separated, my emotions are already starting to break through the wall I've hastily erected to contain them. Terror streaks through me, and I work frantically to contain it. They won't kill her. If they wanted to kill her, they would have already. I don't let myself question that thought. I can't.

The room they lock me in isn't familiar, but everything in it is. Like everywhere else here, the walls and ceilings are stone. Instead of packed dirt, though, the floor is stone tile. The furnishings are all from my childhood bedroom back at the temple—my bed with its carved wooden headboard and chipped lavender paint. The matching dresser. An antique filigree-framed mirror. Even my silver shag rug.

The door shuts behind me the moment I step inside. The latch twitches as they lock me in. I try turning it anyway, but it won't budge. I look around, breathing as evenly as I can. Focusing outward. In one corner is an ancient-looking toilet and a tiny sink, partially hidden behind my painted folding-screen. There are no windows.