I ignore him. I turn away from my father’s figure and try to catch my breath. I close my eye again. The world presses down on me. “It’s just an illusion,” I say, trying not to panic. An illusion like always. But my fear only fuels it, making it stronger. The lines of reality start to blur. No, no, it’s not an illusion at all. My father has come back from the dead. When he catches up to me, he is going to kill me. I tremble all over.
When I glance behind me, my father is gone.
In his place is Enzo. The Reaper. His dark hood and silver mask cover his face, but I know it’s him, can tell by his tall, lean, lethal shape, the predatory grace of his walk. He holds a dagger in each hand, both blades glowing white hot with heat. For an instant, my heart jumps into my throat. The edges of my vision turn red, and I remember the way he used to train with me, how he’d touch my hand and mold my grip on my daggers to the correct shape. I want to run to him. I want to take his mask off and wrap my arms around him. I want to tell him that I’m sorry. But I don’t. He walks with the stride of a killer. He is hunting me.
The Reaper flicks his wrists.
Lines of fire explode from his hands and rush down the canal toward us. Above, the edges of the canal burst into flames. The roar and heat drown out everything—my skin turns scorching hot. The fire closes in all around us. It licks at the buildings, climbing higher and higher until the flames consume the rooftops. I bury my head in my hands and scream. Somewhere, my sister is calling for me, but I don’t care.
I’m back at my burning again, chained to the iron stake. Teren tosses a blazing torch onto the kindling at my feet.
I need water. I scramble to the edge of the boat. Magiano lunges for me, but I move too fast. The next moment, I feel the sudden splash of cold water and the fire crisping my skin extinguishes. All around me is darkness. Shapes glide in the depths. A haunting voice calls my name, beckoning me deeper. Claws loom in the eerie water around me.
A bony hand seizes my arm. I open my mouth to scream, but bubbles rush out instead in a torrent. Something is trying to pull me under.
Adelina.
I’m in the Underworld. The angel of Fear is calling me.
“Adelina!”
The whispers of Formidite change into my sister’s voice, and the bony hand on my arm turns into a boy’s hand. Magiano pulls me to the surface. I suck in a lungful of air. Someone lifts me back into the boat, inch by inch—I think it is the boatman and my sister. I scramble to one side. My clothes cling heavily to my skin, as if still trying to drag me into the water and give me to the Underworld. I look around frantically.
The flames are gone. The odd yellow tone of the world has faded away, and the pressure in the air has disappeared. Enzo is nowhere to be seen. Neither is my father. All I see are Magiano, Violetta, and the boatman, all staring at me in bewilderment, while a few spectators have gathered along the canal’s edge. Some of those spectators are soldiers.
Magiano acts first. He turns to the onlookers and waves his arms. “She’s fine,” he calls out. “Just afraid of dragonflies. I know. I worry for her too.”
A few mutters of disbelief come from the crowd, but it works well enough that the people start to disperse, their attention turning back to the other chaos of the city.
“We have to go,” Violetta says as she moves close to me. She puts a hand on my face. It takes me a moment to realize that the visions stopped only because she took my power away. Already, I can feel her slowly giving it back. Behind her, Magiano shoots me an irritated look as he talks to the boatman.
“You didn’t see anything?” I stammer to Violetta. “The fire on the streets? Our father watching us from the canal bridge?”
Violetta frowns. “No. But we did make a scene.”
I collapse backward against the boat and cover my face with my hands. An illusion. It was all an illusion I must have created. But I don’t understand—no one else saw what I did. A hallucination. How is that possible? I think of the precision of the white banners I’d woven over the Night King’s dark ones. I thought I was improving in my powers. Why couldn’t I control them?
A moment later, I realize that because Violetta had to wrench my power away, I had also stopped holding the illusions over our faces. I quickly sit up.
Too late. Magiano’s having some sort of argument with the boatman, who points his oar angrily at me. He doesn’t want us on board anymore. I rise to my feet. The day had felt so hot earlier—now, the air nips at my wet clothes, chilling me.
The boatman pulls to a small dock along the canal, then ushers us off with a string of curses. Magiano skips ahead, bidding him a cheerful farewell. When the boat pulls away from us, he turns to me and holds up a purse stolen off the man.
“If he’s going to be rude about it,” Magiano says, “he might as well pay.”
I’m about to respond when I recognize a soldier in the street. It’s the same young man who had stopped us earlier and turned us onto a different route. He is now leaning over the canal’s edge, listening intently to something our former boatman is yelling up at him. Then the boatman points in our direction. The soldier’s attention turns to us.