Eyes and ears alerted, I crouch to toss things back in. I pick up the last two items: a pack of gum and a wooden knitting needle. Everything’s accounted for, all but my cell phone and the toe socks—balled up, wrapped in tissue paper, and tied with ribbon. I glance around to find Diable batting the socks down the corridor. With a groan, I drag my tote onto my shoulder and follow with the knitting needle still in hand.
The cat leads me to the theater door and I freeze in place, surprised to see it open. Jippetto usually locks it up at night after he’s done working on the sets. All the lights are off, and the pitch-dark depths stretch wide. Diable gives the ball a final cuff, and it rolls inside, the tissue paper crinkling.
My fingers grip the knitting needle tighter. I consider turning around. I don’t care about the stupid socks anymore. Even though a tiny part of me still wants to give them to Etalon, to see if there’s any good left in him: if that little child who wanted to buy his mother all the candied fruit in the world just to see her smile, and the young boy who saved me in my dreams every night, survived in spite of the Phantom’s influence. That’s what terrifies me most of all, that I still want to have faith in him, even knowing his part in this vile plan.
A few feet inside the door, a rectangular glow catches my eye. It’s my phone, with the flashlight app activated. My pulse skips . . .
This is an obvious setup. I should go get my aunt.
Just as I take a step back, Diable’s shadow saunters across the phone, Franco’s scaly tail flopping in his mouth.
Bouchard.
That witch. I’m so done letting her bully me. Snarling, I step inside, the knitting needle poised like a miniature spear in my hand. “Seriously, Fran?oise. I’m really tired of your—”
The door sweeps shut and the phone blinks off, leaving me cloaked in heavy darkness. Diable’s jingles trail off in the distance, close to the stage, but I sense a living presence nearby. Weapon raised, I swing around blindly. Someone grabs me from behind with a hand clamped over my mouth, pulling me back against a rock-hard body. I know him by the current that sparks between us. The succubus inside wants to betray me, melting into his muscles where they twitch along my spine.
I should’ve never let him seduce me on the rooftop. It’s a battle to resist his touch now. The energy that pulses between us in even a graze of our skin gives me the same jolt of rejuvenation that I got from kissing Ben and Jax.
A sweet, solvent odor radiates from Etalon’s clothes—medicinal. Doctor. That thought revives my fighting spirit. I struggle as his free hand captures my fingers where I clench my knitting needle.
“I heard everything between you and your aunt.” His hoarse whisper ruffles my hair as he holds me tight.
Of course he was listening at the vent. Here I thought he was busy. Should’ve known that’s just incubus code for eavesdropping.
“If you promise not to scream,” he continues, “I’ll let you go.” His grip over my lips loosens slightly.
I bare my teeth to bite him, but that imprint on my wrist flares, leaving me unable to. “What did you do to me?” I growl under his fingers and wrestle his hold on my hand, wishing I could stab him with the knitting needle.
“I did what I had to, to protect you,” he growls back. He pries at my fingers in an attempt to steal my sad excuse for a weapon. I make a fist around it, resisting. The moment my knuckles start cramping from the force of his digging fingernails, his own ribbon imprint brightens under his sleeve. He curses and drops my hand as if he’s been stung, leaving me armed and moderately dangerous.
“See that?” he asks, head lowered so his shaved chin cradles my temple. “I’m no more able to harm you than you are me.” He rakes his arm along his thigh to push up his sleeve and showcase his blistering-hot tattoo. Even in the dark, it looks worse than mine felt when I tried to rat him out to Aunt Charlotte. “This is why I rushed our unity ritual tonight. I don’t want him to be able to force me to hurt you . . . not with hypnotism, not with threats, not with guilt. I’ve made it physically impossible for you to go under my knife. So . . . I ask again. Will you promise not to scream?”
Numb, I nod and relax my body in his embrace. His hand falls from my mouth. He turns me around.
I can’t make out his face, but his eyes glimmer like embers—flecks of coppery light softened with shadows of brown. “I know you’re afraid, but if you leave now, you’ll endanger everyone here. He’ll burn RoseBlood to the ground with all of the students and teachers locked inside if he fails in his mission. There’s only one way we can stop him: by working together.” Diable’s bells bounce around the theater, as if he’s scoping things out. Etalon shifts nervously.
“Are you afraid he’s watching us?” I whisper, nerves alerted and prickled.
“He was in his coffin when I checked on him minutes ago.”
“Coffin?” I squeak, sounding more wobbly than I’d like.
“He sleeps there. Listen, I want to take you somewhere where we can talk safely. Somewhere I know he won’t follow. Will you let me?”
With my friends and teachers in the line of fire, there’s only one right answer. I drop my arm to my side, releasing the knitting needle so it clatters to the floor. Then I take his hand in mine.