Page 152 of The Scarlet Veil

“No, it isn’t.” Mila tries and fails to seize my hand, to prevent me from going any farther. “No matter how it looks, how itfeels, this isn’t your sister, Célie. This isn’t her.”

But I need to know. Whatever shines light upon that islet, Ineedto see it more than I’ve ever needed anything in my entire life. Without another word, I rush past her toward the rocky shore, and soon two glass coffins materialize within the brilliant halo of light. My mouth parts as we draw level with them. My vision narrows.

Because Mila is wrong.

One of the coffins stands empty, and one holds the half-disfigured corpse of Filippa.

Chapter Fifty

The Necromancer

When my eyes snap open, I leap from the bed, panicked and disoriented, and almost lose my footing in the semidarkness. The embers of the fire still smolder gently, illuminating Lou sprawled across the same squashy armchair. Behind me, Coco fills the room with soft snores.Thank God.Exhaling a shaky breath, I lift a finger to my lips as Talon shifts on the mantel, blinking his beady eyes at me.

“Shhh,” I whisper to him. “I just—I need to talk to Michal.”

Though he clicks his beak in disapproval, I tiptoe up the stairs regardless, not pausing to don a robe and slippers. I don’t want to wake Lou and Coco. This could be nothing, after all—just a nightmare—and the last thing we need is another false alarm. My heart still threatens to palpitate, however, as I push open the door and step into the corridor.

“What are you doing?” Pasha’s harsh voice immediately greets me, and I whirl, clutching my chest and biting back a scream. His glare turns accusatory as he crosses his arms, as Ivan closes in behind me. Candlelight casts their faces in soft, flickering shadow. “You shouldn’t be out here, casse-couille. It’s almost sunrise.”

I take a step backward and collide with Ivan’s chest. “I n-need to see Michal. It’s urgent.”

He chuckles, but the sound lacks all good humor. It doesn’teven sound human. “Define urgent.”

“Please—”

“Célie?” Michal himself stalks up the corridor then, seeming to materialize from the darkness, and I nearly weep with relief at the sight of his frown. His pale hair appears tousled, as does his shirt, like he pulled it over his head in a hurry. “What happened? I thought I felt—”

“Michal.” Ducking around Ivan, I race to meet him, wringing my hands and trying to tell him everything at once. “I think I crossed the veil in my sleep, or—or maybe not—and I saw, well—it could’ve just been a dream, but—”

His black eyes search mine intently, and he catches my hands in his own. “Slow down.Breathe.”

“Right.” I nod fervently and squeeze his fingers, struggling to ground myself in the corridor. Inthismoment andthisreality. “It started as a dream, but everything was cold—unnaturally cold, just like when I cross the veil. And I think—I think I was inviting you to a garden party, but when I came to your room, there was thislight.”

“You were in my room?” he asks, voice sharp.

I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. I think maybe I was, but like I said, it could’ve been a—”

“It wasn’t.” Shaking his head curtly, he glances over my shoulder at Pasha and Ivan. His jaw hardens, and he leads me down the corridor and around a corner, down another set of stairs, away from their prying eyes and ears. “Or at least, it wasn’tjusta dream. I felt you there. You”—he releases a harsh, incredulous breath—“touched my face.”

I stare up at him in horror as silence descends between us.Because Ididtouch his face, and if he felt it—if he feltme— “But it was a garden party,” I whisper. “There were roses and bottles of blood—”

“It might’ve started as a dream, but it didn’t end there. It sounds like some sort of astral projection. Have you ever crossed the veil in your sleep before?”

“Astral projection?” I repeat faintly. “I don’t—Michal, I don’t know what that is—I don’t know what any ofthisis—but the roses and blood vanished when I saw you. The dream became sharper somehow, and there was thislightin the middle of the grotto.”

“You must’ve woken up.” His brow furrows, and I can practicallyseethe gears turning in his mind. He doesn’t understand this any more than I do. “What happened after you saw this light?”

“I followed it out to the islet. I sort of—floated across the water, and Mila was there.” My hands tighten around his, and my eyes widen as the full scope of the scene returns in a wave of terror: my sister’s supine body, her peaceful expression, the hands crossed gracefully upon her chest. And the stitches. Bile surges at the memory, and I choke on it, unable to accept their existence—unable to accept that the Necromancer, that he— “We have to go back to the islet.” Pulling on his hands, I search desperately for any sign of his obsidian study doors, the suit of armor or the family tree. “The Necromancer ishere, Michal. He brought my sister’s corpse to Requiem, and he hid it—hidher—in the cavern by your bedroom. We have to go there. We have to—to help her somehow—”

Even as I say the words, I realize how ridiculous they sound. Because how can wehelpmy dead sister? How can she be here at all? Her body burned in the catacombs with all the others, andeven before Coco’s Hellfire—there was nothingpeacefulabout Filippa’s face the last time I saw her. For Christ’s sake, half of it wasmissing. That her body could be here on Requiem is impossible, unthinkable, the sickest of all traps the Necromancer could’ve laid. And if it wasn’t a dream, it most certainlyisa trap. The same grim realization spreads through Michal’s eyes as we stare at each other.

Before he even opens his mouth, despair punches through me like a knife—because of course I can’t ask him to put himself at risk; I shouldn’t even gomyself, yet the thought of leaving Filippa’s body in the hands of the Necromancer makes me physically ill. Already, he has desecrated her. What else does he plan to do?

Michal exhales slowly, and the force of his gaze would knock me backward if he didn’t still hold my hands. “This could be dangerous,” he says.

“I know.”

“It could be a trap. Your sister might not be here at all. The Necromancer could have slipped into your mind somehow and altered your perception. He could do much worse with witchcraft.”

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