Page 8 of What Is Dark Within Me

The one she tried to summon anyway.

He leaned casually against the doorframe as if Miss Flanders’s party was still going and he was there to ask if Aleja wanted another glass of Champagne. She’d known the Otherlanders were beautiful, but it was striking to experience it for herself, like admiring a tiger as it slunk toward you.

“You look surprised,” he commented. “You called for me, didn’t you?”

“I—no,” she said. It was easy to tell herself the attempt hadn’t been serious. That it was simply to check off every box to assure herself she’d done all she could to find Violet.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said. The cellar light briefly caught his eyes as his lips curved into a half-smile, and she tightened her grip on the satchel at the sudden humanity in his features. It was never good when an Otherlander tried to get you to lower your guard.

The illusion shattered when she caught the tips of clawed wings over his shoulders.

“How did I get home last night?” she said. A trickle of sweat moved down the length of her spine.

He ignored this question. “Why would your friend feel the need to invoke one of my hellhounds? It’s foolish even for the most talented of witches.”

Anger kept her from running back through the cellar doors. “You killed three members of my family. If you’ve come here to torment me, I’m not speaking another word to you,” she said.

It was too dark to see the man’s expression, but his voice remained infuriatingly neutral. “I didn’t kill anyone, witchling. I merely accepted the terms of a bargain proposed to me. Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“Fuck you.”

She flinched at her loss of control. If it was stupid to break into a dead witch’s house, then it was ludicrous to insult this being, especially after she’d already escaped his hound once.

He sighed, another human sound, at odds with the striking silver of his eyes. Aleja realized she could smell him. A mixture of smoke and vanilla that was at once warm and ominous.

“Fine, Alejandra. Unless you’re interested in conducting some business, I’ll be on my way.”

It shouldn’t have been a shock to hear her name from his mouth. After all, he must have watched her family for decades, deciding which of them he would take so the rest could enjoy all the talent, fame, and fortune they desired.

“Why are you here? I didn’t summon you,” she said. At least, she hadn’t been trying atthisvery moment.

“I’m interested in why someone captured one of my dogs and held him in this house. Besides, you couldn’t keep your mind off me, and… look under your feet.”

Aleja looked at the floor but saw only a plush rug with a repeating pattern of pentagrams that she doubted the Diabolus Society had purchased at Ikea.

“Beneathit, witchling.”

She moved the edge of the rug with her sneaker, revealing the curved edge of a sigil painted directly onto the floor. It was a common enough symbol—a summoner’s ring. Not an especially powerful one, but apparently active enough to pick up on her thoughts as she rifled through the cellar.

Who the hell were these people?

The Knowing One gestured, urging her to speak. His hands were ridiculously large. She winced, as if he’d wrapped them around her throat.

“These people summoned you often?” she asked, understanding her window for gathering information was small. The longer she stood here, the more bored the Knowing One would get, and the more likely Agnes Flanders’s next of kin would show up to claim the good antiques before their cousins.

He laughed, teeth flashing in the darkness. “Of course not.You’refar more interesting than a group of aging magicians obsessed with calling up the devil, but I’d have thought your ancestors would have put you off the idea.”

The dread in Aleja’s stomach was so heavy it made her want to sit down. She still had nightmares about the day her aunt had smiled warmly at her, then turned into a flock of crows that flew toward the horizon with a chorus of screams.

“Why now? I lit the candle months ago,” she spat, unable to articulate anything else. Even her fingertips burned with anger, as if she could set fire to anything she touched.

“Why?” the Knowing One asked, tilting his head. A strand of wavy hair fell in front of his eyes, briefly dulling their light. “Because I know that you don’t get a good deal until one party is desperate. And youaredesperate, aren’t you, Aleja? You broke into a witch’s house the day after nearly being killed by a hellhound. Most people would have taken the morning off.”

“Fuck you,” she muttered again, but he continued watching with that half-smile on his lips, his eyes strangely soft, as if this were merely a rowdy discussion with an old friend.

“An intriguing offer, but I’m afraid it won’t do. Now that you’ve found this little social club, it must be obvious your friend was not only lying to you but seeking Otherlanders behind your back. I usually don’t take kindly to those who lead my hounds into trouble, but I’ll admit, I’m curious how the witchling managed it.”

Because Violet was a badass, Aleja thought. The thought was followed by another that stung her already-aching heart: even if she lied to me, I’m sure she had her reasons.

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