ELLIE

I might have spent more time replaying my and Evander’s escapades in the glass shop had I not happened across something else that snagged my attention.

By the time Evander returned me to my room, my mother was gone. She’d left a note on my vanity saying how wonderful it had been to see me and that she hoped I enjoyed whatever adventure Evander had planned for me.

It took me at least half an hour and a few scratches and yelps, but I somehow managed to free myself of the suit of armor.

I took one look at the pile of metal on the floor, buckles hanging loose like snakes from tree limbs, and decided I’d worry about it later.

Besides. I had an urgent need that demanded attention.

And Evander had left behind my brand new key.

Using the map Imogen had made for me before the attack that had left me unable to explore as much as I would have liked, I wound my way down staircases and through dark corridors until I reached the kitchens. Blaise had once mentioned that her and Imogen’s room was close by… There.

A scullery maid pushed open a door, and behind her I caught a glimpse of a hallway full of doors. She took note of me, scanning me with skepticism, but she said nothing.

A moment later, and I was in.

Now to find Blaise and relieve the desperate need I suddenly had to discuss the blooming butterflies in my stomach with a girlfriend.

It was an odd sensation, a lovely one. Not just the whirl of emotion I got in Evander’s presence, the song of his voice as it echoed in my ears. But the way it welled within me, filling me up until I was threatening to burst and just had to tell someone about it.

I had to tell Blaise about it.

Was this what all those girls growing up had been raving about—the instant bestfriendhood that had never quite been within my grasp?

It would probably disgust Blaise, the idea of her friend developing feelings for the male who was practically her brother, but perhaps she could put that aside for a moment.

I just needed someone to giggle with.

How odd.

When I knocked on Blaise and Imogen’s door (thankfully there was a plaque with their names on it), no one answered. Though I could hear shuffling inside.

A moment later Imogen answered, though she cracked open the door only a smidge. “Milady,” she said curtly, her murky eyes slit with suspicion.

I forced a smile to my lips. I tried to feel pity for Imogen; I really did. But honestly. I’d done nothing to encourage her mood swings or the venom that often seemed to leak from her presence. “I’m looking for Blaise.”

“She’s not here.”

“Where is she?”

“I’m not sure. I think she went to town.”

“Well, I can leave her a message so she’ll know to find me when she gets back.”

Imogen shuffled, not bothering to crack open the door. “What message would you like to leave her, milady?”

I fought back the urge to groan. “Just tell her to come find me when she gets back.”

“Anything else, milady?”

“No, Imogen, that will be all.”

Imogen promptly closed the door.

I made it halfway up to my rooms before I lost all semblance of self-control and found myself at Blaise and Imogen’s suite once more. Just in case Blaise had returned within the past ten minutes.

When I knocked on the door, no one answered. Perhaps Imogen had left to perform her other duties.

Figuring I’d better just leave her a note myself, I nudged the door open. Thankfully, it was unlocked.

I stepped into the shared suite, making a guess at which side was Blaise’s—the messiest—and scribbled a note on the pad of paper on her desk.

I turned to leave, but as I did, something caught my attention, just a flicker in the corner of my eye. When I turned, I found the edge of a piece of paper flitting from underneath Imogen’s bed. The draft from the vents must have blown it out from under the bed. If it made it much farther, I imagined it would end up on Blaise’s side of the room, and Imogen would be lucky ever to see it again, so I picked it up and placed it under a paperweight on Imogen’s desk.

But then my eyes caught the title.

Shifters: A Believer’s Guide to Transmogrify.

I couldn’t help it. My curiosity got the better of me, usurping my manners, and I unfolded the paper.

It was a pamphlet—one you might get from a shady vendor pretending to sell youth potions, except in the dusty corners in the back of the shop.

The type of shop Madame LeFleur owned, where she pretended to make her living off the beauty product shams she sold to unsuspecting customers in the storefront, while she peddled away Fates-knew-what behind that always-drawn velvet curtain of hers.

The pamphlet read:

Do you long to tap into your beastly form? Do you crave the power to unleash the monster within? Follow the steps below to harbor your soul to the moonlight and forever leave behind your humdrum life.

I rolled my eyes. This probably had come from Madame LeFleur’s shop. The peddler had likely written the instructions herself while drunk on faerie wine, then decided they weren’t half bad and figured someone would be foolish enough to buy the faulty instructions.

Imogen, strange as she was, didn’t seem like the type to wish to become a lychaen. Perhaps she’d bought one of Madame LeFleur’s DIY-blemish eraser kits and the shopkeeper had mixed up the instructions.

But hadn’t Imogen denied frequenting Madame LeFleur’s shop, claiming her stepmother thought the Madame to be a witch?

Though I supposed if Imogen was in the habit of buying this sort of product from the Madame, she might wish for that fact to remain concealed.

I flipped the pamphlet over. On the back was a list of ridiculous directions, some of which Imogen had crossed out and annotated.

The handwriting was definitely Imogen’s. Her script was fresh on my mind from trying to decipher the labels she’d written on my map—the way her letters ran together in a way that almost overlapped.

1. Collect five tail feathers from an albino raven fledgling on its first flight. Imogen had written “How???” at the end of this statement.

2. Steep the white tail feathers in a tea boiled to the temperature of the Oracle’s Hot Spring. I had to read it twice to decipher it, but in the margins was written, only three miles away, possible during a break on the third day of summer.

3. Drink the tea as the lip of the full moon—full moon was circled twice—crests the night’s horizon.