CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOChristmas with DemonsThe night following my visit to the Boudoir, I flew to Matilda Swanson’s countryside home. I didn’t know whether she would remember me, but I needed a ritualist’s opinion, and I obviously couldn’t ask Salem or Mr. Pervis for their input.When I arrived, I found coaches parked outside and a smiling servant boy waiting by the door. As I approached, the gargoyle above the door lowered its stone body down between us like a snake from a tree. “Password?” it crooned.“Shenanigans,” I said.“Many are afoot tonight,” the gargoyle said wistfully. He retracted back up, and the boy opened the door for me.I stepped into the entrance hall to find nude and semi-nude figures sprawled across the floor and furniture. I recognized the incubus twins from the Beard Society, their arms around a short, round succubus. All three were asleep. Several lilitu sat in a circle in a corner, smoking hookah. Further on, Matilda stood at an easel, painting what lay befo

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURDepartureIt happened much as Alkin said it would. From opening night onwards, the Orchestra of Souls was a grand success that managed to fill every seat in the theatre. The public would have been impressed enough by a single automaton with no abilities other than walking across the room, but an entire orchestra of musical automatons was an immeasurable achievement. Alkin’s original compositions were also heavily lauded by the papers, with many a critic noting that they would have been worth hearing even from a human orchestra.Some feared the musical automatons were the first steps of a Mekran invasion, but others argued that not all mechanical inventions were inherently linked to the Iron City. There was even talk of using Alkin’s designs as a template for service automatons, and more than one periodical posited the question of whether such automatons could replace mortals one day. This was, in all cases, immediately followed up by another article squashin

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXThe Sun FieldsThe Mekrans blindfolded us, and forced us to march. Through the city we went, then up a ramp, into a place where the ever-present hammering sounds were muffled. When we finally stopped, they bound our wrists to walls and removed our blindfolds.Sven, Loretta and I were in separate cells. A guard cut a lock of my hair and stuffed it in his pocket. I soon felt motion beneath us, confirming my suspicions that we were imprisoned on an airship.The guards moved to the door, leaving us. Loretta couldn’t stop staring at Sven’s face.“It never stops hurting, does it?” she whispered.Sven barely looked at her. “No.”“Is there anything I can do? To make the pain easier to bear?”Sven didn’t answer.I told myself that we would not die in vain. Perhaps the Mekrans were right, and the sun would indeed kill Salem. Perhaps my death would be a necessary sacrifice.Loretta let out an abrupt, phlegm-drenched cough. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t think I could stil

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTRuptureI awoke to the sound of someone rapping on the bedroom door. The first thing I felt was the ring Salem had given me last night, cold and heavy around my finger.The second was Salem sitting up beside me, his wings pulling away the covers. He stared at the door, seething at this interruption of his long-delayed rest.“Do you want to be bound to the wall with the others?” he shouted. “Do you want to become a bloody music box?”“You have a visitor, Lord Sotirios.” The girl’s voice was hollow with fear.“Does it sound like I care? Tell them to come back tomorrow.”“It is the queen, Lord Sotirios.”Queen Isabelle had come here? No wonder the girl was terrified. If the queen demanded to see Salem, a maid who refused her would be killed. But so too would a maid who annoyed Salem.“It’s not her fault,” I whispered, clutching Salem’s hand. “Go see the queen.”Salem let out an angry sigh, and put on a pair of trousers. He shot the maid a nasty glare on

CHAPTER THIRTYIn the House of Mr. Cillian“This will beever so much fun,” Mr. Cillian trilled.He had taken me to a room with walls of fine wood paneling. This was no ordinary bone cell; it appeared to be a meeting room.Mr. Cillian sat across from me in a fancy chair, sipping blood from a teacup. Not a drop stained his lips, but he dabbed them with his handkerchief anyway. “Salem wants to torture you himself, of course, but I’ll still get some satisfaction from delivering you to your doom.”He hadn’t chained me to my chair; he acted as though this was an informal meeting between close friends.I tried not to show my anger; I didn’t wish to indulge him. I had to approach this from a place of strength and certainty, no matter the crippling pain still coursing through my body.“He’s coming to infect us all, Warren,” I said. “Everyone. Even you.”“He told me he’d spare me if I got you ready for him,” Mr. Cillian replied. “He’ll even let me kill the Dark Watcher. And oh, how