Page 54 of Fangs

I slip through the secret passages that Blake showed me, moving carefully through the narrow corridors. The air grows warmer as I descend. I emerge into the main part of the tower, where the other girls are gathered in the common room.

They look up as I enter, their eyes widening. Jenny rises from her seat, crossing to me with concern etched on her face.

“Lucy,” she says. “We have been so worried about you. You have been up there for days. We barely saw you.”

I force a smile. “I needed rest. The wound…It took longer to heal than I expected.”

She studies my face, her eyes narrowing. I’m a terrible liar. I know this. But she seems to accept my answer, nodding slowly.

“My isolation period is ending,” I say. “Lady Vesper should be here soon to collect a few of us.”

“I know.” I clasp my hands behind my back, trying to look calm. “I’m ready.”

Ready to leave. Ready to sneak away from the group. Ready to find the portrait office and break the curse.

The minutes crawl by. I sit among the girls, listening to their chatter, offering the occasional nod or murmur of agreement. My mind is elsewhere—racing through the plan, rehearsing the words of the spell, imagining Blake’s face when I free him.

Lady Vesper arrives. The old woman moves through the tower with surprising grace, her gray hair pinned tight, sharp eyes assessing each of us in turn.

She stops before me, her gaze trailing the violet blooms on my neck, my arms, my thighs. Mapping every bruise Blake left like constellations.

“You’re marked,” she observes. “The Order doesn’t t like marks on their pets.”

She leans closer, whispering for my ears only. “Hide them. Long sleeves. Pantyhose. Face powder on the neck. We will speak after, and I promise you, it will not be pleasant.”

I drop my gaze, suppressing the protest clawing up my chest. “Yes. Lady Vesper.” Then she announces to all: “Come. It is time to return to the manor.”

Four other girls rise. I follow at the back of the group, my heart pounding. This is my chance. My only chance.

We pass through the main hall, into the corridor that leads toward the girls’ wing. The servants are preparing for the evening meal. No one notices as I slow my pace, letting the distance between me and the others grow.

Jenny glances back, a question in her eyes. I shake my head slightly, and she turns away, accepting my request to stay quiet.

I slip into a side corridor. Then another. The manor is a labyrinth, but I have a map a page i ripped of from a book.

I find the door. My hand trembles as I push it open.

III

Part Three

Mirror

Darkness pools in every corner, thick and suffocating. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the last traces of daylight. Dust motes dance in the dim glow of a single candle, their movements slow and hypnotic.

And there, on the far wall, Blake’s portrait looms.

He looks so different from the ghost who haunts my nights. His hair in the painting is short and dark, not the wild silver mane that spills past his shoulders. His eyes are ocean blue, not violet ringed with crimson. He looks younger. Alive. Full of a vitality that the curse has leached away.

Yet his face is the same. That cruel, beautiful mouth. That sharp jaw. Those cheekbones that could cut glass.

I can see it now—the portrait retains all his power. His essence. The mirror reflection holds him prisoner while his true self wanders as a ghost.

I cross to it, my heart hammering against my ribs. The book I found in the library is tucked into my bodice, its pages worn and familiar now. I pull it free, flipping to the marked passage.

The words swim before my eyes. I blink hard, forcing them into focus.

My hand moves to my skirt. The blade I hid there—a small dagger, its edge sharp enough to draw blood—slides free. I grip the handle, my palm slick with nervous sweat.