“Please.” I hate the way the word tastes in my mouth directed at him. “I want no part in any issue between you and Finn—Lord Ackerly—whoever he is. He is nothing to me and I assure you I am less than nothing to him.”

“Oh, little rabbit.” He sits back in his chair across from me, and I find I can breathe easier again. “You have no idea what he’s pulled you into, do you?”

“No, and I should like very much to leave now.”

“Not just yet, I’m afraid. You missed your chance to avoid all this last night. I gave you the option, you know.” He picks up the sugar dish and carefully pours a small pile of the crystals into his palm. As they touch his skin, they turn from white to gleaming black. He traces a circle with them, and then cuts the circle evenly down the middle. The room brightens to an almost painful degree of brilliance. The light is coming from my right side, throwing our shadows into sharp relief along the wall.

“Please join us, Lord Ackerly.” The man throws the crystals at my shadow, and there is a hiss like water hitting fire. My shadow splits in two.

I put my hand to my mouth, but my second shadow does not follow the movement. It’s not my shadow. The shoulders are angled, the body smooth, the head free of long hair. I look to my right, but no one is there.

I close my eyes, try to force reality back into place. I must be drugged. “What have you given me?”

“You didn’t prepare her at all, did you, Lord Ackerly? This will be a hard initiation. As a kindness, I’ll use a method she’ll understand, something she will not be able to dismiss as a trick of her mind.” Cold glee undercuts his voice. “Please remember that you brought this on her. You thought you could have her. You can’t. And now that I know you’re observing us, it’s time to set the terms. You will give me access to the Hallin book, and you will give it to me immediately.”

My eyes open again, and I can no longer hide my terror. “Please, please. I have nothing. There’s nothing for me to give you.”

“Not you. Him.” He waves cheerily at my second shadow, then pulls out a hammer, the head heavy and battered, the handle worn and plain. It’s out of place in this elegant room, a blunt instrument with nothing but utility built into its design. He swings it experimentally through the air, nods, and then places it next to the floral china of the tea set.

“Dear little rabbit, if you’d place your hand on the table.”

I look at him in horror. “I will not.”

The other shadow looms even larger on the wall. The nightmare man smiles. “You will.”

My hand snakes forward of its own accord, and I grab it with my free hand, the one still gloved. I am pulled off the couch to the rug beneath, wrestling with my own possessed limb.

“That’s a good girl. Keep fighting me.” The nightmare man takes more sugar. He traces something on his palm that I cannot see, and then sprinkles the bloodred crystals onto my head.

I release my hand, and it pulls itself forward to the center of the table, lying flat with fingers evenly spread. I’m on my knees, unable to move, eye level with the hammer. He picks it up, and his smile does not fade a fraction as he says, “I am sorry about this.”

Nine

THE SOBS RACK MY BODY. MY HEAD HANGS NEARLY to the carpet, everything anchored by my hand stuck to the table.

“Three out of five. We’re nearly finished now, that’s a good little rabbit.” The pain crescendos in a blinding white burst of agony and I scream, scream, and scream until it breaks up into more sobs. He always gives me enough time between fingers to go back to crying.

“By all means you should blame yourself for this, Lord Ackerly. It could have been avoided. Making me chase your magic for so long, well, of course I need a way to release the frustration.”

I open my eyes. My second shadow is so large it takes up nearly the entire wall now, and it vibrates with menace.

“You’ll say, must you have smashed all her precious fingers? Perhaps one would have been clear enough, but I want to leave no question in your mind that you are doing the right thing. The only thing. And if you do not lay yourself at my mercy within the hour, I will begin doing things that no amount of time will mend.”

The world explodes in agony again, and I haven’t even the energy to scream this time. There is blood in my mouth, and my vision blurs with spots. I’m going to faint. I want to faint. Please, please, blessed spirits, let me faint.

Suddenly, my hand is released. I slump to the floor, curled in a ball around my ruined fingers. I cannot bear to look at them. If I do not lose consciousness soon I will be sick. The pain radiates out from my hand, claws in my stomach, bursts in my head.

The nightmare man is still talking, carrying on his one-sided conversation. I tune in and out, trying to find blackness, but pulled back from the brink of unconsciousness time and again by his voice.

“. . . all settled then, I assume. I expect you shortly. This next bit will hurt, but we cannot have you here without a handicap, now can we?”

I brace for whatever is coming, but, to my surprise, nothing happens. Then I hear a shrill scream, like air escaping a boiling kettle, as the nightmare man cheerfully flings venomously green sugar crystals at the extra shadow. Each eats a hole where it strikes, and though the shadow darts around, the nightmare man continues to hit it.

I move onto my knees, biting my lip at the rolling pain—there is the source of the blood—and use my good hand to push against the table and get to my feet. The sugar bowl sits unguarded on the table. I snatch it and throw the contents into the fire, which pops and sparks in brilliant miniature fireworks.