I stared into Emory’s face, trying to work out how to free myself from the strange, changeable boy. When I flinched, he cackled—curt rips of laughter echoing over the banister into the room below. “There’s something odd about you, Spindle.” His grip tightened around my arm. He lowered his other hand to my wrist, his palm clammy as it rested against my bare skin. “I see you, Elspeth Spindle.” His voice was near and far at once, as if underwater. “I see a pretty maiden with long black hair and charcoal eyes. I see a yellow gaze narrowed by hate. I see darkness and shadow.” His lips twisted in an
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