Hypnos clapped slowly, grinning. “Well done! Although, I do find it strange that this time the engineer used a story and the storyteller used engineering.”

“I’m a historian,” said Enrique, tucking the Tezcat spectacles into his jacket. “Not a storyteller.”

“History, storytelling,” said Hypnos, waving his hand and smiling at Zofia. “Quelle est la différence?”

Another chime sounded. Soundlessly, the angel statue was swallowed into the wall, leaving them in a pristine marble room. Zofia turned around, but the walls were smooth, no sign whatsoever of the muse statues that had once been here.

“Time’s up,” said Hypnos. “And it’s rude to be late to weddings.”

“You’re going to have to get back into that cabinet—”

“—Ugh.”

“It’s either that or—”

Just then, the door to the chamber opened. The butler walked inside, carrying a tray of refreshments.

“I thought you might like—” He stopped abruptly when he saw Hypnos and the broken traveling cabinet.

“I told you to watch the door!” said Enrique.

“I forgot!”

“Who the hell is this?” demanded the butler. “Guards!”

“Run!” shouted Enrique.

Zofia, Enrique, and Hypnos bolted out of the Chamber of Goddesses. Behind her, Zofia heard the clatter of a tray crashing onto the ground, and the butler hollering. They flew through the exquisite manor. For a fleeting moment, Zofia felt a rush of adrenaline, the kind of energy that made her feel as if anything were possible.

Enrique glanced at her, his cheeks flushed, one corner of his mouth curved slyly even as he ran. Zofia recognized that expression from Laila each time she used to sneak her an extra cookie. It was conspiratorial, like being let into a secret. It made her feel grateful … and confused, because she wasn’t sure what secret he was offering.

At the end of the hall, the wide front door glowed bright in warning. Hypnos reached it first, pulling the handle. On the other side of the door, Zofia could hear wedding bells clanging loudly, and the clip-clop of horse hooves and carriage wheels shattering the ice-crusted streets.

Behind Zofia came the sound of heavy scratching and thudding. Enrique looked over her shoulder, his face paling.

“Damn,” hissed Hypnos, tugging at the handle.

“Dogs!” said Enrique.

“Not quite the blasphemy I’d use to articulate the situation, but—”

“No,” said Enrique. “Dogs! Move faster!”

Zofia looked behind her, her mind processing the sight before fear caught up: four massive white dogs bounded toward them.

“Got it!” yelled Hypnos.

The door flung wide open. Dimly, she felt Hypnos’s hand wrapping around her wrist. He tugged hard, pulling her into the icy night of St. Petersburg as the door slammed shut behind them, and frigid air hit her like a punch.

Up ahead, wedding bells chimed from a slew of troikas storming the street of Angliskaya Naberezhnava. A team of three dappled draft horses pulled each of the fifteen white carriages. Forged firecrackers whizzed into the air, exploding into silhouetted images of the bride and groom, roaring bears and soaring swans that dissolved into the night.

“There!” said Enrique.

One of the carriages sported a black stripe down the middle. It turned the corner toward them just as the front door swung open once more. Enrique cursed loudly from the end of the sidewalk. He waved wildly at the carriage with the black stripe, but the carriage never slowed. Growls erupted behind Zofia.

“We won’t make it in time!” said Hypnos, his face shining with sweat.

With a twist of her wrist, Zofia tore one of the fire pendants from her necklace, throwing it at the dogs. At the same time she pushed her will into the metal object: Ignite.

She heard the crackling rip of flames catching one upon one another, followed by indignant yelping and the sound of paws skittering backward. A column of flame shot up from the sidewalk, forcing back the guard animals.

The carriage with the black stripe skidded to a halt at the end of the manor entrance. The other troikas wound past it just as the door opened from the inside … Hypnos and Enrique clambered into the dark of the carriage. Zofia grasped the rails, then felt Laila’s warm hands pull her onto the seat.

On the far side of the carriage sat Séverin. He didn’t glance at any of them as he rapped his knuckles twice on the roof. As they sped away, Zofia peered out the window. The column of fire had died down. The butler and a slew of guards had run outside … but their troika had already fallen into line with the rest of the wedding procession.

Hypnos flung himself across the seat, his head resting in Laila’s lap, his legs sprawled over Enrique. Without quite knowing why, Zofia glanced at Enrique. She wanted to know what his expression looked like with Hypnos’s body against his. She had not forgotten Enrique and Hypnos’s kiss from months ago. The memory startled her. She didn’t know why that image drifted to her right then, but it did—the slowness of it, like a wick burning to some explosion she couldn’t comprehend. Couldn’t create. Thinking about it summoned a painful weight against her chest, but she didn’t know why.

“Zofia nearly got eaten by dogs,” announced Hypnos. “I mean, she did basically figure out how to get to the spectacles, but I did some rescuing too! Honestly, phoenix, what would you do without us?”

He grinned widely, but Zofia could not smile. She thought of Hela crumpling the letter she had tried writing to them when she was in Poland. Don’t make them worry, Zosia. They might start fretting over who would have to take care of you when I’m gone. Even if the money from her work had saved Hela’s life; even if the team would fail without her inventions, she did not like feeling as though the way she functioned somehow made her a burden. And yet, she knew sometimes she needed help when other people didn’t. That knowledge sat inside her like an ill-fitting puzzle piece.

“I don’t know,” she said softly.

10

LAILA

Laila stepped out of the wedding carriage and looked up at the yawning dark of the shopfront nestled on a sleepy corner of St. Petersburg. The snow fell like sugar—softly and sweetly, gently brushing the wooden eaves of the storefront. But while the city looked sugared with snow, the cold of Russia tasted of bitterness. It snuck behind coat collars, stained fingers blue, and scorched the inside of her nose simply because she dared to breathe.

“Come along!” said Hypnos, practically skipping ahead of them. “And you—”

He paused to look at the person who had stepped out of the carriage behind them. Laila bit back a shudder. She still hadn’t grown accustomed to the sight of a Sphinx, the guard members of the Order of Babel who wore grotesque crocodile masks and who always faintly reeked of blood.

“You know how and where to meet us. Get the carriage ready.”

The Sphinx did not speak. Perhaps they couldn’t, thought Laila with a pang of pity. Behind the Sphinx stood four other guards of House Nyx, men who still wore the uniform of Vasiliev’s men. Though they had the pendant with the missing Tezcat lens, the job in the Mariinsky Theatre disturbed her. She couldn’t stop thinking about Vasiliev’s last words before he slipped into unconsciousness. She’ll find you. Who was she? Séverin had no idea and dismissed it as the words of a man on the brink of nervous exhaustion. But Laila felt the echo of those words shadowing her thoughts.