I couldn't watch. I didn't want to hear what was happening. I shoved aside the maid who had betrayed us and ran from the gilded dining room, nausea cramping my insides. There was no way out of the house. The lines of salt kept me confined to one path. So, my bare feet slid on the hardwood in a mad dash to the guestroom.

I clambered up the stairs damn near on all fours. Slamming the chamber door behind me, I gulped in air. I was at his mercy. Darcy had coerced Tegan to come with us, giving her false hope she'd make it out alive, all the while knowing he would kill her. He was a deranged psychopath, and I was at his mercy.

I gave up thinking help would come. I dropped to my knees and skittered along the perimeter of salt in search of an opening. With mounting desperation, I shoved aside furniture, squinted under the chifforobe, tore at the bedcovers.

Everywhere I turned, the line of salt was unbroken. I couldn't sweep it away. Sodium chlorate was volatile on its own. But if Darcy had added anything to the mixture—the way he claimed—the salt could go up in flames at the slightest disturbance.

I just needed a glass of water to render the NaClO3 harmless. Yet, Darcy had made sure bathrooms were out of reach. My brief surge of adrenaline petered to hopelessness.

Tears soaked my face as my nose ran, and harsh sobs punctuated my hyperventilated breathing. I backed toward the bed and gave the room one last terrified survey. There was even salt covering the windows.

"Why the fuck did you choose me?" I screamed.

The outburst shattered the mirror above the bureau. Whatever remained of my sanity felt in as many pieces. As I cried out again in frustration, the expensive art crashed to the hardwood floor. I whirled in an arc, letting the mad energy spiral out of control, and the fabric clothing the four-poster canopy whipped in the wind that spun from my body.

I begged to become a full-blown poltergeist. I flickered in and out, but my Soul clung stubbornly to this plane. Sobbing, I threw myself to the bed.

"She was warned she'd become dinner if she offended me," Darcy Cyprian said from the door. I sat up abruptly and stared daggers at him. He extended a glass of absinthe, but I refused it. As he sat on the bed, I crawled to the other side of the mattress. "I'm brutally honest, Aurelia."

"You're a literal fucking monster, that's what you are," I sneered in contempt.

"Enough with the histrionics," he chastened in a dulcet voice. His serene expression was illuminated by saffron light from the bedside lamp. This gentle persona he put on for my sake was more disturbing than if he had come in ranting and raving.

Darcy reached across the chasm to cleanse my face with his handkerchief. I recoiled, and he snatched my chin hard enough for his nails to pierce my phantom flesh. I hitched in a breath. Yes, there was the menacing behavior I expected. Eyes the color of the absinthe in the glass bore into mine, and his chiseled mouth became a constricted pout.

"There now." He smiled finally. "Your lovely face is dry. You should thank me."

"Th-thank you," I forced myself to say.

He gave a blasé chuckle. "I know there's no love lost between you and Tegan. She killed you, after all. Take the drink. I added Volupt to settle your nerves."

Trembling, I took it because I had no choice. "Why are you doing this?" I whispered.

"You're really going to have to work on your listening skills," he murmured. "I told you. We're embarking on an extended lifetime together."

"Because you want me as your sexual partner?"

Humming, he raked his fingers through my hair and used a knuckle to catch an errant teardrop from my lashes. Under his touch, I gagged inside, but I knew better than to respond with open revulsion. His frigid gaze said he would be unforgiving.

"The vessel I've chosen for you is top of the line," he changed the subject.

"Where is she?" I rasped. I wanted to understand. If Tegan wasn't the vessel, then who was?

"You'll meet her soon. A powerful witch like you—combined with her pedigree—will make a truly one of a kind Supernatural. Beauty, aptitude, wealth, immortality."

"I never asked for any of that." I wiped another tear as my face fell.

"Did you know the Ancient Greeks were said to have a drug of forgetfulness?" Putting a finger to my lips, he scooted closer. "They called it Nepenthe. Homer's Odyssey mentions it banished all grief and sorrows. Modern scholars can't quite agree whether it was a fictional medicine or indeed opium, but here in Overlay we have an equivalent: Obliviscor.

"I gave it to you that night in the penthouse to wipe your memories and plant a new life story. Because you were living a sorrowful existence, Aurelia. So much suppression of natural talent hidden in that anal-retentive head of yours."

I stared at the ripples in the absinthe glass of my quaking hands. "So you lied. You weren't trying to replace her. You meant to do away with me from the very beginning."

He tilted his head. "No, no, no, no. You misunderstand. From the moment I met you, only you would do, but the devil is in the details. I needed you to believe you were greater than the sum of your history. It was...regrettable that Detective Stoney's indiscretion derailed me. I almost had you convinced a family friend was handling your sister."

"Patricia," I surmised.

"I wouldn't know. I simply coaxed you to think of someone you trusted. Incidentally, we'll have to work on your mental defenses. Especially if I'm to make you the wife of the soon-to-be highest member of the Council."

"Wife? You're insane. I'd rather be dead than married to you."

"Yet, you were willing to share my bed?" He laughed. "Interesting. You're a witch, Aurie. A sorceress, a mage, a powerful enchantress. Did you know that? I'm guessing you didn't."

What the hell? My eyes widened. It dawned on me he meant Haley, but I didn't correct him. I shrank into myself as he cozied closer.

"You're worth more to me as my betrothed than as a bedmate, Mrs. Darcy Cyprian, my immortal wife," he gloated. "And now that you've been in my world, I'm sure you realize the merits of such an elevation in status without me resorting to drugging you and planting false memories, am I right?"

I set the glass of absinthe on the bedside table and faced him. "What happens if I don't agree to this?" It was swagger, but what was the use of continuing to cower? He already intended to have his way, whether I went like a lamb to the slaughter or kicking and howling the whole ride.

He tightened his mouth, picking at invisible lint on his dinner jacket. "Your Soul will be transferred as soon as the loa arrives. I suggest you prepare for a new way of life."

"What about my old life?" I countered.

"You weren't happy with your old life!" Darcy flared with controlled rage. "You were too afraid to lose it. Even now, with every moment you've felt alive, you've feared life's temporality! Your safe bubble is an illusion. No matter how you've held fast to your calculations of risk and reward, you've erred, Aurelia. Escape this irony of man's condition. Overcome your terror of death by embracing eternal life."

A helpless wave of anguish washed over me because he was right on many levels—especially about the existential angst—yet he was wrong in his final assessment. I suddenly understood why I had felt whole and fully alive with Zyr and Mys. Not because I imagined my feelings for them might somehow transcend time but because the fear that love couldn't last forever hadn't been strong enough to conquer the fear of never having loved them at all.

It was, I had discovered, better to have loved. It was better to have risked, failed, suffered, lived my best flawed life, than not to. And in my final act, I intended to prove that to Darcy Cyprian.

"You're making a big mistake," I said flatly. He had no idea Haley was the powerful witch he wanted, but I would gladly take her place. I couldn't let my sister suffer the eternal hell of being married to him.

"Try to defy me, and everyone you love will suffer. Trust me. Contrary to what you may believe..." He walked around to my side of the bed and leaned into my face. "I never lie."

I didn't drink the Volupt-laced absinthe. After Darcy left the room, I flipped back the covers and poured the liquid beneath one of the pillows on the opulent bed. The Supernatural drug might've soothed my troubled thoughts, but I didn't want to be placated. I paced my metaphorical gilded cage, mindful of the servants, mindful of the bumps and thumps in the dark and scary house, mindful of the coming Resurrection.

At the same time, my joyless thoughts searched for a silver lining. As the vampire's wife, my mother would reach heights of glory she never imagined. Haley would become the show-stopping supermodel she had always wanted to be. Would the position lend me the clout to save Zyr from whatever Yazeed had cooked up with the other council members? I could be my remaining lover's last hope.

Of course, Zyr could never know. No one would realize where the help originated. This would be the reward I extracted from this Faustian bargain.

Noticing the pallor of the morning sun behind the storm, I rushed to the window. My fingers brushed the line of salt on the windowsill, and I choked on a strangled scream. It burned savagely, though I suspected that was a supernatural affect rather than a physical one. With more care, I stared out the glass, finding the rain and wind fiercer than ever. Still, an old model Lincoln Town Car was making its way toward the house along the long plantation drive.

As I squinted at the car, the maid who had ratted out Tegan and me knocked to announce Master Darcy wanted me in the music room. I unclenched my teeth and followed her. Down the stairs to the great hall, through another corridor lined with exquisite art and décor, into a modest room plunged in shadows.

Heavy drapes extended from a high ceiling, covering the windows and blocking all sunlight. By the soft glow of candles, I made out the shape of a grand piano and tall harp near the fireplace. Other than that, a huge rug had been rolled back. Furniture had been moved to make space in the center of the room.

The hardwood was dark as Darcy's transgressions and made the lines of salt appear to glow. Shapes and patterns blossomed from the path I walked. A chill ran down my spine. My eyes traced a heart pierced with a trident, surrounded by asterisks or stars. Other symbols I couldn't understand marked the ritual space. It was scarily beautiful.

As my vision adjusted to the darkness, I homed in on Darcy Cyprian hugging the wall, sipping cognac and observing. But my attention was stolen by the new arrivals.

"This the motherfucker, eh?" A beautiful young woman pivoted from the fireplace. She surprised me with a thick Irish brogue. Frizzy strawberry blond curls rioted around her rosy face as she jerked her chin in my direction and grinned. "What say ye, Sam?"

"That's ti fi, Maman Brigit," said a handsome player with a Haitian accent. He stood by an altar set with nine candles, bottles of rum, and I think large tobacco leaves.

The two of them circled me, and I studied them like they studied me. Voodoo loas. They weren't of my world, and it showed in the way they flaunted conventions.

The shapely woman wore a pastel green and purple dress that hugged her ample bosom. Her wardrobe struck me as both dated and timeless. The man wore black sunshades resting over his brow. He held a top hat that simply didn't belong in the twenty-first century, despite the fresh fade trimming his angular ebony face.

"Don't be scared, gyal. I'm Samedi, and this is my wife, Brigit. Maman, position the sèvis ofrann bèt, the sacrifice," Sam beckoned.

Me. I gulped. The priestess smiled benevolently and placed me in the center of a ritual shape that resembled a cross bracketed by two coffins. She closed the salt barrier after me so I couldn't leave the spot.

"Now for the vessel," Sam requested, gazing at the vampire.

Darcy pursed his lips and whistled, and the servant from last night entered the dark music room with the wolf on the leash. I wasn't sure why until Brigit led the large animal to the other circle.

The female loa suddenly broke out in a keening requiem that made me writhe on the inside. Her voice was exquisite, but the wailing death song caused the lines of salt to incandesce in the dark room. A sensation like hundreds of hands began tugging and pulling at me as her chanting voice vibrated around me.

"What is she doing?" I wheezed.

"Maman Brigit is guiding you through the darkness." Samedi held up a votive candle that made his face leap with shadows and light. "Getting you to the Other Side."

This was my resurrection, but...My wild eyes flew to Darcy, and the vampire grinned. What was happening was obscene. My Soul was being placed into a wolf.

"It's all coming together, isn't it?" Darcy murmured to me. "You see, her name is Loulou. I saved her from certain death at the hands of the Council. That's what they do to feral werewolves."

I hitched in a breath because my first thought was what would happen to Zyr.

"Sadly, she can no longer shift into anything resembling a human without the proper enchantment," he said as it slowly dawned on me this was my fate. "But, on the bright side, I've found that...wives are much easier to control when they're on a tight leash, don't you agree, ma louloute? Or should I say, Loulou?"