Night had fallen, and without so much as a single light bulb inside the trailer, Luiza Lazarov could do nothing but stare at the ceiling. So that was exactly what she did.

It had been half a day since she'd spoken to the alpha. She'd already accepted the terms of his offer, but as he left her to wait, she couldn't help wondering if it had been a mistake.

Why was she here? When could she go home?

Outside the trailer, there were noises. Lu believed they were preparing to move. The whole wolf pack, it appeared, was mobile. And if she was constantly traveling, it would be that much harder for someone to find and rescue her. Hard, but not impossible.

Who would come for her?

Lu knew her best friend. Nika Dimitrovich would rip apart the world to get Lu back. The thought had her smiling.

But what about her mother and sister? She imagined they wouldn't be handling this very well. And then there was Elliot . . . He must have felt so alone.

She wished she could see him now, hold him, kiss him. She wished he could do the same for her. Anything to soothe the bitter edge of her fear, which was beginning to feel much more familiar than she was comfortable with.

Sighing, Lu rolled onto her side in the small bed.

She missed them. All of them.

And the moment those thoughts entered her mind, she felt tears sliding down her face.

She didn't know how long she'd been crying when, somewhere outside, chains ground against one another and metal clanged. The trailer jostled slightly. They must have been hitching it up to a vehicle.

Lu sat upright and leaned against the wall beneath a window, listening to the voices that passed. "You think Capello's plan will actually work?" said a female Volkari.

Her voice was young . . . mild. Not what Lu had expected from a mangy wolf.

"Who knows?" said an older man. "Alpha's a mad bastard, but I suppose insanity can be genius sometimes."

"He'll get half of us killed with this revenge mission."

"I'd rather die fighting than suffering from a damned curse."

Lu frowned. What were they talking about? The rattling of the chains grew louder, and their words went silent.

Then the woman said, "It gnaws at me each day—not being able to shift unless there's a full moon. And even then, we can run as wolves for only a few hours. It's miserable."

"And we're the lucky ones. My brother can't shift at all. And my little cousin died last year during her first transformation." His voice turned into a growl as he said, "I hate them. The Ministry and everyone else in that secret Daemonstri society. They can all burn in hell."

Lu grasped desperately at reason to make sense of the words. To no avail.

"Shhh," hissed the female. "Here comes the demon-witch."

Lu stiffened. Demon-witch?

The jostling of the door sent Lu whirling to her feet. Heart beating wildly, she watched. Waited. When a familiar figure entered the trailer bedroom, Lu gave a start. Even in the dimness of the evening light, she could see the visitor perfectly.

Bright red hair—unnaturally dyed, Lu was sure—and deathly pale skin. Keen blue eyes, plum-colored lips. It was the woman from that night. The one who'd grabbed her and stolen her away.

She wore an old-fashioned gown—like a Renaissance costume—which draped loosely around her slim, tall figure. And tucked inside the bust was a necklace, according to the chain around her neck.

"My name is Tatiana. Do you remember me?" Her voice was sharp and cold like a steel dagger, and also laced with a Romanian accent.

"Yes." How could she forget?

Lu studied her intently. What was she? Certainly not human, but Lu sensed she wasn't Daemonstri either. She couldn't have been.

Tatiana didn't possess the halo of a Serafi, or the natural athleticism of Nefili and Volkari. The Inferni race might have been her closest relation, but she seemed too composed to be a bloodthirsty demon.

Whatever she was, everything about Tatiana was wrong.

Tatiana tossed something, and Lu instinctively caught it. A book. Not a book, Lu realized while assessing the leather binding, which had been carved with the Vigil's owl insignia.

"Konstantin's journal," she whispered aloud.

Nika was right. Dante had stolen it.

Lu ran her fingers over the intricate carving. Two words had been etched below the symbol: VIGILIA PERPETUA. The Vigil never ends.

It was every keeper's motto, the adage to which they were all bound. Eternal service to the Serafi race—to protect, or provide, or even entertain. The wish was the command.

"Can you read Romanian?" Tatiana asked.

Lu frowned. "No."

"What do you know about magic?"

"Same as everyone else."

"Which is . . . "

"Serafi were once able to wield it, but over time, magical resources began to fade, and now, there's not enough left to make any use of."

A scoff. "Wrong. So very, very wrong. They lie to you."

Lu squinted as Tatiana sat in a fold-up chair across the narrow room. "The alpha said the same thing. But I don't understand—"

"Magic is not dead. And it's not a resource like oil or lumber. It's a force that dwells all around us, unseen and unheard. Like gravity, pulling all things together. And without it, our whole existence might forever be destroyed."

She sounded like a crazy fool, because Lu was hung up on the first sentence. "What do you mean, it's not dead?"

"It has been hidden from you—by your so-called leaders. They say magic is too dangerous and unpredictable, so they prevent people from using it. Then, of course, they turn around and curse wolf packs like it's afternoon tea."

"The Ministry cursed the Volkari?"

"Yes. And now, we will help free them from their affliction."

"What happens when they're free?"

"I don't know. I don't care. They can do whatever they want."

Lu eyed Tatiana with suspicion. "They . . . You're not one of them?"

Tatiana raised a dark eyebrow. "I will try not to be offended by that question."

"But why do you need me?"

"You're a member of one of the most powerful bloodlines in witch history. It is known."

Lu almost laughed. "Powerful? In magic? I'm afraid you have the wrong Lazarov."

"Are you not Luiza Lazarov, firstborn daughter of Peter Lazarov?"

"Yes . . . but—"

"Do you know why your family is so powerful?"

Lu blinked.

"Of course not. Why did I even ask?" Tatiana examined her abnormally long nails. "Some say the price of your power is terrible luck. In each generation, a Lazarov witch dies tragically and violently, often before they have fully enjoyed life. And when a witch dies like that, the power lingers within their descendants."

A cruel smile.

"In the old days, your ancestors would hold culling competitions in order to increase their power. Sisters, brothers, cousins—all the children of a generation would go out into the forest and slaughter each other until only three were left. It made the winners all the more powerful."

Lu gaped, unable to believe this nonsense. She was surrounded by lunatics. Captured by them. Doomed—she was utterly doomed.

"Didn't your father die recently?" Tatiana asked, her tone unnervingly light. "A fire, if I remember correctly." Lu swallowed a lump in her throat. "Nothing like burning at the stake to kill a witch."

"It was a house fire," Lu corrected. "And my father wasn't a witch."

"Perhaps not, but you are. Or you will be. We have much to do and so little time, so you must stay focused. For the sake of your little halfblood friend."

Nika. The alpha had promised to hurt her if Lu didn't cooperate.

"Are you ready?"

Despite herself, Lu nodded.

"Good."

Tatiana's wrist made a graceful flourish, and the next thing Lu knew, a small candle appeared in the woman's palm.

"How did you—"

"A trick you'll learn later," Tatiana interrupted. "For now . . . light this candle."

"But I have no matches."

"Not with matches. With your mind."