ONE

They say summer storms in Caraza bring more than rain. When
lightning crackles across the sky and the air gets thick enough to chew, it
means trouble isn’t far behind.
Marlow wasn’t one for superstition, but when the sky broke open the
moment she stepped onto the dock at Breaker’s Neck, even she had to
admit the timing was portentous.
On the muddy isthmus below the dock, husks of rust and steel sat
beached like whale carcasses, some of them nearly intact and some already
gutted. Laborers stripped the hulls like scavengers picking the bones of
some great behemoth, the crash of falling debris indistinguishable from
the thunder shaking the sky.
Generally, Marlow avoided Breaker’s Neck as much as possible, and
not just because of the noise and the thick stench of scorched metal
and brine that emanated from the ship-breaker’s yard. Most parts of the
Marshes were loud and smelly, but Breaker’s Neck presented an addi-
tional threat—it was Copperhead territory. A dangerous place for anyone
in the Marshes to find themselves, but especially risky for Marlow.
But it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. This case had dragged on
for almost two weeks, and time was up. Tonight was the grand premiere
of The Ballad of the Moon Thief, and if its prima ballerina had any hope
of performing, Marlow was going to have to brave the danger. —-
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 crooked plankway that sagged along the isthmus, heading for the rusted
remains of an empire dreadnought. The ship was keeled over and half
sunk in the mud, but unlike the other ships around it, there was no one
stripping this one apart.
Marlow carefully climbed down the steel ladder that rose from the
dreadnought’s cavernous belly, hopping down the last few rungs and
landing on what had once been the bulkhead of one of the compart-
ments. A hermetic hatch led to the main deck. Pushing a wet strand of
hair out of her face, Marlow marched over to it.
“Nightshade.” As she uttered the password, the handle spun and the
hatch swung inward.
With her stomach squirming like a bucket of crayfish, Marlow stepped
into the Blind Tiger.
Bioluminescent lamps glinted off the corrugated walls of the dread-
nought, turning the whole bar a malevolent dark purple. Voices clambered
over one another, punctuated by the high notes of clinking glasses. This
early in the evening the crowd was thin, with no real entertainment save a
lone zither player plucking in the corner.
Marlow made a slow circuit of the speakeasy, cataloging each face:
The soothsayer reading some bright-eyed young woman’s fortune, the
bracelets on her arms jangling as she shook a bowl of runestones. A man
drinking alone, gaze darting around the room as though worried someone
might catch him there—an off-duty cop, or a cheating husband, Marlow
guessed. A group of gamblers clustered around one of the tables, arguing
over dice.
But none matched the description of one Montgomery Flint. Marlow’s
curse dealer contact had provided a fairly detailed account—long dark
hair, a mole under his lip, and a jade earring stud in one ear.
— There was still no sign of Flint by the time Marlow reached the
— long, curved bar that took up the stern of the hollowed-out deck.

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Sliding onto one of the silver stools, she waved the bartender over and
ordered a Maiden’s Prayer. She leaned back in her seat as if she were
merely taking in the atmosphere rather than keeping an eye out for
Flint.
Her gaze lingered on a tall woman who sat a few stools down, simply
but elegantly dressed in a sharp black suit. Short-cropped dark hair fell
in a gentle wave over her eye and a row of silver earrings glinted against
the shell of her ear. One slender hand was curled around a thick-rimmed
tumbler, and when she noticed Marlow staring at her, she raised the glass
in a tiny salute before taking a sip.
Marlow’s pulse picked up, and it took her a second to realize why.
She’d seen this woman before—not long ago, in fact. She’d boarded the
same water-taxi that had ferried Marlow to Breaker’s Neck.
Marlow turned back to her drink, heart hammering as she raised it to
her lips. The cocktail burned on its way down.
It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Lots of people took water-taxis.
And lots of people came to speakeasies, even ones owned by Copperheads.
But that thought did little to soothe the unease prickling up Marlow’s
spine.
Because for the past few weeks, Marlow had been growing more
and more convinced that she was being followed. Coincidence after
coincidence—seeing the same old man pass by the spellshop where she
worked some days, and again browsing a crayfish stall at the Swamp
Market. A messenger boy that Marlow had seen not twice but three
times in a single day earlier that week.
It was a pattern. And in Marlow’s line of work, patterns didn’t go
unexamined.
You’re here for a case, Briggs, she reminded herself. Don’t get distracted.
A flash of movement at the very end of the bar seized her attention. —-
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 corridor that branched off from the main deck. Caught in the glow of the
violet light, a jade stud winked in his earlobe.
There you are. Marlow threw back the rest of her drink and pushed
away from the bar to follow, the elegant woman forgotten for the moment.
The corridor that Flint had disappeared into was empty, and dimly lit
with sickly green bioluminescent lamps. Three lavatory doors lined the
right side, with lights above the doorknob indicating whether they were
occupied. Only the nearest one was illuminated.
Marlow rolled her shoulders against the wall across from the door
and waited. She toyed with her lighter, flicking it open and shut as she
hummed softly along to the faint twang of the zither, trying to remember
the name of the song. As the notes reached a crescendo, the lavatory door
swung open.
“Hi there,” Marlow said as her mark stepped into the hallway. He
glanced at her, surprised but not scared. Not yet.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?” he drawled.
Sweetheart? It was like he wanted to get hexed.
“You sure can!” she chirped, shouldering off the wall. “You can start
by telling me why you cursed the prima ballerina of the Monarch Ballet.”
He stilled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Here’s how this is going to go,” Marlow said, pushing her hands into
her jacket pockets. “I’m going to ask you once, very nicely, to hand over
the curse card. And if I have to ask a second time, well—I won’t be as
nice.”
Flint stared at her, weighing his options. Then, without warning, he
shoved Marlow back and bolted down the corridor. Marlow stumbled,
her legs slipping out from under her as she careened against the wall.
But she already had the hex card pinched between her thumb and her
— knuckle.
— “Congelia,” she muttered. Glowing red glyphs swirled out from the

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card and shot toward her target like an eel slicing through dark water.
The spell struck him between the shoulder blades and he crumpled like
wet paper.
Marlow climbed to her feet and stalked toward him.
“I lied,” she said, nudging his arm with her boot as he groaned in pain.
“I’m not going to ask a second time.”
She rolled him over and briskly patted down his jacket while he let
out a few thready breaths and whines of pain. Marlow resisted rolling her
eyes. It was just a simple Immobilizing hex. No need to be such a child
about it.
Something crinkled in one of his inner pockets. Throwing a glance
over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone in the corridor,
Marlow withdrew a pamphlet.
No, not a pamphlet. A playbill, emblazoned with the same black-and-
gold promotional image that Marlow had seen plastered across the city
for the past few weeks. The golden Sun King’s court and the face of the
prima ballerina, Corinne Gaspar, staring up at it, her dark skin luminous
against the silver moon. The Ballad of the Moon Thief, the playbill read
in bold, dark letters.
Marlow thumbed through the playbill. Tucked inside was a ticket to
the ballet and a black curse card, marked with stripes of interlocking
gold diamonds. She turned the card over, revealing an intricately etched
illustration of a girl dancing with music notes floating above her. The
illustration moved, showing the girl falling back, one arm thrown dra-
matically over her face. Gold and white glyphs ran along the edges of the
card. Marlow could tell that the spell had been cast because the glyphs
were no longer glowing, their magic used up.
“What’s this?” Marlow said, waving the curse card in Flint’s panicked
face as she pocketed the ticket. “A curse that afflicts its subject with —-
debilitating vertigo every time they hear a certain piece of music. Such a —0

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 strange coincidence, because I happen to know that Corinne Gaspar is
suffering from this exact problem. How do you suppose that happened?”
Flint gurgled in reply, his face locked in a rictus of surprise. Seizing a
handful of his gold silk shirt, Marlow hauled him upright so he wouldn’t
choke on his own spit.
“You want to tell me why a midlevel ship-breaker foreman spent over
two hundred pearls to curse the prima ballerina in the Monarch Ballet?”
She’d considered a host of theories about who was behind Corinne’s
curse and what had motivated them. Corinne had suspected a jealous ex-
boyfriend out to sabotage her—an easy, if obvious, answer. But the ex-
boyfriend had turned out to be a dead end, and Marlow had turned her
attention to the Monarch Ballet’s biggest competitor, the Belvedere Theater.
After all, what better way to ensure the Monarch took a loss than to sabo-
tage their biggest draw? But she hadn’t been able to link them to Flint. The
only things she knew about him were his name and that he’d bought this
curse off a dealer who, as luck would have it, owed Marlow a favor.
“You want to know?” Flint slurred. “I’ll tell you.”
He spat in Marlow’s face. A glob of saliva landed wetly on her cheek,
and for a moment Marlow was stunned into silence. Slowly, deliberately,
she wiped her face and said, in a taut voice brimming with violence, “You’re
really going to regret that.”
But before she could make good on her threat, a chillingly familiar
voice sounded from the end of the hallway.
“Do my eyes deceive me? Or is that Marlow Briggs I see skulking
around this very fine establishment?”
Marlow rose on shaking legs and swung around to face Thaddeus
Bane—second-in-command of the Copperheads, and the second-to-last
person she ever wanted to see anywhere, but especially here. He took
— up nearly the breadth of the hallway, his barrel-like chest stuffed into an
— ostentatious purple waistcoat bedizened with shining gold-linked chains.

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Two Copperhead lackeys stood on either side of him, wearing slightly
more subdued threads, but the same bronze snake tattooed around their
throats.
“You know, when our doorman said he’d seen you come in, I thought
he must be mistaken,” Bane went on in a lazy burr. “Surely the brilliant
Marlow Briggs wouldn’t be stupid enough to set foot in a Copperhead
joint again.”
He bellowed her name like an announcer at a pit fight, his eyes gleam-
ing manically in the green light. A cold trickle of fear slid down Marlow’s
spine. Thaddeus Bane had every reason to want revenge on Marlow after
she had humiliated him and his boss, Leonidas Howell, nine months
ago—and it seemed his chance had finally arrived. He was incandescent
with delight.
“Guess you’re not as smart as you think you are,” he sneered.
“Still smarter than you, Thad,” Marlow replied sweetly.
Bane chuckled, shaking his head as he strolled toward her with the air
of an indolent predator who knew its prey was cornered. “And you came
alone. Where’s your friend Swift? Been a while since we’ve seen him, and
we miss him something awful.”
Bane’s two cronies pushed deeper into the hall, flanking Marlow. She
stood her ground, sizing them up. The one with a red beard she vaguely
recognized, and the other, a wiry youth with a squid beak nose, looked
like he couldn’t be much older than she was. A new recruit. Maybe even
Swift’s replacement.
Marlow smiled as she slipped a hand into the pocket of her rain jacket.
“Actually, he had a message for you.”
“Oh?”
“He says he’s really flattered, but this obsession your boss has with him
is starting to get embarrassing.” —-
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 was here now. But don’t worry—I’ll be sure to describe your screams in
detail to him later.”
For a moment Marlow’s fear dulled the edges of her mind. She swal-
lowed it down and forced herself to meet Bane’s cruel gray eyes with
another smile.
“With all the time I’ve spent occupying that vacant head of yours, you
should really think about charging rent,” she said, thumbing through the
slim stack of spellcards in her pocket and hoping she could somehow
divine by touch which one she needed.
“You really think you’re better than the rest of us,” Bane snarled.
“Because you used to rub shoulders with the noblesse nouveau. But then
your bitch of a mother dumped you back in the Marshes, didn’t she?”
Marlow clenched her jaw, fury pouring through her veins like hot
acid.
“Guess she figured out what the rest of us already knew—you can’t
wash the swamp off the swamp rat.”
His cronies guffawed. Marlow’s fingers closed around what she deeply
hoped was a temporary Blinding hex.
As she opened her mouth to cast it, the red-bearded crony flicked
open a switchblade and held it to her throat.
“Hands where we can see them,” he said in a low voice.
Marlow sucked in a breath that felt closer to a sob and jerked her
hands up, showing them her palms. Squid Beak pushed right into her
space, roughly grabbing her wrists and pinning them behind her back.
She was alone. Swift and Hyrum had no idea where she was. And she
couldn’t talk, think, or hex her way out of this.
The blade pressed into her skin, and Marlow bit down on a pathetic
whimper as Bane leaned into her, his breath on her cheek as warm and
— wet as a summer storm.
—

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 “Tell you what,” he said conspiratorially. “I’ll let you choose what we
take from you, how’s that? A few ounces of blood, perhaps? Or I could
take your nose, so you’ll stop poking it where it doesn’t belong. Or maybe
you’d rather I take some of your memories—all your memories of dear
old mommy, perhaps?”
Marlow growled low in her throat.
“What’ll it be, Briggs?” Bane asked. “Make it quick, before I lose
patience and take all three. Our spellwrights could always use the
ingredients.”
There was no doubt in her mind that Bane would love nothing more
than to carve her up for spare parts to make more illegal curses. Tears
stung her eyes. She squeezed them shut. Whatever horror Bane was plan-
ning to inflict on her, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her
cry.
“Put the knife down,” a voice said, crystal clear and commanding.
Marlow opened her eyes to the sight of a woman leaning casually
against the wall at the end of the hallway. Marlow’s heart jolted as she
recognized the elegant woman from the bar. The one who’d been on
Marlow’s water-taxi.
Definitely not a coincidence, then.
“Sweetcakes, maybe you don’t understand how things work around
here,” Bane said, rounding on her. “Or maybe you just don’t know who
you’re talking to.”
A thin smile curled the corner of the woman’s lips. “I know exactly
who you are, Thaddeus Bane. The real question is whether you know
who I am.”
Bane stared at her for a moment and then erupted into braying laugh-
ter. Following their leader’s cue, the others guffawed along.
The woman pushed one sleeve of her jacket up, subtly flashing a black —-
—0

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 tattoo. It was too fast for Marlow to make out the shape, but it seemed to
have the desired effect—Bane stopped laughing abruptly, his jaw slack,
eyes bulging.
“Oh, so you do know who I am,” the woman said, tilting her head.
“Now tell your friends here to let the girl go.”
“Who are you to order us around?” Red Beard demanded. “This is
our territory.”
“That’s a bit above your pay grade, I think,” the woman said, flicking
her gaze back to Bane.
“Let her go.” Bane straightened his shoulders, doing his best not to
look rattled in front of his men. But the damage had already been done.
“She’s not worth our time anyway.”
The two men backed away from Marlow haltingly, obviously wrong-
footed by their boss’s sudden change of heart, although they didn’t dare
question it. As soon as their hands left her skin, Marlow jerked away,
steadying herself against the wall, gaze flickering from Bane to the woman
and back.
“Come along now.” The woman cast one final appraising look at
Bane and spun on her heel, striding effortlessly across the speakeasy floor,
clearly expecting Marlow to follow.
Marlow hesitated at the edge of the room, weighing her options. In
the end, her unrelenting hunger for answers won out, the way it always
did.
Tossing a regretful glance at the still-immobilized Flint, she trailed the
woman across the bar, back through the hatch, and up the ladder into
a damp, muggy twilight. The storm had subsided, but the air was still
sharp with the taste of lightning.
“Hold on,” Marlow commanded, halting at the edge of the plank-
— way. “Stop right there and tell me who you are and why you’ve been
— following me.”

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 She brandished her Blinding hex in one hand.
The woman spun in a wide circle to face her, her short dark hair fall-
ing over her eye. “A thank-you wouldn’t be out of order. What do you
think Thaddeus Bane would have done to you if I hadn’t stepped in?”
“I didn’t need your help,” Marlow lied. “I’ve handled him before.”
“I know,” the woman replied. “Which raises the question of how
exactly a seventeen-year-old girl managed to piss off the most ruthless
street gang in Caraza.”
Marlow flashed a blithe smile. “I just seem to have that effect on
people.”
The woman’s lips twitched and she held up her hands. “You can put
away the spell. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The sleeve of her jacket had slipped down, revealing the tattoo that
Marlow had only glimpsed in the bar. A flower of midnight black bloomed
over her forearm, its petals as sharp and dangerous as fangs. Marlow had
the sense that the woman wasn’t letting her see it by accident.
“That’s not a gang emblem I’ve seen before,” Marlow said warily.
“That’s because it’s not a gang emblem.”
Marlow met the woman’s gaze again. She looked back at Marlow, an
anticipatory gleam in her amber eyes.
Marlow’s skin prickled, hair standing on end. It was a feeling she knew
well. The feeling she got when something didn’t quite fit, when she noticed
something that most others didn’t. When that strange, unknowable part
of her—the thing she called instinct—slotted a clue into place, connecting
two seemingly innocuous truths together.
But it wasn’t Corinne’s case or even the Copperheads that Marlow’s
mind went to.
Instead, it was her mother, and a memory of the night she’d
disappeared. —-
It wasn’t a memory Marlow revisited often anymore, but when she —0

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 did, it was like she was transported instantly back to their lavish quarters
in Vale Tower. Like she could still smell the burning candle and the hint
of vetiver and bergamot perfume beneath it, could still see her mother
sitting at her writing desk, holding a spellcard to the flame.
“What are you doing?” Marlow had asked, standing in the doorway.
Her mother had startled, knocking her elbow into a bottle of per-
fume, which spilled across a pile of papers on the desk. “Minnow! I didn’t
hear you come in.”
The spellcard caught fire, the flames chewing quickly through it, leav-
ing ash in their wake. But not before Marlow spotted a symbol on the
back—a black flower, with claw-sharp petals.
Marlow slammed the door on the memory before it went any further.
She raised her eyes back to the woman, and saw in the slight glint of sat-
isfaction that she knew Marlow recognized the symbol.
A crash of thunder split the air. Marlow startled despite herself, throw-
ing her gaze to the sky on instinct. The storm clouds had dissipated, the
evening clear, and Marlow realized belatedly that the sound had come
from the ship-breaker’s yard. Of course.
When she looked back to the woman with the tattoo, she was gone.

—
—

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 TWO
It had been over a year since the last time Marlow had entered
Evergarden. Through the cable car window, she could see the gleaming sky-
line rising from the center of the city. The last rays of the sun splashed ver-
milion across the spokes of the five canals radiating out from Evergarden’s
center, so different from the twisted, muck-filled waterways of the Marshes.
As the cable car zipped over the outermost edge of the Marshes,
Marlow couldn’t shake the chill crawling up her spine after the encoun-
ter with Bane and the woman with the black flower tattoo. Part of her
wished she could just go home, curl up on the couch with Toad, and play
a game of Casters with Swift, but the job wasn’t finished.
With her feet propped up against the side of the cable car, Marlow
paged through the playbill she’d lifted off Flint, worrying at her lingering
questions like a scab she couldn’t stop picking at. Yes, she could break the
curse, but she’d never figured out who Flint was or why he’d cast a curse
on Corinne in the first place.
If there was one thing Marlow couldn’t stand, it was unanswered
questions.
The cable car swung to a stop at Pearl Street Station, and Marlow shoved
the program back into her jacket and disembarked onto the platform.
The air on this side of the city was far sweeter than the sulfurous
stench that clung to every crevice of the Marshes, in part because it was —-
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 bougainvillea and jasmine vines. The scent instantly propelled Marlow
back in time, to over a year ago when she’d called this part of the city home.
But that was a different time. And she was a different Marlow now.
Evergarden hummed with magic. The broad promenades were
charmed to remain gleaming and pristine no matter how many feet
treaded over them. Planters filled with mosquito-repelling blossoms
floated above the canals. Marlow made her way down Pearl Street, the
main shopping district of the Outer Garden. Soothing scents wafted from
perfumeries and salons selling magic elixirs that promised flawless skin
and everlasting youth. Ateliers showcased the latest fashions, from cloth
made of enchanted flames to dresses that changed color according to the
wearer’s mood. A charming patisserie offered free samples of mood-lifting
candies and colorful meringue confections with a variety of effects accord-
ing to flavor. Spell emporiums far grander than any dingy spellshop in the
Marshes sold nearly endless selections of spellcards and enchanted objects.
There was more magic in a single block of the Outer Garden District
than in all of the Marshes combined—though of course, none of these
flashy enchantments and charms would even exist without ingredients
culled from the people who lived in the Marshes.
As Marlow crossed Azalea Bridge to Starling Street, the lanterns were
just beginning to glow, painting the paved bricks scarlet and gold. The
Monarch’s crown-shaped facade reigned over the square at the end of
the street. The Ballad of the Moon Thief Grand Premiere! declared the
crimson-and-gold marquee.
Marlow paused beside one of the terra-cotta planters that lined the
square and picked a handful of coral amaryllis blossoms before climbing
the steps to the gleaming gold doors of the Monarch Theater.
A doorman dressed in a sharp crimson dinner jacket trimmed with
— intricate gold embroidery eyed Marlow as she approached, his face
— pinched in disapproval.

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 “Doors don’t open for another thirty minutes,” he intoned.
Fixing him with her most winning smile, Marlow clutched the flowers
against her chest and simpered, “I just want to wish my friend good luck
on the show tonight. She’s been so nervous all week, and I know she’d
love to have the extra encouragement before she goes out there.”
She couldn’t just tell the doorman the real reason she was here—for
one, Corinne had begged her to keep the curse quiet, and Marlow knew
how to be discreet. And for another, it seemed like a stretch that this
doorman would believe her anyway.
“Your friend. I’m sure,” the doorman replied with a rather scathing
look at Marlow’s attire—an oversized olive-green rain jacket thrown over
a thin black top and ratty shorts. Practical for running around in the
summer humidity, but not exactly presentable for a night at the theater.
“Doors still open in thirty minutes.”
Marlow held out the ticket she’d lifted off Flint. “I have a ticket.”
“Ticket or no ticket, doors are open in—” His gaze dropped to the
ticket and he stopped talking abruptly. “My apologies,” he stuttered. “I
didn’t realize you were a friend of Miss Sable’s!”
Marlow blinked at him. After a too-long pause, she said, “Miss Sable.
Right. That’s the friend I was talking about. How did you . . . know that?”
“The ticket?” he said, waving it in front of Marlow. “It’s one of her
comped seats. Both leads get their own private box for opening night.”
“Leads?” Marlow echoed.
“She didn’t tell you?” the doorman asked. “Miss Sable is playing the
role of the Moon Thief tonight. Of course it must be devastating for Miss
Gaspar to miss opening night—but I know Miss Sable will make a stun-
ning Moon Thief. She must be so excited to finally debut as the prima bal-
lerina after all those years of falling short. She really didn’t say anything?”
“I’m sure she wanted it to be a surprise,” Marlow replied faintly, her —-
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 The doorman’s eyes narrowed. “How did you say you knew Miss
Sable again?”
“We grew up together,” Marlow lied smoothly. “Are you going to let
me go congratulate her, or do I have to stand outside explaining myself
to you while Viv has a breakdown about her debut?”
He let her inside before Marlow could contemplate using her Blinding
hex on him. She blew through the front doors, charging across the gilded
floor of the atrium, past the grand, sweeping staircase.
Marlow had learned a long time ago that people rarely tried to stop
you if you looked like you knew where you were going and strode with
purpose, so she was halfway down the corridor that led backstage before
she was stopped by a girl dressed in all black, her dark hair pulled back
into a neat ponytail.
“You can’t go in here,” she said.
“I’ll just be a second,” Marlow said, maneuvering toward the open
door of the greenroom, where she could see dancers and technicians
preparing for the night’s show, applying glittering makeup and getting
dressed in elaborate costumes.
“I can’t let you—”
“Marlow, is that you?” Corinne’s musical voice called over the din.
Marlow spotted her floating toward them, her face bare and her simple
cloth robe flowing behind her like a cape. She looked much like Marlow
felt—utterly exhausted—but she danced across the room like the prima
ballerina she was. “Teak, let her in.”
The black-clad girl stepped away from the threshold immediately, and
Marlow made a beeline for Corinne, ducking around two stagehands
carrying a large golden throne.
Corinne reached for Marlow’s hand as she approached. “I’m so glad
— you’re here. They just told me a few hours ago that I can’t—” She took
— a breath, holding back tears. “That I won’t be performing tonight. With

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the”—she lowered her voice—“the curse, they said it’s too big a risk.
Please tell me you have some kind of lead.”
“Oh, I have better than that,” Marlow promised. “Come with me.”
She looped her arm through Corinne’s, dragging her toward the row
of lit-up mirrors where a few of the dancers were getting their makeup
applied and their hair styled.
“Marlow, what are you—?”
Marlow ignored her, marching over to the dancer preening at the last
mirror, her raven hair piled on her head, silver glitter shimmering on her
pale skin. She looked just like her picture in the program.
“Vivian Sable?” Marlow asked, coming to a stop at her elbow.
“Y-yes?” Vivian replied, blinking at Marlow’s reflection in the mirror.
“I just wanted to congratulate you,” Marlow said, “on getting the star-
ring role of the Moon Thief. In fact, I was hoping you could sign some-
thing for me.”
She pulled out Flint’s curse card, slapping it down on the vanity in
front of Vivian.
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand,” she said, going white.
“Sure you do,” Marlow replied. “You got your boyfriend or who-
ever to buy a curse on the black market to make sure Corinne couldn’t
perform in the show. Leaving you, her understudy, to take over the
role.”
Marlow could see Corinne’s face in the mirror, her mouth going slack
with shock, her dark eyes clouding with hurt.
“That . . . that isn’t true,” Vivian said meekly, her bright green eyes
filling with tears. “Corinne, I would never—”
“Save the theatrics for the stage,” Marlow advised. “Or not, I guess,
since you won’t be performing tonight once I break the curse and you
explain to the producers what you did.” —-
“I swear—” Vivian started. —0

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 “Oh, and if you don’t?” Marlow added. “I’m going to curse your feet
to rot off.”
She didn’t actually have such a curse, but it made for a better threat
than the Blinding hex.
Vivian burst into noisy tears. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed into her hands.
“Corinne, I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you. I just—I’ve danced
with this company for years, and every time I think I’ve finally made lead,
I lose out to the shiny new star. I couldn’t take it anymore!”
“And you knew you couldn’t earn it on your own,” Marlow said.
“Because Corinne is five times the dancer you’ll ever be.”
Corinne just stared at Vivian, stunned. “I never thought you’d be
capable of something like this. You were my friend.”
Marlow recognized the devastation in her voice. She was learning the
lesson Marlow already knew too well—that the people you cared about
would only let you down in the end.
Vivian blinked at her through watery green eyes, but Marlow knew
she wasn’t sorry for what she’d done, just that she’d been caught.
Marlow waved the ponytailed stage manager over. “You. Take Miss
Sable here to see the producers. She has something very urgent she needs
to tell them.”
With a quick, confirming glance at Corinne, the stage manager led a
sniffling Vivian away. The scene she was making had begun to draw the
attention of the other dancers and show technicians, but Marlow’s focus
was on Corinne as she moved slowly toward the curse card sitting on the
vanity, touching it with a shaking hand.
Marlow dug into another jacket pocket and held out her lighter. “You
want to do the honors?”
Corinne swallowed, taking the lighter. “I burn it? And the curse will
— break, just like that?”
— “Just like that.”

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 With a fortifying breath, Corinne flicked open the lighter. It took
a few tries to ignite it, but finally Corinne held the curse card over the
flame. Instead of catching fire, the curse card glowed a dark purple—
and so did Corinne, a shadowy aura threaded with black veins that drew
toward the curse card like water being sucked through a straw. The curse
card absorbed the magic and then the glow died out, the card flickering
purple before turning a dull graphite.
Corinne stood holding the spent curse card and the lighter, stunned.
“Well?” Marlow said.
Corinne handed her the card and the lighter, spun in a neat circle,
and flew over to a dark-haired boy with a violin slung over one shoulder.
“Xander! Play ‘A Thief in the Sun King’s Court.’ ”
He did at once, the first chords of the song curling through the room like
smoke. Corinne snapped into position, her body moving in precise, con-
trolled lines as she danced the number that, until one minute ago, she hadn’t
been able to hear without fainting. Even dressed in a simple robe instead of
the intricate costume of the Moon Thief, she was captivating.
Applause erupted through the room as the other dancers and musi-
cians watched Corinne leap and dance, their relief and joy at having their
prima ballerina back palpable. She was going to be incredible tonight. No
one would be able to keep their eyes off her.
Marlow smiled as she slipped the burned-out curse card into her
pocket. Its power was entirely used up, and it would never hurt anyone
again. But for Marlow it was a reminder—that as long as there were
curses, she would go on breaking them.
“I don’t know what you did, exactly, but thank you.”
Marlow turned and found the stage manager with the sleek ponytail—
Teak—standing beside her, watching Corinne move to the crescendoing
violin. —-
“I just did my job,” Marlow replied easily. —0

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 “Well, you saved the ballet,” Teak replied. “All the critics come on
opening night, and if we’d had to premiere with Vivian playing the Moon
Thief, we’d be waking up to some pretty unpleasant words in the morn-
ing papers. Not to mention, I heard a rumor from one of the ushers that
the Five Families scions are attending tonight’s show. I can’t even imagine
the embarrassment if—”
“What?” Marlow asked abruptly, her ears ringing. “The Five Families
scions are coming here? Tonight?”
Teak gave her an odd look. “Yes, but no offense, I doubt you’ll be able
to stage an accidental-on-purpose run-in with Adrius Falcrest, if that’s
what you’re thinking.”
A high, hysterical laugh squeaked out of Marlow. “I can promise you
that is not what I was thinking.”
Teak narrowed her eyes. “All right. I’m just saying this from experi-
ence. Not that I’ve tried to—”
“Right, yes, got it,” Marlow replied. “Listen, tell Corinne I’ll be in her
dressing room when she’s ready to settle. I should probably get out of
here before the crowds show up.”
“You’re not going to stay and watch?”
Marlow smiled, tight-lipped. “Maybe another time. I’m sure Corinne
will be great. But I’ve had a pretty long day and I just need to get out of
here.”
As fast as she possibly could.

— The doorman had evidently begun letting people inside. When

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