“Go back up to the city, Papá,” I say. “I’ll be there soon.”
“How did you do that?” he says.
“I told you,” I say. “I know how to save us.”
“Emanuela.” He advances on me. “Tell me how you did that, or I’ll—”
I take a step forward. He stops.
“You don’t have a plan,” I say. “Your only plan was to manipulate me into helping you and taking all the credit. You just wanted me to be your accessory.”
He looks around the dark catacombs. He’s shaking and desperately trying to gather himself. I’ve never seen him look so rattled.
“Emanuela,” he says, softer. “You’re not my accessory. You’re my daughter. We have to save the city. We can’t let ourselves die. I just—”
“We’re not going to die,” I say.
“My little spider,” he tries again. “I—”
I look at the rock in his hands. He tightens his grip, ever so slightly.
“You’re afraid of me,” I say.
“You’re—” He’s stumbling over his words. “You’re just a little girl. You’re my little girl. I could never—”
“You thought you could put me in charge of Parliament and tell me what to do,” I say. “You thought I would never question you. You thought you could control me. But do you really think you’re powerful enough to do that? After what you’ve seen me do?”
I step closer, and he flinches. Again.
“I killed the watercrea,” I say. “That makes me the most powerful person in the city.”
He swings the rock at my head.
And then I’m on my hands and knees. There’s a searing pain in my head. I’m so dizzy. I can’t make sense of the dark shapes in front of me.
He hit me.
I didn’t think he would actually hit me.
I touch my forehead and find blood. Like an instinct, I smear it on the floor.
I look up and find my papá, standing over me. He’s clutching the rock in both hands, and his eyes are dark and cold.
He doesn’t even look sorry.
“Don’t make me do this,” he says.
And then the vide has swallowed him up.
In the silence, I manage to get to my feet. I brace myself on the wall and try to breathe.
I don’t have time to think about what just happened. I need to save Occhia. I need the magic.
The vide is at my feet. There are two men trapped inside it right now. I could use either one for my purposes. It doesn’t matter.
I look down at my hands. My fingers are already stained with my own blood. I curl them into fists.
It does matter.
I back away from the vide. I wait.
It opens up again, and the moment my papá appears on the floor, I strike.
I know exactly what I have to do. My hands are so quick and decisive that he has no chance of stopping them.
I wasn’t prepared for the sound of his screams. I wasn’t prepared for how slippery it would be. But I dig my fingers into his eye, gouging deeper and deeper, and I pull.
Somehow, it’s free, and it’s in my grip, hot and wet and mangled. There are threads keeping it attached, and I can’t manage to tear them off with my hands. So I tear them off with my teeth, and then the whole eye is in my mouth, because I can’t hesitate now. I’ve come too far.
It’s salty. It slides around and squishes between my teeth, and I’m chewing and chewing, desperately. I think about Verene, struggling in her brother’s arms and gagging, and in spite of myself, I feel a little sorry for her.
I press my hands to my mouth and force myself to swallow the last of it down. I stumble to my feet and brace myself on the wall, and I turn to face my papá.
He’s crumpled on the floor, letting out horrible, gurgling sobs. I squint at the blood all over his face and try to get it to bend to my will, but it doesn’t.
I clench my fists and try harder.
I refuse to believe that it didn’t work. It has to work. I saw it happen. It saved Verene’s life. It turned her into something magical. Something immortal.
But nothing is happening. I don’t feel any different.
Maybe I just need more.
My papá was barely able to put up a fight the first time. The second time, he’s even weaker. The last of his eye goes down my throat, and I nearly choke on it. I wait to feel my new powers.
And still, nothing is happening.
No.
This will work.
I have to get magic. I have to get rid of the omens on my skin. They can’t spread any farther. They won’t.
I march out of the catacombs and look around the streets. They’re silent and desolate. Everyone who’s left must be in the cathedral already, waiting for me.
I walk desperately. I can barely stay on my feet, and my stomach is churning, but I have to stay on my feet.
I turn a corner, and then I spot a flash of something in an alley.
A person.
I run for them. I don’t care who they are. I need their eyes.
I lunge into the alley, grabbing for the shadowy figure. They yelp, startled, and try to pull away.
I stop short.
“Paola?” I whisper.
She’s no longer wearing the gray servant’s uniform of the House of Ragno. Her clothes are rumpled and dirty, and even after only three days, she looks shrunken and gaunt. But I’d recognize my nursemaid anywhere, of course.
Her eyes are wide. It takes me a long moment to realize that she doesn’t seem to recognize me.
“Em-Emanuela?” she says.
“They dismissed you,” I say. “My family.”
She’s looking at my dress. She’s looking at the blood all over my hands.
“How did you survive?” I say.
A servant like her—fired in disgrace—would have nowhere to go. Servants are born into the house they serve, and anyway, no one would want a servant who helped her charge defy the watercrea’s laws.
“That’s…” she says. “That’s not important. Is that… is that your blood?”
I try to explain. I find that I can’t. I find that, all of a sudden, I’m swaying on my feet.
Paola takes my shoulders. She pulls me deeper into the alley, and I sink down to the cobblestone. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.
“It didn’t work,” I whisper.
She’s produced a handkerchief out of nowhere. She’s wiping at the blood on my face, as if one little handkerchief is going to make any difference.
“You shouldn’t even be near me.” I don’t open my eyes. “Everyone else in the city wants me dead.”
“Well,” she says, “everyone else is useless. I’ve heard what they’re saying about you. They’re saying that you’re going to destroy the city. They’re saying that you found a demon in the catacombs and made a pact with it. And they’re saying that you’re the one who hurt Alessandro, which is obviously just nonsense. It’s just the panicked lies of terrified people.”
“So what’s the truth, then?” I say.
She stops wiping my face. She reaches out and strokes my hair, without hesitation, like she doesn’t notice all the blood and grime.
“You’re a girl who wants to live,” she says.