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  Abby and I stayed in the castle. Ethan was the heir to the estate and his father’s fortune. He put Abby in charge of rehabilitating the creatures that could be trusted to live peacefully outside of the bestiary enclosures. The troll stayed in his cage. The yeth hound slept outside under Ethan’s window every night and followed him down to the lake when he visited his father.

  Ethan was talking to the Cabal about his ideas for a new kind of Blackwood bestiary. He and Abby had a plan to heal wounded creatures and accept those who couldn’t be fully healed enough to live free from other bestiaries. It required less training and fewer rules, more privacy. And years from now, when old age had claimed the last creature, we’d hopefully have figured out a way to leave the Cabal for good. Or maybe we’d see something worth saving.

  Ethan, Justine, and Justin still patrolled, of course, watching for basilisks and wyverns and other beasts that had to be controlled. After Sloane’s funeral, Tobias took to the forest and never came back. We found a moss girl arrow with a note attached, in his handwriting, assuring us that he was safe.

  I spent a lot of time practicing with fire in the snow. The extra safety of all the cold and the wet made it less harrowing, and I almost never had to plunge my hands in the snow to ease burn blisters. On the first full moon after Sloane died, I went outside and sat in the snow, missing her. I lit a candle and left it to burn out in the garden. A wolf howled, and I wondered if it was Abby. She often patrolled the castle in her animal shape. She claimed a mere human couldn’t look after me, not the way I attracted trouble. She said I took after her.

  Ethan grabbed me when I was heading back, pulling me into the orchids and ferns of the pool house for a long, searing kiss. I felt it in every part of my body. His tongue slid along mine until our breaths grew ragged. The candle outside flared high, nearly touching one of the maple branches.

  When I finally went up to my attic room, a girl floated over the hardwood floor, smelling of flowers and snow. I blinked furiously. “Sloane?”

  She wore a dress made of wolf pelts, and there were pink lilies in her hair. I choked on a bunch of words that probably wouldn’t have made sense anyway. “Don’t you dare tell me you don’t believe in ghosts,” she said. “It took me forever to corporealize.”

  “But…” My head hurt. Grief was making me hallucinate. I’d finally cracked under the pressure.

  “Wanna see something cool?” Sloane asked cheerfully. She walked right through me before I could reply. It was like being covered in frozen, sticky spiderwebs. I shuddered. She laughed.

  “You’re really here,” I said.

  “Yeah. I died on the edge of one of the magical wards. I guess it did something. Are you crying?”

  “No,” I sobbed.

  “Kia Alcott, you’re a marshmallow.” She paused. “Damn it, now I want to eat marshmallows. I already miss food.”

  “God, Sloane.” I laughed through my tears. “I missed you.”

  “Of course you did.” She winked. “I’m very missable.” She sat on the edge of my desk and swung her feet as if this was all very normal. “So. Still kissing Ethan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. One of us should get kissed at least.”

  I could see right through her to the bulletin board. It made me feel like I had vertigo. I loved every beautiful impossible spin of the room.

  “Kia.” Sara’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Dinner.”

  “Dinner,” Sloane groaned. “I’m so going with you. Do you think there’ll be mashed potatoes?” She had the kind of look on her face generally reserved for hot guys.

  “You can’t perv at the dinner table,” I told her.

  “I’m not perving on your boyfriend. I’m perving on mashed potatoes, so it’s totally allowed.”

  Sloane was still technically dead.

  Abby was still a werewolf.

  Ethan still had a mess on his hands.

  I was still expelled. And I still had fire.

  But we also had each other. And one more thing—

  The knowledge that some monsters are beautiful, after all.

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  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my agent, Marlene Stringer, and all the folks at Entangled for this new adventure! Thank you especially to Stacy and Lydia for sharp, insightful editing suggestions. And to everyone who contributed to the beautiful cover: if it were candy, I would eat it!

  About the Author

  Alyxandra Harvey lives in an old stone house in Ontario, Canada, with her husband, their dogs, and a few resident ghosts who are allowed to stay as long as they keep company manners. She likes gingerbread lattes, tattoos, and books. Visit her online at www.alyxandraharvey.com.

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